Karen, I think of you.
I meant to get in here last night and hang out, but I fell asleep watching the convention. The brief feeling of hope that TV shows can bring kinda just lulled me into a peaceful slumber.
I woke up this morning bummed. I've missed it here.
In any event, the bad vibes were haunting me throughout the afternoon that resulted in that general “meh” feeling that’s rendered from a day of funky energy. If I was to assign a fabric to this emotion, it would be corduroy.
Just think about corduroy. I’ll wait.
See what I mean? Meh.
Anyway, I got to thinking about people named Karen and Carol, and how life must suck for them in this era of assault on the “I want to see your manager” class in our society. I’ve got a mom named Karen, so this shit hits home, fam.
So, in an artistic effort to I wrote what could possibly be described as a poem:
Ode to Karen. Also, Carol
Hey. Karen. Carol.
Things are tough now, aren’t they?
And I don’t mean the incessant outing
the unenduring, ever escalating bouting
with customer service reps near and far.
I’m talking about this idea
Running rampant on social media
That you only give notice
of the world’s unrighted commercial wrongs.
But I know the truth, you American Queen
That someone has to see the unseen
to stand up and up and fight expirations
on perfectly good coupons
So when I think that my order
Couldn’t have come any slower
I’ll honor you, my muse,
with a Yelp! review that glowers.
It's artistic outbursts like these that make me remember why I didn't add comments on this blog.