As I walked along the shore
I saw a young boy tossing stranded starfish back to the sea. I said, “Tell me why you waste your time? it doesn’t matter”
And he said, “It matters to this one.”
And then I kicked his sawed off little ass and told him “being stranded on the shore is Natures way of killing off the starfish that are too stupid to stay out of the shallows at low tide. You’re fucking with the natural order of things”
FUCK the natural order. After 50 years I’m sick and tired of tha tall hansome guys from rich families getting all the breaks while short smart guts like me work to make them look productive .
The natural order says graduates of ivey league schools get to rule the country even though there is no objective measure to show they are more suitable to do so.
STARFISH of the world unite!
But really, it didn’t matter to that starfish in your story because it was never going to be more than crab food anyway.
Yeah, but for a while, the starfish lived.
Go, make a mark.
Anyone got some good starfish recipes? Waste not, want not!
Jim
Sunk New Dawn
Galveston, TX
roflmao
‘Stand upright with one leg in sand.
Tenderize with .22.
Repeat until out of dumb starfish.’
Making a difference
I was walking along the shore one day after a winter storm. The beach was empty, save a solitary figure working at something in the distance. As I walked, I saw him stooping down periodically and working at something, and then picking something up and throwing it. As I walked, he repeated this action many times. As a came closer I saw him repeat this over and over. I came up to him as he worked and asked him what he was doing. He was an older man, distinguished looking, with gray hair. He looked over at me with a twinkle in his eye, and raised a gleaming meat cleaver over his head and brought it down again and again on a starfish lying there helplessly.
“Goddamncocksuckingmotherfuckingasslickshiteatingstarfish!†he swore as he turned it into an unrecognizable hash of flesh. His lips curled and spittle flecked from his furiously working lips as he swore. He picked up the unrecognizable pieces of protoplasm and hurled them back up the beach, where they would dry in the merciless cold sun.
“Why are you doing that? There are thousands of those starfish washed up on this beach. You can’t possibly kill them all. What difference do you think you can possibly make?â€
He looked over at me with a quizzical look, took a moment and said; “Well, it sure made a fucking difference to that one, didn’t it? And anyway, why don’t you mind your own fucking business?â€
Brian, you are my new favorite person.