The Big Picture

Being forced to leave planet Earth just after the new millennium rolled around was sort of a mixed blessing for me. True, I no longer had my cushy service-industry job, where I could smart off to customers all day long on the phone and via e-mail without affecting the size of our customer database, whatsoever. And, of course, I no longer had the use of my comfortable recliner. No, it wasn’t a goddamn La-Z-Boy.

I didn't have my cable TV and VCR anymore, either. That’s right, I didn’t opt for the satellite feed to a big-ass, high-end home theater and TIVO deal because I liked paying less for the same shitty channels instead of being one of those sorry saps who gladly gave up half his monthly income to channel surf nonstop because all TV programming was the same. Nothing but belly buttons and butt cracks, crude humor, bed-hopping, tear-jerker family shows, sci-fi that is actually horror and fantasy, reality crap and 80% commercials. Did I miss anything?

I also didn’t miss having my sorry life controlled by subliminal advertising, ULF low-frequency mind-control beams the Air Force soaked us with day in and day out, or having to drag the garbage cans out to the curb in the rain, snow and freezing weather just because it was Wednesday.

But, no longer being able to call Earth my home also allowed me to see the forest for the trees, if you will. I now see planet Earth from a distance and that allows me to see it for what it really is instead of being unable to rise above the daily routine of eating, sleeping, pooping, praying, commuting and making whoopee long enough to actually get The Big Picture.

All right, all right, I know I’m rattling on and that’s because I’m still a little rattled about not having my cushy service industry job, my non-La-Z-Boy recliner and TV that wasn't worth watching, because all that crap was still a hell of a lot better than choking on Martian dust and looking over your shoulder for rogue Grays and marauding Reptilians all day long. So, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, OK, Smart Guy, and just what is the goddamn Big Picture?

Alright, so I’ll tell you, already. It’s pretty goddamn simple, actually.

The whole, big-ass, stupid, secret deal about planet Earth is that you’re all down there and you can’t leave except when you die (or get abducted and dumped somewhere else by aliens) and, in the meantime, the powers-that-be have got you all by the short hairs.

And, knowing that, you still look forward to your next drive-thru meal, American Idol and getting lucky on the weekends.

Why do I bother?

Editor's Note 4-6-13: No, none of the Fred Fortune posts are autobiographical tales about Michael Casher. Michael Casher was never a homeless bum from L.A. He was never a CSR who "hung up" on customers. He never stole a thing in his life and he was never employed by any kind of store. Fred Fortune is a fictitious character with a fictitious name and his life and times are fictional. For more information, read the sidebar texts. Thank you.