A Cure for the Common MemeMatt Cox
Mallards and beaver rats clash over scraps of stale bread. The scene is gruesome. Some stand and cheer from the sidelines. Though moved, we merely watch from the bleachers, toss the occasional crust into the mix. Armed to the teeth but unsure of our targets, we keep the guns tucked under our shirts. That, at least, is how it looks from here, watching the action replay on TV. This feels something like relief. Lies are more simple. In Homer you always know who you're getting. But the gods would make a meal of us for sure, if only they could pry themselves from the tube for a minute or two. We're their favorite show, and seem to them too much like themselves. The trick: to know what and why and how to forget.
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