The Seven Deadly Sins by Hieronymus Bosch.
I apologize for starting a story yesterday without concluding it properly. In my defense, we currently live in an age of digression. Against my better judgment, I succumbed. In the future, I will be stronger. I will not allow whim and whimsy to dictate my actions. Without further introduction.
Superbia (Pride) by Pieter Bruegel The Elder. 1577.
Marco Richards was slated for bigger and greater things. He had it going on. There’s no denying it; he was full of moxie and chutzpah. What Einstein was for modern physics (The science, not the latest sex manual from Ikea™), Marco was for humanity. He was the last sparkle of a can of Coca-Cola® rapidly going flat. Sadly, like so many protagonists, he had one major flaw that would deny him from his destiny.
Did you know giraffes are the only animals better off living in a zoo?
I hate everything about the zoo. I’m never at ease at how I’m supposed to feel. Guilty? Superior? Hungry? Any way, it’s safe to say, it sucks to be an animal in a zoo. It’s like being 20 years old and placed in an old people’s home. To make things worse, like an old people’s home, it smells like savage piss and poo.
Artist’s rendering of a different race.
The tortoise crossed the finish line, winning the big race, in perhaps, the greatest upset of all time, excluding the ’85 Chicago Bears loss to the Washington Generals. It was debauchery to the nth degree, yet pure digression.
The sound of a switchblade and a motorbike.
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