Void filler

This is a rumination on whether those with cement psyches can indeed dance, given decent music and enough beer. Speaking as one who occassionally feels at the bottom of a mixer as when a cervical disc (bulging inopportunely) computer ignorance and financius desperatus conspire against healthy negativity and scepticism, warping it into a slow silly what the hell like would another mocha really break a broken bank? Or a mango smoothie.

Society would have it that addiction to pain meds are to be feared (though why bother when acupunture's such a trip), while frying all reason under the fat car wheels of steroidal arrogance like mindlessly migrating pinheads. (thank you Jon Stewart). This is the society after all that elected Bush (that is his name, right?) twice. All bets are off. Sceptisim is not just a viewpoint, its a necessity that can't quite stop the slide into the black swamp of blatant irresponsible stupidity helpfully created by defense contractors under the guiding hiss of whats-his-face Cheney. The effects of others' bad choices cannot be ignored in a world where you can't avoid their music. Or their lack of music. Or their bad timing (and planning and thinking...) Or their tone deaf hatred of small animals, birds, large animals, sea creatures, kids, the future, peace, and hope... all things requiring a healthy enviroment to prosper in. Fear is a sickness sterilizing the soil. Anti-enviromentalism and fear politics go gloved hand in gloved hand.
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Besides, this cud chewing cement sickie is into wine. Save that last dance...