Oh, to the disgruntled. Thou blood boils at such a beautiful temperature. Clearly there is reason in your befuddled mental state and capacity. Grovel, oh you disgruntled ones. Grovel before those you dare not offend. For what is worse than coming down on the disgruntled? Care not for your past, present, or future. Do not justify your actions. For thou art holy now. That is all that matters. Let thine swine anger trickle down to your inferiors, for they deserve all they can get. They, after all, have the pleasure of your existence, and love the very soil you tread on. For what could they feel more akin to than the dirt you step on every day?

Freeze my friends. For there is no glory in being warm.

Row my compatriots. Row. Let the salty breeze kiss your faces. Stare at the heavenly bodies falling from the sky. Don't look back at civilization. Those lights are just coffee stains, and its inhabitants are just spent waitresses at roadside diners. Go forth like those before you, and disappear into something wild. Body and Mind. For there is no soul. Time is of the essence.

Sit on a plate of ice my friends, join me in floating down the river under a misty moon and stars. I've got a fire going and I'm frying up pigeons in old hubcaps, while my homeless friend Thomas plays a rusty harmonica--whistling away like a drunk sparrow. As we near the ocean, the fire will melt through the ice. But not to worry, the pigeons are always cooked perfectly. Bloody and rare. Oh how we'll laugh while scoffing down our flying city rats. It's hard to imagine anything more beautiful. Two dusty vagabonds, with nothing to gain, drifting into the open sea. Finally, some peace.

Hear ye! Hear ye! Some poor saps will delude themselves into believing that what they're doing is special. It isn't. Most of us simply stumble through life for the sake of it. What's supposed to separate us from animals is the pursuit of something more than feasting and mating. But for most that's all there will ever be. So go forth my fellow man. Dilute thine blood with irrelevance. Join the herd of mindless automaton beasts. And die without a glimmer of consequence. Your peril awaits in a dark alley behind a convenience store.

Stupid birdie. Bluebirds don't fly backwards. Dot the hard thing stupid birdie. Fly forwards. Good birdie.

Pile in. Pile in. Oh cattle. Trade your legs for motorized death machines. Stand back. Stand up. Sit down. Stay clear of exiting cows. Evade the razor sharp metal doors that yearn to cut you in two. Moderate exercise can get you there in half the time, but nay! Your destinations will arrive in the order that is most insane. Waste your bodies. Decaying and unused flesh swelling around ever brittle bones. The effort of utilizing our design is too much to give up the comfort of standing huddled with rotting strangers. Moo, you cattle! Oh moo, you silly things! Moo until your hearts are so content they die! Just like your brains have.

Come my people. Don't lead or follow. Stray from the herd. Rid yourselves of the complacency of ordinary responsibilities. Leave the hard life. Live easy. Recognize the insanity of organized life and dwelling. Mark my words on your bodies. But don't worship them as gospel. Realize their monotony. Grasp that they've been spoken and heard a million times before. And that the insight of their repetition has as well.