hookersorcake:



Buzz Buzz Buzz, I Wonder Why He Does
The robots called again late last night. Their message is always the same.
“Beware! The bears are trying to steal your honey.”
We used to return their calls. Until we realized it was all an elaborate marketing scam. The bears had left the city years ago. All the honey had been locked up in vaults and under constant surveillance, probably by the very same robots.
I always have the dream after the robots call. I’m deep in the woods and theres a fire engine in the distance, slowly circling the forest as if it’s lost. The siren fades in and out throughout the day and night. Sometimes I smell smoke, but I never see a fire.
What I always do see is a bear in the parking lot of Taco Bell. The one on the other side of the highway. A huge old black bear with mattered hair with patches missing. He’s sitting on the curb licking an I-phone. Inside the Taco Bell the water runs red like blood.

hookersorcake:

Buzz Buzz Buzz, I Wonder Why He Does

The robots called again late last night. Their message is always the same.

“Beware! The bears are trying to steal your honey.”

We used to return their calls. Until we realized it was all an elaborate marketing scam. The bears had left the city years ago. All the honey had been locked up in vaults and under constant surveillance, probably by the very same robots.

I always have the dream after the robots call. I’m deep in the woods and theres a fire engine in the distance, slowly circling the forest as if it’s lost. The siren fades in and out throughout the day and night. Sometimes I smell smoke, but I never see a fire.

What I always do see is a bear in the parking lot of Taco Bell. The one on the other side of the highway. A huge old black bear with mattered hair with patches missing. He’s sitting on the curb licking an I-phone. Inside the Taco Bell the water runs red like blood.

Now the dreadful winter was come upon them. In the forests, all summer long, the branches of the trees do battle for the light, and some of them lose and die; then come the raging blasts, and the storms of snow and hail, and strew the ground with these weaker branches. Just so it was in Packingtown; the whole district braced itself for the struggle that was an agony, and those who’s time was come died off in hordes. All year long they had served as cogs in the great packing-machine; and now was the time for renovating it, and the replacing of the damaged parts.

Upton Sinclair- The Jungle