My Problem with Authority

Wise men tell me that I have to choose themes in order to write stories. I don’t like it when people tell me what to do because I want to do it by myself. Henceforth, the subject matter of my forthcoming blog will be my overarching problem with authority and various ways to subvert or “stick it” to the man.
It all started like this. I was sitting on my front porch rocking back and forth, to and fro, fro and to on my black garage sale rocker when a gyroscopic policeman stood in the driveway with his chin up when it should have been down. He wanted me to take my brew back into my house and to stop being so boisterous. I looked at that scoundrel, batted my eyelashes, and gave him a little come hither with my really long index finger. Today was the day. The man would not take me down. I would take the man down to the basement where I would give him a nice blow-j. To be honest, I just took a liking to him even though I’m an anarchist. That cop, he was as cute as a button on a grandma’s titty, but he wasn’t as cold as a witch’s titty, thank Allah. Guess what though. I bit his peener off.
NO ONE will tell me what to do, not even that old scooter brain I call a boyfriend. He tried to tell me to turn on the TV when I just didn’t want it on, so I’ll tell you how much I hate authority. When he was sleepin’ sound, I put his hand in a bucket of hot water and he damn right pissed all over the bed, but I realized that he’d pissed on my 400 count Egyptian cotton sheets and I wanted to kill the scallywag. It’s okay though. It just goes to show I can undermine myself without even intending to.
My problem with authority is so strong that I want to bludgeon the authoritarian group who systematized sound. I will subvert you dear sirs as soon as I get out of this fucking fly bottle. I can subvert everything if I want because no one is the boss of me. I can turn the earth upside down even though that makes no sense because it’s a sphere. I will cut the earth in 2 and put each half flat-spot up. That’ll show them. Fuck the police, even though I love the taste of swine. Fuck me, fuck the free world, and fuck my mom too. I don’t like it when she tells me, ‘Tabitha pick up your legos.’ I hate her. She needs to pick them up, I simply don’t want to and I don’t care what anyone says. I decided to set a booby trap. I connected a buzzer to my mom’s larynx and every time she tried to tell me what to do, I pressed my little remote control and her voice vibrated. Now she’s too scared to talk.
I am the voice of the next revolution! Did I just here you say that you don’t think any of my problems are worthy of mention? Well, listen here toodley wigs. The man will bring you down too. He wants to bring everyone down, even the pretty ones. McDonald’s whispers in Cindy Crawford’s ear, “Eat me you little beauty pumpkin hyacinth sugar baby Swedish fish.” Totally transfixed, Cindy forgets to pick up her children from school and she is drawn to McDonalds as birds are drawn towards the magnetic fields of the poles. A lonely little fry in the corner yells, ‘There’s no better way to go than to go through Cindy Crawford’s mouth and intestines and excrement!’ Cindy gobbled up her happy meal like a crocodile devours a freshly hunted wildebeest both with grace and pride.
I have devised a plan for the plebeians among you to join forces with the revolution. Here are a few things to consider. You can burp all the time. Poop your pants during your Naturalization ceremony. Burn the dictionary. Eat your best friend’s mom. Chew Tylenol. Don’t drink your juice; pour it on your head. And I’ll tell you what I’m going to do tomorrow morning. I’m going to stand on the top of the Empire State Building and scream at the top of my lungs, “IN ALL THAT IS SHINGLE STYLE, I RENOUNCE THE INDUSTRIAL REVOLUTION! FUCK THE ROBBER BARRONS! LONG LIVE JULIA MORGAN!!”