A bugman is your typical big left leaning city dweller. He is usually obsessed with consumerism, lining up to purchase the newest iPhone or MacBook when it comes out, and using a smartwatch/smart home speaker for longer than the week after he bought it. Chances are he owns other throwaway smart gadgets as well. All his tastes in movies, music, expensive food, art, and more are determined by what review sites and blogs say.
Everything about his personality and life is not defined by who he is, but by what he buys and his consumerist tendencies. He’ll be subscribed to at least one, maybe multiple subscription services, he’ll happily use social media and upload all of his information to the cloud, and he’ll gravitate towards things that seem “rational” and use big words.
In fact, their social media use defines a lot about who they are, as they try to get the most likes on social media bragging about their life and viewing the lives of others who do the same.
Yet there is something big missing about their life, something that can be seen in their face. Something that can be seen the minute you strip away all the consumerist choices and realize, there’s nothing else. Their lives are empty, hollow, and all about serving corporations, until they die, and this is seen in their empty insectoid stare that implies they’re dead inside, giving them the name bugmen.
Did you see that bugman standing in line waiting for the new iPhone X?
Yesterday, I flew home from Florida where I had celebrated my mother’s 90th birthday on November 9th with family, neighbors, and friends I hadn’t seen in thirty years or more. I had the polar opposite flight experience from exactly one year ago when I was returning home after 89. Last year I was verbally assaulted by a deranged female Clintonista who I am convinced would have hijacked our plane and flown it into Mar-a-Lago…if she knew how to fly. But, as I’ve discovered about Trump-haters, she sure could scream! Yesterday, my travel companion was one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. And to my delight, Judy was a pistol-packing, Trump-loving patriot grandma from the Jersey suburbs of Philadelphia. Night and day people…night and day.
Here’s my point in the Bugman/Clintonista Psycho story. Because they are of this world, their life is one slow motion toilet flush (counter-clockwise south of the equator). No matter how firm and secure their grip, or how big their castle (Just ask Harvey, Kevin, or the Podesta Brothers).
We are only here for Him.