freedom

Siya and I have debated the definitely-not-happening animal uprising, World War Zoo, in this space many, many times before. But this may be the first time I’ve actually had to concede a point to Siya. He’s right: our pets are breaking free. But not to start a war with humans. No, that would be ridiculous and require organization and planning that our neocortex-less counterparts just aren’t capable of. Instead our furry friends are breaking free for the right reasons. Because they can, man. Because they can.

Look at that dog run! Look how free he looks! Look how HAPPY he is! You can’t tell him NOTHING. He’s gonna run the bases and ya’ll can just wait for him to be done running. Look at those little legs! Look at that tiny tongue! Look at that wild weiner! That’s a one pooch party. What’s up shortstop; you ain’t fielding this grounder! See ya, later security; can’t cuff this canine! Oh hey pet owner; can’t leash the beast! The PARTY beast!

They said it was to be a short race for a bunch of short dogs. But dude, you can’t tell tell that dog how to live its life. That dog’s decided for himself, thank you very much.

raisins in the sun Lordy, lordy look who’s forty! Seriously forty of these… that’s a whole new layer of insanity for me. When we started this blog, Siya told me I wouldn’t make it past the first week doing Potato Of The Day. WELL LOL AT YOUR FACE SIYA. HOW DO YOU LIKE ME NOW, HUH, PUNK? HOW ABOUT THEM RAISINS?
{Siya’s note: Ben, umma let you finish but, that’s just not the saying}

You know those times in your life where you just kind of go through the motions while waiting for something better to happen? This post is one of those times. I mean yeah, it’s the 40th Potato Of The Day. But 40 isn’t that great of a number, unless you’re talking malt liquor. 40 is just arbitrary milestone, a rest-stop on the highway of life where you can pat yourself on the back, think back on your legacy, and ponder where the fuck you’re actually going with this post. Honestly, I can smell that three day Memorial weekend. It’s tantalizingly close. It’s like, half a day away you guys. Why are we still staring at these damn screens, these infernal flaming LCDs! Why?!

Let’s all shout a collective fuck it, and join those raisins in the sun. Fuck these cubicles and office buildings, fuck walls and ceilings, fuck small talk and work memos. Fuck it all. Let’s run away together. You, me, those partially in-focus raisins. Let’s just drink up the weekend, swallow the sun, digest the outdoors. This isn’t a want. This is NEED. You need it. I need it. We need it.

If you’re a boss and you’re reading this right now, let your employees go! (Meaning let them go home, don’t go General Sherman on the bridges that are your employees bro. Not cool.) Free them out into the wild! Let them live! I mean seriously, how fucking productive do you really think anyone is being right now? It’s seconds to midnight on the weekend doomsday clock. Generous rounding has us there already. Do your best Moses, bossman. LET MY PEOPLE GO.

And to the rest of you, deep breaths. You’re almost there. We’re almost there. We’ll soon be dried up grapes baking in the sun. Together. Here’s to us. Here’s to 40. Here’s to freedom.