corprate fucks

corporate slimes. networking cheese sleaze. all so you can clink glasses at that place down the street with the brass handrails, marble sinks, and mahogany bar. and laugh that god awful laugh. toasting and sipping $10 martinis. beefeater. belevedere. its alll in your last name. on the tag of your jacket. the tailor of your pants. the leather of the back of the animal you wear on your feet. the soft and luxurious pelt your wife wraps herself in when you go to 'functions'. but do you love her? shes just part of the package. shes the last piece of the american dream puzzle for the upper echelon. if you had it your way, maybe you would have been a farmer, or a lumber jack, or a plumber. naw. you believe it doesnt get any better than this. this is what everyone wants and you have it. you love that. you love that more than your wife. but maybe not more than your 60K auto. donate your money, but you wouldnt lift a finger, or get in the mud to physically help those you make your donations. you dont see things like me. you and i are much different, friend. you think everyone is your friend. are you sure they arent just friends of your money? or is it just your insecurities which subconsciously makes you label every person you've ever spoken with your 'friend'? your best man from college rugby. your barista at the local starbucks. waht about that cafe down the street?