My Cardboard Balcony

Mindless Zombies by Belinda Roddie You might say that the mindless zombies are the ones with their eyes Elmer glued to their smartphones. You might add, with sass, that the mindless zombies are the ones whose "eyes glaze over" from the vibrant TV screens. Perhaps, in the end, you'll retort that the mindless zombies are the ones who "like" every single post, but little do you know that the "mindless zombies" are more connected than before, and the human experience nourishes than better than brains; they cherish moments with friends more than feasting on cerebral cortices - and in the end, you are the mindless one for spewing your bullshit on Twitter with the hashtag stamped into your quivering poor excuse for a gray matter ideology dressed up as "wisdom."

Tell me, how does holding a banquet in your honor serving as nutrition to my allegedly "emaciated" enlightenment? And why does said banquet provide the head of a pig, which looks remarkably like the head of my father, before he passed away? I see you at the table, commemorating "long forgotten glory," while I debate which tine on my fork shall enter your left eyeball first.