Blatant Improv

The terrible futility of being good is extremely exhausting, isn’t it? Waiting for something with zero reward at the end can be quite the soul-sucker, if my imagination stands corrected.

There are a couple of people, great in all their ways and endeavors, who definitely require a standing ovation over the subtlety of their actions in public, private and in all other social dimensions hiding in between.

To the beautifully endowed parents strolling down the supermarket aisles with their nagging and screaming monkeys for children – thank you for your wildly fantastic contribution towards humanity. Through you generations have been spared the madness that is kindness and honesty. Not to mention your absolute generosity to pommel timid cashiers with your rude spit as you lash at them for forgetting to ‘double-bag’. How warm your homes must be.

Ah, how can I forget the amazing gear-shifters, the wonderful pedal-stompers of the metallic death carriages of the 21st century? Drivers of all sizes, of vehicles of all creeds – how lovely your machines thrash on our roads with no honor or mercy. Your spouses must hang up the wall in your hallways with enough photos of you under a heroic title.

The dozens of car crashes that smear the spread of death on the warm bread of recklessness under your watch is impeccable and undenying. Even your road rage is something of a marvel to speak of, not to mention dream about. I don’t think old Mrs. Willis ever appreciated you for the kind gesture you showed her by slicing through her young kitten, Moller, last night down Kelly Street.

I believe the young students down the dusty paths of Loresho gladly sing your name in praise as the heavy lorry laden with sand crushes the skull of one of their own this past morning. You are by far the best of our heroes today.

Forgetting the sweet rulers of our lands would be heresy in mention. How dare I? The majestic emblem of power, you, the roaches in Zion and the highest echelons of Olympus who rule with a fist and a sharpened sword, your might is undeserved to us mere mortals. We cower and shiver at the mention of your names, and wet ourselves with the idea of your words that might slash our throats in the dark of night. Oh how we dream of you breaking our backs as we worship your tyranny, and how we sing of your ancestors’ names atop the kissing fire and brimstone under our feet. Without you our world would be nothing.

The beauty in being bad and outright sinful far outweighs the good in society that you could bring; this much I have learned from you. I cannot bleed how much I thank you for this wisdom. If only there are ways I could return the favor…

You’d want me to return it the same way you would, wouldn’t you? Eye for an eye? Apologies, but your way, as much as it is screamingly pleasant, might not work for me. I think I’ll go for the ugly manner of kindness that you so fairly despise and rule against. Maybe the way I do my thing offends you. Surely it must. But against the tide is something only you can teach me, and it is my breath to implement my lessons.

I thank you. Now let me ride this wave of Karma high and low through the Winter and the Eves…maybe we shall meet – the long way around.