No Hero

First responders run toward explosions, toward blood and mangled bodies. They are heroes, the saints of our degraded and violent nation. Heroism is all we have left. Bathos is all we have, sentimentality wrung as from an automotive sponge by the president, while his buff wife surreptitiously feels her own hard biceps.

I tried to tell the FBI my theory, that the Boston Marathon Bombing was the work of the Obese Liberation Army (OLA), but they hung up on me after telling me never to call them again, after telling me that I was not a hero, would never be a hero, was not even a Veteran, that all that was left for me was a Disability Claim for a Psychological Disorder.

I felt defeated when I saw the video captures of the perps, not obese at all. There went my theory down the tubes. There went my contribution to my country.

If you see something, say something, and I saw this in my mind, saw it in a dream, bitter fat people blowing up the fit and those who cheer the fit, those who worship air and light, as the Nazi’s did, those who worship control and self-control.