America is a rural nation, corn-fed and sex-starved,

finding satisfaction in a Bud and a Bible, leaving the heavy thinking and the hard drinking to those who gravitated to the bright lights and the long nights. America is a cow grazing on fields of time, clock ticking. The Northeast is the brains; the Pacific Coast is the business end of recycling and reproduction, fucking and farting. The Midwest contains the internal organs and heavy machinery; the South is the seamy underbelly, tits to the task; the West is a vast side of beef, awaiting the day of reckoning and rendering. America wants common sense back in the world without realizing that there was never common sense in the world. Our ancestors crowded onto boats with little thought as to what lay on the other side except that it couldn’t be any worse than what lay at home. The days of amber waves of grain and purple mountains majestic are numbered and available for hire. Automated tractors turn circles in circular fields while conveyor belts carry eggs to market. Tourists flock to the mountains to see if there’s anything they forgot. Things have never been better for the average individual.

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