(E.g. "Psst! Didja hear that fresh dog shit rubbed in a carefully tight counter-clockwise spiral has been curing your ail for generations?")

The verbiage here is far too similar to this song to be coincidental, right?

YouTube link

Yes: but.

Older generations having hopelessly flawed relationships, a time-honored tradition that ties us all together. I'm suspecting that my grandfather has disowned the rest of his family. After bartering off all 100+ acres of high-quality land so that his second-time-married third wife (does that make her his third AND fourth wife? Do marriages work like presidential terms?) can Hoover up every single last dollar he owns before she leaves him, we now seemingly can't get ahold of him anymore. Getting older is realizing how not-rosy everything in life really is. It sucks learning the amazing people you idolized as a kid were really just alright at best.

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~inquiry wrote:

>> (E.g. "Psst! Didja hear that fresh dog shit rubbed in a
>> carefully tight counter-clockwise spiral has been curing
>> your ail for generations?")
>
> The verbiage here is far too similar to this song to be
> coincidental, right?
>
> YouTube link (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZFWiJAYmADQ)

Never heard it before, and now hope never to again. :-)

> Getting older is realizing how not-rosy everything in life
> really is.

In that sense, roses are definitely the most mythical of flowers.

> It sucks learning the amazing people you idolized as a
> kid were really just alright at best.

The internet, "legacy news media", and most recent US presidential election have possibly permanently destroyed my formerly higher opinions of all but a relative few.

For example, I've been corresponding with a high school classmate for, oh, roughly 40 years, and he was suddenly arguing with me as though a hypnotized zombie psychopath about election "facts", to the point where I finally had to say, "Let's please just agree not to try to argue with faith".

Definitely a case of being in utterly distinct movies, which of course (in my view) goes to the power of the well nigh impenetrable cocoon of the stories we perpetually tell ourselves about reality.

I'm pretty sure we'll survive it, but I'll likely never think the same of him again.