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We're stuck in this, most weirdest of periods of human civilization, where douchebags roam freely, and have outfitters that are capable of catering to almost any level of taste, and will do exactly that for a buck. Suburbia seems to grow evermore malignant with each passing decade, and so many assholes are couched in lives of ostentatious comfort without ever having to think deeply about what that means. There's something about driving an hour to work, being bitched out by middle-management all day, driving an hour home, and having nothing but strip malls, video games, tv and the internet to show for it. A fraction of these people have romantic relationships with a significant other (as parsimonous and avaricious as they), and the rest suffer a solitary existence, but maybe with a circle of familial relations that don't actually help matters. With that, empathy becomes effaced in the slow acid bath of an eight hour (or longer) work day, and then incinerated by the blow torch of a lifetime wasted on spare time in a place where nothing else can be afforded beyond transportation, processed food, and a boondoggle or two to keep you sane enough that you don't snap and kill any of your peers. Every now and then one miserable suburbanite proves useful enough to be rewarded with a looser collar and a longer leash. This is where the unapologetic, leering McMansion enters the picture. |