Madmen Rule the Universe
Honey mustard, vinegar and oil, ranch, thousand island–salad options are infinite in an opulent society where hundred of thousands sleep under bridges and forty percent of the children have never seen stars.
That’s not quite true, they’ve seen the sun, punching its way through the ozone and smog, giving birth to the sun-block industry.
Block that sun! Bad sun! The giver of life gone rogue, hitman for the universe, raining down cancer.
The family that prays together has a common enemy, whoever it is out there in the back yard knocking over the trash cans.
“Who goes there? Get on out of here now, back to wherever you came from. We’ve got guns, the whole family—me and ma and junior who’s gone blind from staring too long at the only star in his sky…”
This is how societies unravel, displaced bears and the homeless knocking over our trash cans, disrupting our prayers (for salvation, a new car, more sex), forcing us to lock and load and take aim.
Madmen rule the universe, creatures impervious to star light, glad-hand back slappers and baby kissers with toad souls, spitting insults at the sun.