Living in America: a Guide for the Perplexed Chapter 22
Like everyone else, though, I put my fucking life in the hands of these maniacs on the road every day, not by choice but by necessity: You know, I have to get around, and there are damn roads everywhere, and like the chicken in the jest of yore, if you wanna get to the other side you gotsta cross the road. Now, purposeful killing with cars hasn't yet reached the fever pitch it's destined to in this sick sick society, but heaven knows that it's only a thin membrane of madness between you and some repressed stockbroker type suddenly deciding to floor it in his mercedes and just drill a straight line until god decides to counterpunch him out of existence. Ain't that something. Well it won't be me, asshole, so kindly get off my case and stop trying to sell me stinking pickup trucks when I'm trying to watch TELEVISION!
klik if you demand tedious explanations of every little thing.
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