a Surviving Fact Blog
Typos corrected
The beginning of a new year is always a great time to purge and get rid of the things you don’t want. Here’s what I’m getting rid of this year.
I have a huge garbage bin as big as I can imagine—made from recycled materials, of course. It’s stuffed and bulging. One of my first pieces of trash is Trump. I threw him in first, along with his Depend diapers, big Macs, Diet Cokes, red ties and toupees. I also made sure to include his cell phone, battery removed. We don’t need tweets from the heap.
His cabinet, bigger donors, mislead lackeys are easy to coax in. They are sheep. My cattle dog circles them to the abyss and they tumble from the edge like ragdolls.
Next, go the Billionaire Bros: Musk, Bezos, the Koch brothers. The Brodie brothers, Larry Ellison, the Wilks brothers. They jumped in en masse right after Trump because they follow him unwaveringly. In their hungry mouths are Ketamine tablets, melting slowly. This experience is meant to be profound and healing. It dulls their self-absorption and avariciousness as much as a blackened and tarnished silver plate.
Kim Kardashian goes next. She’s smarter than she lets on but we’ve all had enough of her posed, contorted selfies and her best-selling pube-haired undies. (Whoever has bought one of these fake-haired panties can jump in with her.) Her sisters and uber mom also join her. We are seeking to eliminate too many women with double K names.
I’m stuffing my neighbor in too for ending our daily communion with the deer. He accused us of feeding the deer, which is illegal in my state. We actually were feeding the squirrels who are messy and forgetful. The deer were kindly cleaning up.
Also going in— the thousands of chemicals in our food, confusing our bodies by causing insulin resistance and leaving “forever chemicals” in our bones. When we are all done, microscopic infusions of these chemicals will remain, the only mark of our existence.
I’m getting rid of Walmart too. I’m leaving big box chains behind for mom and pop shops with register clerks welcoming “howdy, neighbor,” After I visit frequently enough, they will add my name, a brief intimacy based purely on availability and need. This is enough.
Amazon is in the bin too, even though I’ll never be able to find the giant Swiffer pads necessary for cleaning my studio floor. Jeff Bezos is wrapped in packing material and comes with a coded label. He can only be returned with a reason— ordered by accident, I already have enough, the packing was damaged. None of these reasons fit, so he stays. His wife, with her super-sized boobs, over filled cheeks and lips and MAGA-resting face hops in right behind him, dragging the half-naked figurehead her husband fashioned in her likeness for the front of his $500 million yacht. While it’s debatable whether the pickled real or wooden replica of her will last longer, the mummified Bezos will have his idol.
My bin is barely full.
I’m shoving in every old white man who has voted against women’s ownership of their bodies. Never again will we have all-male committees deciding women’s healthcare. Women supporting these white men can join them too, willingly or not. We no longer need white women who believe they gain power through men. They are conspirators in the loss of women’s rights.
I’m stomping upon a heap of ICE agents, their egos and violations bloating them bigger than they should be. Evil takes up space, spreading into the empty nooks and crannies only ooze can reach. Fuentes with his self-proclaimed virginity and woman hatred and the Proud Boys get smashed in too. I smash them tightly so they can feel the stultifying horror of being unable to breath.
The trad wives, especially Nora and the ballerina on the farm, can cleave to their husbands, tumbling into the filthy melee superglued to their spouses to whom they have subjected themselves. Their dutiful children march single-lined and primly behind them. Perhaps in the refuse, they will taste the food crap the rest of us suffer. Who has time to make their own sprinkles? No one in the heap. All Mormon wives with TikTok feeds and outsized libidos can slip their skinny selves into the crannies. No doubt their pheromones will attract the rats and roaches that create the evolving sustainable environment of such a space. The Tik Tok Morman wives cannot resist. They always follow the latest trend.
Upscale fashion, removed from the lives of most Americans, except for the obvious replicas, go in too. No purse should cost $100,000, even for those who can afford to pay for it. The grotesque extravagance speaks sadly of perverted values. Feeding the hungry, helping those in need: these fail against the craving of an Hermes. Hermes: welcome to the heap.
The trend in trash fashion can also go—the $9,000 ripped jacket from Yves Saint Laurent, for example. Who needs to spend money on an artificially ripped jacket when a homeless person can donate what they’ve worn for decades? Authenticity matters.
The anti-cancers? Come on down. In the enclosed space of the heap, your germs can spread. For those on the outside, don’t go near the heap. Its germs are democratic and egalitarian. You will be unable to protect yourself.
My bin is not yet full. I will continue to find others to dump and shred. How about women voting for whom their husbands direct? How about Musk’s neo-Nazi Doge crew and their uber expensive sports cars? Let’s also include the unnecessary automatic weapons and firearms killing children at school and families in malls as well as the humans who believe they need them? There’s room. Dive in, head first.
I would love to hear from you, even if, especially if, you disagree. Perhaps we can bring back the American tradition of debate. Please like and share this blog with others. Subscribe to receive it by email and go directly to the Walk the Moon website (www.walk-the-moon.com) to peruse the full collection of articles and updates. You can email me from the Walk the Moon website as well.
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