The European mind could never comprehend the lifestyle of the American Stress Machine. The American Stress Machine you ask? You know it. You’ve felt it, and if not, its just the thing you’ve always felt. Always known. Like the frog born to a pot of hot water, you’ve got an inkling. Although the older frogs, and some of the young ones with inheritances, (either financial inheritances, and therefore have a vested interest in the status quo. Or even the poor fox news adjacent frogs. Who carry the spirit of their previous generational frogs, and although they’ve never seen it, they can remember in their genome what it must have been like to have the whole world as your outhouse.), scoff at statements such as “Isn’t the water a little warmer this year?”.

Frogs asside, and with recognition that the human experience isn’t all that different. Whether pre-colonial Incan slave clearing up the gore on the pyramid steps waiting your turn, or modern day Indian (India indian you see) child pulling molten polyester from whirring machines, we all about have the same life. Born, love, breath, lose, die. Yet differences there are! In language and culture and belief. Our movies and media span the globe. Perhaps the Frenchmen has some idea about what its like to drive trucks and shoot guns from his viewing of Transformers. But he doesn’t live it everyday. As I do.

May the sacrificed slave’s life bring water. May the Indian be reincarnated as something peaceful. Maybe a frog.

Imagine if you will, the colonizers arriving at this whole new continent. As wide and fruitful as all the known world, maybe more so. As if we discovered a second earth now! Just on the other side of the sun, thus undiscovered by cosmic chance. Untouched and unplundered by man. The frontier. The opportunity. The freedom! Would you not be on the first ships!

In so many short years and generations this whole new world is covered east to west, head to toe. There is so much, too much. We could never run out. Go Go Go. Seize seize seize. Arrive at the now. With that spirit of exploration, appreciation, drive, wait no, with that spirit of the conquerer. Take take take. Mine mine mine. How is this manifested? Well I was born in a city. To air conditioning. To two parents in a single family home with its own yard, in a suburb. Two cars. A mortgage. A financial collapse. A marriage that maybe wasn’t the best idea. Ok so now you have two houses. Four cars now. And school and telling the pledge. And the advent of social media. In high school you can film, photograph, post, see, 24/7. And the movies say to drink. And try weed. And how cool are cigarettes! You guys across the pond can atleast understand that. And you gotta work. At 15 to get your own car! And graduate high school! And then you need to make a hundred thousand dollar rest of your life decision and choose an industry. There are so many to choose from! But it boils down to two choices really. Interpretive dance and love and finding yourself, or oil/gas/military industry. They BOTH cost you untold debt. BUT one of them you can pay off and buy a house and contribute. And the other you, well, you serve coffee to the people on their way to make our nation safer, or more energy deficient, or whatever.

So put yourself in the shoes of the morning coffee drive thru consumer. Not so much do we wear suits and that, but you can imagine a good contemporary hair cut and something sharp. With the pointy leather shoes that show ankle. And put yourself in something nice. If it isn’t a huge SUV, or truck, at least something fuel inefficient and fast. Something you’d get PISSED if you got as much as a door ding right? Its early. Sun rising. Crank the AC already. Fuck a window open, fuck the morning air. All the better to listen to my podcast news media station ads. Put that shit on 1.5x speed. I need more info. Need the updates the currents. Suck down your latte. Suck down the slave laborer sourced, cow life ending juice, delivered within minutes by those damn hippies. Although yeah you imagined that little dyed hair item bouncing in your lap, maybe even hit on them. Didn’t tip though. Or tipped 50%. Can’t remember. Sip the stimulate anyway. Fuck it, light a fag. Or pop in one of those new politician endorsed nicotine pouches. Two stimulants in. You’re commute is 40 minutes. (Yeah, by car eurotrash. Can you believe that?) Hit the high way. Merge at 80mph. Slow to 20. Gas brake, gas brake, gas brake, gas brake, horn. Yell. Stimulant. Podcast on productivity. Gas Gas. Brake brake. Turn red with anger. Its 8:30am.

Get to the office. Sit down. Do absolutely NOTHING for 8 hours in a seated position. Quietly judge and be judged by the other stiff necks. Sit through a meeting. See the guy who does less than you get paid more than you. Get a fucking grease mass produced burger for lunch. Unknown chemicals mixing with the aforementioned stimulants. Hit another cup of coffee at noon. Whatever.

Make the commute again. But even redder in the face. Its a blur. You don’t have any time. There’s not time. Coming down now off your stimulants. Sun setting. Get something delivered for dinner. Do not speak to your family. Give your child an Ipad. Let the dog get fat. Haven’t walked him. Its just concrete outside anyway. I don’t even know how to fall asleep or else I would describe that. It usually involves masturbation and phone scrolling until I come to the next day. Putting on my leather shoes with the gold buckle.

See and thats just one day in the life. We didn’t even talk about violence guns and Ukraine. That was just one day. Just a 24 hour period. What a life eh! And you couldn’t even a make it a mile in our shoes. We live in the stress machine baby!! If you ain’t sprinting (doesn’t matter what direction) you ain’t living. You aren’t trying. You aren’t doing your part. All this bullshit about community. What existed beyond my 4 walls, the news man, and my vehicle??? Nothing! I rule here! The American Stress Machine is freedom! There’s not room for anything else!

And play a round of golf on sunday!