And So We Begin.

New Jersey is my muse.  In some sick sadistic fashion whenever I leave I always want to come back.  Similar to the idea of returning to the scene of a crime, this state is my addiction.  There's a certain appeal connected to a town I live in called Voorhees.  Is it the soft rolls of the double o's and e's, or maybe the similarity with horror classic icon Jason Voorhees of Friday The 13th?  In actuality, neither.  It's odd since the only real connections I have here are my discoveries of marijuana, skateboarding, and pornography.  There's no appeal about it other than being the epicenter of the epicenter of another cultural revolution, or shall I say downfall.
Jersey blew up on the map via MTV's so-called reality TV show The Jersey Shore, which portrays douche-bag guidos and guidettes basking in the limelight of reoccuring drunken friday night drama.
It's to my generation I show pity upon for their unnecessary relation to such bland "superstars," for stupidity adorned a new wardrobe.
Some may blame the downfall of society on an albino cum guzzling rap artist making dick and fart jokes, but the steady decline inched closer as moral decay started to show it's yellow, stained and chipped teeth on the 6 o'clock news.
Life altering events became shadows in the backdrop of celebrity gossip as we adapted those details into our lives.  We then craved the drama of television to stop being a vicarious stooge and become one with our existence.  The keyword to a healthy relationship: Drama.
Text messaging leapt up into the mouths of babes and tapped 6 6 6 in our soul.  We became a Helen Keller clan, with the sight thing going good for them of course.  But there is no tounge in the mouth of society anymore, only an empty dial tone that died out somewhere between 9/11 and Katrina.
These chain reactions set true the marching orders across the land.
Perhaps the last remaining domino that set everything into effect for the past 10+ years fell with the debut of reality television.  The necessity of seeing not doing, wishing but not attaining, lying down and letting life's evil dick penetrate the empty, cavernous steeple called a skull until the black carriage we all fear and loom at all hours eventually arrives.  I could be wrong, but nonetheless the evidence speaks for itself.
This state of Jersey has an inability to climax with others, yet sprouts a hefty erection admiring all its' fine qualities in the mirror.
As Jerseyians we've all indoctrinated a sort of false set of appeasement and happiness.
Well Mother, happiness is a warm gun, and I do have quite a smile on my face.