Thoreau Was Fake

by Steve Wardrip

Identifying fakes is one of my strong points and I don’t mind naming names because, as I single them out, I want everyone to know they singled themselves out, they garnered the glamour and fame themselves, them and their agents. The are not the innocents we perceived them as being. They sought fame and fortune and received it. They sought the spotlight. Now, I shine it upon them. Let the light of day know us for who we truly are.

Thoreau looked good on paper. That’s it. He was a wanker, lazy and not wanting to work and be told what to do. He was a rebel and that’s about it. He could write. A stubborn young fart that thought he was more special than anyone else. He wrote what he knew would make people think a certain way. He accomplished that. But what did he accomplish? Bullshitting people?

You know what, I think? Thoreau, with no woman or housemate, must have spent half his time masturabating, and the other half of the time lusting over it. Am I saying Henry David Thoreau was a hermit jack off? Yes, I am. All those years alone in that cabin. He must have cranked that wood burner up to 120 Degrees, piled on the covers and pretended he was banging a Polynesian babe on the beach complete with music, cocktails and tiki-torches while satisfying himself sexually. Did he walk ten miles through the woods to talk to a tree? Yes, he did. He wrote the thing on paper and with the same hand he relieved himself. Did he bitch about the local government and their taxes? Hell yes he did! He was selfish and though he was an exception to society. He was not an exception. He was a wanker. He was a fake. He didn’t really believe what he wrote in books. He just knew it would sell. Henry David Thoreau was a charleton.

Such is life. I may tell you I’m a poor old burnt out fart, but just the opposite is true. I am a constructive liar, just like the rest of you.