Everybody Look What's Going Down

Everybody Look What's Going Down:

"I'm getting pretty sick of trying to talk to you people.

Oh, not you personally, I suppose. I'm sure you're a thoughtful, intelligent, generous, worthwhile member of human society, a credit to yourself and your family's name, and the world is better for your being in it. For all I know, you may even read books.

I guess it's the great mass of men that frustrates my periodic forays into dialogue. These would be the same great group of putative sapiens who drove poor Henry to his cabin in Walden woods, many a monk to a mountaintop, and Henry Louis Mencken to his typewriter to the enduring delight and sustenance of lesser practitioners of his sarcastic art such as I.
So here's where I am today, and this is what I have to say and I'll deviate from my usual route by posting my complaint here boldly, not yet two hundred words into our proceedings, perhaps thus to snare one or more of those who habitually quit my longer, more layered excursions in disgust when no point has risen before their attention spans have timed out.
The National Security Administration (whatever, exactly, that is, and whomever, precisely, it answers to, and however many hundreds of millions of dollars it gets from those few of us earning under a hundred thousand dollars a year and thus paying any taxes at all) has a list of all the telephone calls you make and of all the calls you receive. This includes the messages from your mistress and from the married man you met in a sports bar in Portland one winter night to test out your feeling that you might be 'bi-curious'. They know about your son's calls from jail, your daughter's pregnancy and VD scares, the flurry of communications between you and the
'Financial Management Expert' that led to your purchase of several embarrassing stocks, as well as the several calls"