Victory For the Lazy

Nutjobs waxing destructively in the sunshine. As the malaise infected drunks stumble repetitively nowhere. In unknowing lockstep with everyone they hate. The elitism oozes both ways. There cannot be much fun in either smugness. The delineation between solitude and soliloquy. As the past becomes yore. And all becomes bore. The life of the unfettered frittered away in the struts of bored circular motion. So jealously angered at their ways. The delinquent evenings of poverty are cliché. It is all about the afternoons where the mold is broken. Otherwise its all the same as those you hate. Smugness is a mask befitting of liars. The swagger cool of nihilism wears thin with the observation of teat suckling. Independence of a legitimate sort is so hard to find. Because unfortunately true nihilism is more then rocks glass deep.