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Slug Head

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.

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