“if i told you..absolutely they would kill me…and no tin hat would save me”
– nikola tesla
the other night i was watching the demons crawl out of the woodwork again, which is why caulking is so damned important. if you caulk it hard enough and tight enough the demons can’t get out of the fucking walls and suck your one remaining eyeball right out of your head. anyway, one of these demons kind of oozed up to me and said, “thayne, old buddy. you do realize that your very own government killed nikola tesla right? they let him live long enough to drain his brains dry of every idea he ever had, and then they killed him.”
“and you’re next boy. you’re next. only they won’t keep you alive long enough for you to spit. because after all, what does the uncle sammy want with heated toilet paper, floating lawn chairs and seeing-eye armadillos? well okay, so they might like the tp idea, but you know damn well they’d keep it for the bigwigs and let the little fellows continue to freeze their nuts off, right? of course right.”
and i thought to myself, thayne, i thought, big brother is everywhere. and it’s just like the old lady always says “goddammit, leave your glass eye at home next time you go on a bender down at harold’s lounge or it’s just dejavu like when the cops haul you away and you kick the cop in the knee and they cuff your feet together so even if you kick open the back door of the cop car and try to hop away (again), the truth is the police can run faster than you when you’re cuffed at the ankles. and you know they’ll throw you back in the drunk tank where they don’t care what happened to your glass eye, or maybe they took it and spit on it or are saving it for their hallooween costumes, or for a trophy. yeah, that’s it a trophy eye hanging on the wall of the break room down at the jail. even if you get it back you don’t know where it’s been.”
so anyway, back to nikola tesla, the fucking genius who immigrated here from Serbia , and either knew transmigration or teleportation or else had tunnels under his house that led to his secret lab. but then one day he decided to do things much as an ordinary man would and got hit by a car while crossing the road and died in the street like a dog and the fbi came in and took all his papers and his secrets when they raided his place. but he got revenge and the last laugh because the fuckers tried to photograph tesla in his casket and the photo blurred and they were unable to make the camera focus on his face. there’s not one death picture of his face which is the way he wanted it. the question that begs here is this: what good is the last laugh if you’re dead?
the moral of this rant is listen to your old lady, but not her mother. leave your glass eye at home, never forget your ankles are cuffed and the man can run faster, caulk those cracks in the woodwork, dig your tunnels deep and don’t cross the road like everyone else, or the they’ll get you next.
your friend,
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