The Dog Stays in The Picture
Yesterday, in an important policy speech, House Minority Leader John
Oh, fuck it. Really: Fuck. It. It doesn’t matter. We can no longer care. Not when we’re haunted by visions of Sheryll at every turn, imploring us with her searching brown eyes to throw away our worldly concerns and just dance, dance, dammit! Dance like there’s still a future where you, and I, and fucking little dogs who don’t understand that we’re working can flourish in a world without creepy orange-faced undertakers insisting that we take them seriously when they can’t even do basic math.
A world filled with hope, and dreams, and… Blue shag carpets. But without the spikes. Because they rip our clothes off. And then Sheryll punishes us.