Drinking The Kool Aid
America has become a culture of calamity. FBS
Bored with his life,
he got a part-time gig
in the Happiness Industry.
Six hours a day,
four days a week,
he tried to dispense Joy to
the luckless, forlorn masses.
It didn’t work out quite
as he imagined it might.
They consistently spurned
his comforting morsels,
preferring to revel
in their victimhood
and dose themselves
with the drugs of despair.
It became a joyless way
to make a few extra bucks.
So he quit and resigned
himself to anguish,
up-ended the pitcher
and drank deeply of
dejection and woe.
Things fell into place.
He was surrounded
by many glum chums.
The wonders of melancholy
opened up to him.
Suffering felt normal.
He’s more at home
in his country now,
more like the others,
a satisfied member
of the miserable crowd,
content to complain,
weep, and moan out loud.
