Hydroelectric hibernation and a speedometer

It is true to an extent that an angel (and most "celestial" beings) will tell his/her handler that he/she won't do it. You know, take out the trash, smite the wicked, run cable during the filming of a reality TV show, etc... Man on the other hand -- though some claim built on the fashion of a "celestial" being -- will always have a little bit more of beast in him than an angel and will therefore serve unconditionally and unquestioningly. That the beast part makes us savages of burden, is not the question here. Self-loathing, slowly turned liquid suicides, figures of authority, seed-spreading... all that crap counts to some kind of servient (or rather, subservient) goal. Take how tonight I polished off Monday's remaining red, still infused with its tannic goodness, before heading out to the South Miami "meet n' greet" at the Tavern. Couple of Castlers later I was hinted that upon bearing the presence of an alleged Alpha-Male with serious Thailandic pedophiliac notions we'd be calling the night short. And this was after the high of a very humorous black man telling us how important it was to stay on our meds because cocaine would fuck your ass up and how if you really needed to get your burn on with weed, the best thing to do was boil the shit so that it would become legal. Deranged, delusional, partially harassed by a K-9 unit; this man was above all: a complete genius.
So Jesse and I took our shenanigans across the street to the very poorly-lit Ozone nightclub for the Wednesday night "Morgue" ritual of obese and borderline retarded Gothic males and extremely hot and touchable Gothic females. We were instantly creeped out by a very large dancing robot who took it upon herself to Shanghai the stage and reenact epileptic seizures all over the place. We witnessed a group of Cenobites dance awkwardly for ten minutes before we took it to the pool room and handed a defeat to some sporty lesbians. We also saw some breasts and though Jesse and I will disagree on some particulars, I'll invoke the words of the mighty Lee Ving (Fear): "Some are big and some are small, but we ain't never seen a pair we did not like." At some point I used the bathroom and picked up a party bag of STD's based on smell alone -- though it is unconfirmed pending bloodwork. The 2-4-1 deal worked like a good slow turn should and soon we realized that in order to ever win and make something of this pathetic beast of burden life, we'd have to use the slow turn wisely before graduating to the fast turn. Form follows function. Function equals genuineness.