Anarchy is Order

Sunday morning. Dog wakes me up at dawn. With her tongue.

When I was a young lad I thought, "One day, when I am married and shit, if I choose my old lady well, I will be awoken with a tongue every morning."

Dreams do come true.

I let my dog out. Made coffee. Let her back in. Gave her some breakfast. Poured myself a cup of sweet black speed and sat down in front of my television screen.

I hardly ever turn on the television in the morning. Must be something wrong with me. I flicked through the channels. Sonja hates it when I do that so I do it as much as I can when she is not around.

There were shows about fishing, motherfucking Italians kicking a ball about - the usual Sunday morning crap. Brent Butt was half way through his routine. I stopped the god damn channel flicking as if Sonja had just woke up and restored order to my orderless life. He was poking fun at Anarchists. Said a disturbingly scrawny squeegie person wearing an Anarchist t-shirt was washing the windows of his fat man car and he wondered just how long the squeegie Anarchist would last in a Mad Max Anarchist society.

"This is the chaotic Mad Max society Brent, you fat fuck," I thought to myself. People use the words anarchy and chaos interchangeably. I can understand that. People are confused. What is going on in Mexico, you know what I am talking about, is not the result of an Anarchist revolution. A lot of people are scared shitless of Freedom; scared shitless of a world without so many people having a palace or two on every continent and everybody else just scraping by.

"Oh well," I sighed to myself as I got up to pour myself another cup. "You're still funny as fuck Brent. I promise not to eat boiled baby soup out of your skull after the hard rain sweeps all the scum off the Earth."