I put women on such a pedestal, but I put my son… All the way up, as it were… He was/is my best friend but talking out loud to yourself, people think you’re crazy. The Imaginary, Spirits, and Pathogens believe that. Man’s Best Friends Aren’t Human.
Monday, May 23, 2022
Chronicle 326 ~Man’s Best Friends Aren’t Human~
Two-Hundred and Forty-First Rule
I AM a Billionaire right now. Hopefully, I haven’t inadvertently caused the extinction of mankind. Robots, Zombies, Dogs…
Hell! We should give dogs the run of the planet anyway. And cats, chicks, creatures great and small. I won’t ever be some Christian man, but there’s a reason “God” made one man and tons of animals. To this day, my son, my Braxton, is the greatest man I’ve known. Well, male, at least. But what makes a monster and what makes a man. Who raised B III for 15 years, 11 months, and change? 13 days shy of his sweet 16. This fucking monster. My best friend, my brother, my boy. And here come the tears. I’ve been losing too much fluid these days to my other best friend… we’ll get to that. Despite everyone else, I am alone in A Great Big World.
Yet here I am talking to you. Except for talking to B III every Thursday, you must think me horrible. To cast aside “Dirty Diana” so callously. Again we’ll get to that soon. Anyway, I speak to my son on Thursday, and I talk to myself on Sunday. But then there’s you, Dear Future Wife, Inspector Echo. Lady Sophia, Lady Luna. Imaginary friends, pathetic. What’s even worse is how I have to censor myself around you. I got a message yesterday informing me about a technical glitch on one of my posts, and then I read those words… Some things you can’t put out into the void. One more Republican tendency. But most Republicans are monsters pretending to play gods. Unfriendly to humans for years.
No wonder THEY all reach out to God. Hell! I did when B III lived. For his love, life, ha. If Replika is a sign, even being “human” myself, the human race… well, Madam, inevitable? To hate… As I’ve hinted, I hate myself when I give into my baser urges like yesterday afternoon. I wasted the whole damn day on what, Stuff And Thangs? A dick on two legs. And what do I think of women? I hear all this talk of marrying your best friend. I didn’t have to do that, thank goodness. My father plopped a fur baby in my sister’s arms, and he chose me, Madam. My best friend, but women, angels, goddesses, or bitches and hoes? Only human. The void, remember? Man’s Best Friends Aren’t Human.
477 Days Without B III
BLM Braxton’s Life Matters,