We Are Still Divided

The world is still divided, between you and me, baby, you and me.

We all want to be rockstars. Nobody wants to be a roadie.

We all want to be young renaissance ninjas. Actually we’re turtles with sensible names and jobs to do.

We all imagine we could climb the mountain. But most of us wouldn’t know a bee if it stung us on the ass. And who will carry our oxygen?

We all think we’re herding cats. Actually we’re all cats.

We’re not stuck in traffic. We are traffic.

We’re all part brontosaurus and part asteroid.

We’d love to know how anybody has time to be remarkable these days. Can you just give us the abbreviated version?

We win when they win. They lose when they forget we want to see good clean ball and for gawdsake feed the backs.

Meanwhile, we still don’t know how lucky we are. So if you’re not from around here please be sure to constantly tell us just how much you love it.

We are divided between those who have read Owen Marshall and all y’all.

It’s art. Put away the bloody camera, stand behind the line. And DON’T TOUCH.

We’d like to speak to the manager about Karen.

We are men and women or anything in between. The only issue is the enumeration.

Our body is our temple. And also a high-fructose corn syrup disposal unit.

We want to have our cake, eat it, and still have visible ribs afterwards.

We punch above our weight, but it’s getting harder.

We all anticipate our 15 minutes of fame. Meanwhile there are 5 million of us now, so there will be over 50,000 days of continuous reality television to watch as a result.

We are world class, on a per capita basis.

We think that property is too expensive. But mostly other people’s properties. Ours is about right — and frankly we have quite a lot of our net worth invested in it so would be a bit mortified to see that value drop, to be perfectly honest with you.

We also wish they would do something about poverty and youth suicide.

We understand the need to do the hard yards, but we switched to the metric system.

We aspire to be the kings, mentioned in books, but we can’t drag the boulders all by ourselves.

We’re vocal in asserting our rights but mostly silent about the corresponding responsibilities.

Have you got a moment to talk about your Lord and saviour: a fully plant-based diet?

We’re secretly omnivore, but could be convinced to fast intermittently.

Our chief weapons are: noise, repetition and sleep deprivation. We are all part CIA interrogator and part pre-schooler.

We would like to make the world a better place but we’re also quite busy and one of us needs to pick up the kids and take them to swimming lessons and what are we going to have for dinner?

Full credit to the opposition. But, actually, fuck those guys.

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