My user name, "Shallowgenepool" is a cautionary tale about the unknown horrors that are sometimes revealed at family gatherings. Case in point, at a family barbeque several years ago I overheard my mom talking to my aunt about how two of our relatives were first cousins and married. Before this conversation, I had often noted with tragic honesty how our family is trailer trash. In fact, we aren't the respectable live in a nice trailer park with functional sewer system triple wide trailer trailer trash, far from it. We're the ancient single wide that leans to starboard, located in a trailer park with a questionable sceptic system, most likely to operate as a side hustle meth lab, tailer trash.

Upon gaining this genealogical tidbit I announced over burgers and hotdogs that I will no longer tolerate being chastised for calling our family trailer trash. Being related to married first cousins I argued, made me uniquely and fully qualified to call us trailer trash. From that day forward I always said anyone who would marry into our family was dangerously diving into a very shallow gene pool.

If I found myself at the pearly gates I would assume that I got put on the wrong bus. I honestly pictured my afterlife looking like the cover of a Black Sabbath album. You know all lake of fire and imps poking the damned in the arse with tridents and stuff. However, if I was at the pearly gates and standing before Saint Peter, I'd ask to talk to management, because I have questions. When facing the regional manager of the entire universe I'd have to ask:

1. Why do those who profess to be on your team seem to forget your more pesky instructions such as, "Love thy neighbor and pray for thy enemy" and "Judge not lest ye be judged?"

2. Your kid had to borrow a donkey to get where he needed to go...Why do your supposed prophets, teachers, healers, etc. need to fly around on private jets and live in mansions? Didn't God Jr. say, "It's easier for a camel to walk through an eye of a needle than it is for a rich man to get into the gates of heaven." Seems like your middle management missed a memo somewhere.

3. Why do many of your followers get their panties in a knot over unborn children and abortion, but as soon as they're born these poor kids are seen as a drain on the good Christian taxpayer? Why did I, a born again heathen see the benefit of (and take advantage of the opportunity to) adopting a child, but so many of Team Big Guy In the Sky ignore the already born kiddos who are going hungry, homeless, and without loving parents. Shouldn't there actually be waitlists filled with Christians who are waiting to adopt the much sought after child in need? When instead, there are thousands of children languishing in the foster system who may never get a forever home? Why do your most righteous often vote for and support candidates who reduce programs that provide for poor and disadvantaged children that are already here, but fight against a woman's right to choose? Does this mean life is only precious until it raises taxes or affects my monthly budget?

4. Don't you think Satan's job has become a bit obsolete? Humans have proven time and time again that we are plenty capable of doing evil without the need of demonic inspiration and coercion? After masterminding countless genocides, two world wars, hate crimes, and the founding of FOX News I think the mortal student has surpassed the master.

5. Do I not understand the 10 Commandments because my understanding of the, "Thou Shalt Not Kill" commandment seems contrary to the ongoing record of what Christians actually do. Native Americans were slaughtered by the millions or robbed of their cultural heritage by our good Christian founding fathers because they were, "Godless heathens." Our African American brothers and sisters in Christ were torn from their homes and brought to a new world where they were often worked to death because the good Christian slavers and slave owners felt that the good book suggested being a slave isn't all bad. Am I missing something here? It isn't, "Thou Shalt Not Kill Unless it is Advantageous To Pasty White People" is it?

Of course, during my questions I'm sure someone would have hurriedly worked to correct the mistake in my final destination and I would be given the correct ticket for the Fire and Brimstone Express. Come to think of it, if heaven is filled with good Christians I might prefer the other place anyway.

My, primary "Why" for getting out of bed probably isn't much different than the "Whys" of most my fellow Americans. I am in debt, lots of debt. In fact, every time the bills become due I feel like someone shoved a dildo coated in sandpaper, wrapped in razor wire, and dipped in battery acid up my posterior sans lube or a kiss. So, I drag my arse out of bed and trudge my permanently raw and chapped ass to work.

Other than debt, I admit I possess a morbid sort of curiosity which is regularly fed by the absurdly painful syphilis infected monkey hauling trainwreck that is the human race. I can't help myself. I am too invested in watching what stupid shit us hairless monkeys (some also syphilis infected) may do this time.

For example, for thousands of years we have been trying to get what we want by way of war. The reasons for the war may vary, but in the end the ant dick sized political, financial, religious, or geopolitical gains are almost never worth the losses in life and resources. The only exceptions of note being the Civil War, the Sexual Revolution, and the never ending battle between the Coyote and Road Runner. Think about it. Even an inbred hamster will stop going for the electrified food bowl after it has been zapped a couple of times. Not us, nope. We keep thinking war will get us what we want no matter how many times we experience the same electrifyingly painful consequences as they set fire to our pubes on their way to frying our collective daddy and mommy parts. I can see the wheels turning in our world leader's wee whittle bwains as they are reminded how history has proven that war almost never gets the victor what they really want. Of course, the politicians may nod solemnly, but when the cameras are turned off they almost always say, "What the hell, lets see what happens after the nuclear winter, we'll sort shit out then." Of course, they're assuming anyone will be left on this cold cinder of a planet to even give a fuck. It's equally tragic and riveting, but still, I can't stop watching.

I've heard it argued that our artistic creativity is enough to redeem us. It may have been, but as I watch what the various forms of classify as, "Art" or "Culture" these days I have to laugh. Where once we had Davinci, Beethoven, and Shakespeare we now have Justin Beiber, Taylor Swift, and whatever hacks wrote the Twilight, Fifty Shades, and Harry Plopper (not a typo) series. If these are our artistic saving graces we are so fucked. Still, I watch on for the same reason some people will pay to watch a sword swallower. I subconsciously want to see things go wrong.

Aside for my need to pay the bills, the reason why I get out of bed in the morning is to watch Darwin's theory about humanity be proven wrong. Darwin optimistically assumed human evolution would always tend towards progress. If the 21st century is any indication, human evolution has backed over a fire hydrant, plowed through a litter of puppies, and ran over grandma. Sorry Charlie, we've backed up almost to where we can bump uglies again with our Niedenthal cousins.

How many licks does it take to get to the Tootsie Roll center of a Tootsie Pop? As the Owl says in the classic commercial, "The world may never know."

Truth be told, all tongues, levels of mouth Ph, and saliva glands are as different as trailer parks are to gated communities. These differences make it is virtually impossible to come up with a concrete number of licks it will take to get to the chocolaty, sticky, goodness that is the center of a Tootsie Pop. Consider the following examples:

John, a middle aged man who brushes and flosses regularly, eats a healthy diet, and receives regular dental care may be licking that sucker to the tune of a couple hundred licks leaving his tongue raw and bleeding like skin exposed to a sandblaster.

Bob, a middle aged man who doesn't believe in that new fangled science called dentistry, has a taste for methamphetamine, Jack Daniels, hand rolled cigarettes, and avoids eating anything that doesn't have enough additives and preservatives to survive into the next ice age. In short, the carcinogenic environment of Bob's mouth could melt the bumper of a '59 Cadillac. A poor Tootsie Pop exposed to the caustic environment of Bob's mouth may not be able to withstand more than a couple dozen licks.

As you can see, thanks to the varied fauna that exists within all human mouths there is a wide difference between the potential number of licks it will take to get to the Tootsie Roll center of a Tootsie Pop.

This science lesson has been brought to you by Urban Idiot Labs: If you see us running you'd better try to keep up.

I feel my bottom comfortable in my warm dress that separates it from the rough cushion. My feet, cold and bare, tickle from the position I lay in. I feel my long brown hair, falling from its tight bun, and my fingers vibrating from my typing. I think. I think about my life. I wonder why I am here and what to do. I think about anger and meaningness. Why does this matter? I want control. Why? Why do I do the right thing? I don’t know the answer to any of these questions. I write. I feel whole and I feel well. Compassion. Love. Creative. I write more and more but don’t know what to write. I focus. I am alone. I think. I think. What do I feel? Nothing. Emotion. None. FULL. I look over my page of writing and correct all my errors. I forget that what really matters is the writing and what it is telling the reader. I read over it. I read over my work and am satisfied. Again, I focus on my spelling. I live in the future and say what I will write next in my head but try not to. I try to have the words slip into my brain as I am writing it. It doesn’t work. I try. I don’t know what to write. I think. I focus. I let the words slip out and not worry about my errors. I think. I want. I tickle the thought of life. That came to my head. I think about what it tells me and I say no. That doesn’t sound right but then I listen. It tells me more and makes sense. Confusion. No one understands me. I am confusing. I try so hard and harder. Feeling my quiet heart is like knowing what love is not. I don’t know what you mean when you speak. No one knows what you mean when I speak. I am confusing. I am confused. I am a person. I think. I taste the coffee I recently sipped, I smell nothing as my nose is clogged up, I feel the keys underneath my fingers, I see my writing with red lines underneath words, I hear the air from my parents’ empty room, my sixth sense opens. Creativity. My mind is the most powerful part of me. I don’t believe that. My heart. No. Together my heart and mind go hand in hand. I think. My sixth sense its think. think. think. I repeat the words seven times three. I pause after one seven. I count on my fingers. Think think think think think think. That is three sevens. You are confused. I say the word one more time, but this time I obey it. I think. I close my eyes and say the word again. My hands continue on the board while I keep my eyes closed. I repeat the word and this time only say it in my head. I focus on my breathing I open my eyes and continue writing. I now go over my errors. There. Complete. I fixed my writing. Does it need to be fixed? I think about judgmentalness. That is no word. I often make words. We look. We stare. We Jude. I cry. I think about what people say to other people. It hurts them. I think about what they say to me. It hurts me. It isn’t about me, not always, not now. Judging is not my job. It isn’t yours. I feel sad. I feel anger. I feel judged. Prose. I... get upset that I don’t get likes. FOOLISH. I am told that I should not be on this if I continue to blind myself in self-pity. Not those words, never those words. I feel morange the more I try for likes. I want to be accepted by society. What’s wrong is right and what’s right is wrong. I choose what they say or the opposite. They don’t like confusion.who am I. I am lost. That is who I am. LOST. I read over, one more time...and I hit publish.