Gravity
You know what? Fuck fucking gravity! It never fucking lets up, does it?
Every day, all day long, there it is, pulling on you, dragging your fucking chin southward, distending your belly, pulling at your jaw line in some relentless goddamn effort to make you look like a friggin’ Basset hound.
Come on, gravity, give it a fucking rest!
Oh no, but it’s got to be all like, “Everything that goes up must come down, oooh.” “Must?” Why? To whom? Is there some kind of law or something?
Oh yeah, the “law” of fucking gravity. Well, fuck you, gravity, I’ve got your “law” right here, if you know what I mean.
Actually, if you think about it, gravity’s not even a real force. If it weren’t for massive bodies, there wouldn’t even be gravity. It’s like some fucking hanger-on, like the back-up band for the really talented lead singer. That’s right, gravity is like the Tito Jackson of cosmic forces!
But it’s like, “No, I’m one of the fundamental four.” Hmph, I say. Gravity, everybody knows, is only like 10 to the minus-36th as strong and the strong force. That’s like me against Mike Tyson, or something; and you wouldn’t fucking catch me climbing into the ring against the champ, no way.
But gravity’s all high and mighty: “If it weren’t for me, there wouldn’t even be stars!” Bullshit, man. If it weren’t for stars, there wouldn’t even be you! Snap!
So, next time gravity’s gotta be tugging at our eyelids, and yanking at our butts, and even causing our goddamn elbow skin to get more wrinkly, I say we oughta just boycott.
Instead of going all “Oh, gravity, you’re so strong, I’ve fallen and I can’t get up,” we should ignore its relentless pull, raise ourselves higher, and just float away to a place where gravity can’t touch us and we all ascend to our own levels of freedom and happiness, unbloodied, unbowed, and un-fucking wrinkled.
Every day, all day long, there it is, pulling on you, dragging your fucking chin southward, distending your belly, pulling at your jaw line in some relentless goddamn effort to make you look like a friggin’ Basset hound.
Come on, gravity, give it a fucking rest!
Oh no, but it’s got to be all like, “Everything that goes up must come down, oooh.” “Must?” Why? To whom? Is there some kind of law or something?
Oh yeah, the “law” of fucking gravity. Well, fuck you, gravity, I’ve got your “law” right here, if you know what I mean.
Actually, if you think about it, gravity’s not even a real force. If it weren’t for massive bodies, there wouldn’t even be gravity. It’s like some fucking hanger-on, like the back-up band for the really talented lead singer. That’s right, gravity is like the Tito Jackson of cosmic forces!
But it’s like, “No, I’m one of the fundamental four.” Hmph, I say. Gravity, everybody knows, is only like 10 to the minus-36th as strong and the strong force. That’s like me against Mike Tyson, or something; and you wouldn’t fucking catch me climbing into the ring against the champ, no way.
But gravity’s all high and mighty: “If it weren’t for me, there wouldn’t even be stars!” Bullshit, man. If it weren’t for stars, there wouldn’t even be you! Snap!
So, next time gravity’s gotta be tugging at our eyelids, and yanking at our butts, and even causing our goddamn elbow skin to get more wrinkly, I say we oughta just boycott.
Instead of going all “Oh, gravity, you’re so strong, I’ve fallen and I can’t get up,” we should ignore its relentless pull, raise ourselves higher, and just float away to a place where gravity can’t touch us and we all ascend to our own levels of freedom and happiness, unbloodied, unbowed, and un-fucking wrinkled.
posted by Professor Dave at 10:08 PM
1 Comments:
So you're tired of gravity messing with you? Well, why don't you mess with gravity for a change?
...anyway gravity isn't all that bad.
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