A disease afflicting modern post-modern people, in which after they have discovered meaninglessness, they set about to prove themselves worthy in some respect. Witness the pseudo intellectual antics of Bill Clinton with respect to his historical legacy or the half-baked ramblings and ruminations of Jon Katz about some new insight or other.

Most people never achieve their goal because they are ignorant or uninformed. But I am just bitter.

But we fairly drown in relevance, were we not so obsessed with finding plastic roses to smell.

I turned on the TV tonight (after a brief reintroduction and some small talk - "how ya doin', dude..." "long time, man...") and saw Exhibit A: charming, well-dressed droids (though Dr. Keyes really should shave) shadowboxing en masse through tonight's GOP debate in Phoenix. They scare me, I scare them. I pity them, chained to their respective scripts and strategies. I pity them - thought-bubbles escaped from each suit as their mugs were caught on camera (I watch a different CNN than you)... "I'd really like to see the grandkids..."; "Please don't ask me about China..."; "We can't pay the campaign staff next month..."; "Do I look butch enough...?"

Grab one of them real damn roses, Slick. I'd rather see you folks smile on the real side than sit here with my popcorn pitying you. Lose the suit, while you're at it - put on some jeans and an alma mater sweatshirt or something.

Alles ist gut. Stop craving that "Leader of the Free World" baseball cap.

I still think Quest for Fire was the better movie.

I'm sorry. What was the question again?

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