Don’t Steal the Taco Truck

I sat down, full-hearted, with interest in illumination. It’s been a while, I thought. We should share, or rant, or educate. Embrace your ego and rain knowledge down upon thy neighbor, you every-other-day creature of conceit. You’re in the moment. Briefly genius. Say something for Bob’s sake!

Don’t steal the taco truck. That’s all I got. Don’t steal the taco truck, you selfish hungry fucks.

A week of life. Work, sleep, work, eat, work, eat, sleep, work. TV! Work, sleep, work. Social media. News. Conversation. Don’t forget the emotions. All the bobdamned emotions. Don’t forget the emotions. Laughter! Don’t forget to make ‘em laugh, Jack. Talk some shit and send them away laughing.

“Don’t steal the taco truck?”

Shut the fuck up about the taco truck and talk about this ridiculous world. Make it make sense. Shout truth into the void. Say. Something. Relevant. Don’t say it…

Don’t steal the taco truck.

What does it mean? Where’s the metaphor? Or is it an analogy? You tell me! I’m just a dude, in love with a dog, trying to hit content on a Saturday morn. Maybe if I just keep typing, something will come along. Maybe if I just keep at it…something worthy will come along. Maybe. Maybe? Just keep typing and you’ll get there, like taking a walk. You eventually get there. Because there certainly isn’t anything else on your to-do list that’s been making you feel overwhelmed by your own ambitions (er…methods of avoidance), nothing else you could be doing to make you feel like you’re using your time wisely and effectively. Nothing. At. All.

Don’t steal the taco truck.

That’s all I got?

That’s all I got.

Dammit.