There’ve been some heavy-duty pits here lately – against psycho killers, criminal alcoholics, and the like… but here’s one for all the folks out there who are just plain garden-variety sorry.
You know who you are.
You left those carts out in the Wal-Mart lot taking up a parking space 15 yards from the return bay, cause you were too lazy to walk your fat ass over there after rolling 50 pounds of sugar-and-white-flour-laden pseudofood to your Impala.
You tossed those Dairy Queen bags in the back of your pick-up and let them blow out onto the highway.
You dumped your trash down the side of the hill on route 29.
You let your kids run amok in the Big K while you shopped for plastic gewgaws, diet pills, and Soap Opera Digest.
You cussed out your mother on your cell phone in the post office in front of God and everybody.
You poured motor oil and antifreeze down the storm sewer where it went straight into the river.
You dropped your half-empty bag of popcorn slathered with artifical imitation nondairy butter-food substitute on the floor of the movie theater, where you talked out loud during all the best parts, telling your friend and everyone within earshot what was about to happen.
You blamed your teachers because your kids have no discipline.
You smoked and drank while you were pregnant, smoked and got drunk in the house while the kids were at home, and never bothered to vote.
Maybe in this world of suicide bombs, environmental degradation, famine, AIDS, and riot, all these little things don’t seem very important. But they are. Because folks who don’t care enough to lift a digit to do any better than this sure as hell aren’t gonna be part of the solution.
What’s worse, you’re putting your own children behind the 8 ball.
Is it any wonder Jesus never said, “Blessed be the sorry”? For they shall be the death of us all.