by Fred Fagbag
I am an ignorant slug. I crawl along the bottom of society like the
garbagemen that pick up your trash in the early morning. I need no
justification for life, nor do I have any. I simply am. I use what I
need and shit out what I don't. This shit is sometimes what you see by
the side of the road. It is the old Coke can. It is the used rubber.
Sometimes this shit is ideas on bulletin boards, asking if someone wants
to buy something of mine. Other times my excrement is in the form of
my body, just sitting and watching as other slugs pass by and leave their
own little pieces of shit. Sometimes the real people leave shit behind
also, but this is of no interest to me. I am just like every other slug
in this world. Oh, I may look different on the outside from my other
brothers... but we are all the same. We are all made the same way, and
we all do the same things. We are the backdrop for the lives of the
normal people. We are the bum sitting on the park bench. We provide
a base on which to rest so you normal people can feel better about
yourselves and do the really important things. We drive at 30 M.P.H. on
the interstates in a 65 M.P.H. zone. You cuss at us, but you don't
realize we exist for the sole purpose of giving you a feeling that you
aren't as alone as you are. We take the jobs that no one else wants.
We are a monochrome image in your false color reality. You don't notice
us on a consicious level because if you did you would become too
interested in us, and we are not here for that. Sometimes you see us
fighting with a police officer over a ticket. But do you ever stop
and talk to us? No. That would violate the order of things, and we
can't allow that. Sometimes we are sitting next to you at a traffic
light and poking through a briefcase like it's something important. At
other times we may be behind you in the ticket line at the theatre talking
too loudly about things you never remember. Sometimes we are the fellow
in the toilet stall next to you stinking up the entire bathroom.
Sometimes we are the lady leaning on that same fellow's arm at a party,
drunk and making none too subtle references to nocturnal activities.
We are important and yet we are not important, and because of this you
are often confused by our activities. You could see me working at ten
different jobs each day and never realize that I am the same being.
Instead of noticing us, you file us away as background in the scenes of
your normal day. We are the gentleman you see sitting at the same table
each day at lunch for twenty years, but you never say more than a simple
greeting to us as you brush by us. Though you may not realize it, you
give us many things that we need. Aside from the basic needs for simple
survival you give much more. In a strange sort of way, you love us
because we provide a measure of sanity and regularity which would be
missing if we were not around. The comfort you feel when you step onto
a crowded street instead of an empty alley warms us. We bask in the
reflected comfort you feel at not ever seeming to be alone. We relish
the feeling of community you have at recognizing us when you are on your
way to work. But then, why shouldn't we? After all, just like you,
we slugheads are social animals also.