So, for lunch today I went to a local pizzeria where you can get a salad, drink and couple slices of pizza for $6.00. I hadn’t been in awhile and felt like something different than leftovers.

It’s a beautiful day and it’s taking all I have to overcome this tired-induced headache and not to intentionally crash into these dipshit drivers that plague our highways. "Get off the road you filthy rat bastards!" I knew I should have bought that paintball gun…

I pull into the parking spot and enjoy the warmth from the Sun because it won’t be too long ’till the fucker cooks me in the upcoming Texas summer. At this point I am just waiting for chipotle scented sunscreen lotion.

I walk in and immediately don’t recognize the staff. Expecting a small, family-operated pizzeria to keep regular staff with low-wages and high inflation must be a motherfucker for "Joe." (Aren’t all pizza shop owners named Joe?)

"Uh, I will have the number two lunch special. Pepperoni."

"Do you want house or ranch?"

"House."

I grab my salad, Diet Coke and go sit down. Above me I hear the reports coming from the TV about the plane crash in the Democratic Republic of Congo.

75 dead. 15 survivors.

"Two pepperoni’s!"

I get up and grab my pizza’s. The bastards are hot. Too hot. I have already learned my lesson and know what is in store if I get impatient: I will burn the roof of my mouth.

So I wait ’till they cool down and go back listening to some American reporter in Congo basking in his limelight of reporting on the awful deaths of some Congolese, (possibly) two Americans and an unknown amount of other foreigners.

"How many Congolese can afford to buy a plane ticket," I ask myself.

"Probably not many."

The fact that A) it was a plane crash and B) that Americans were on board are likely the reason CNN even gives a flying fuck.

I ask myself how many times CNN has provided breaking news on the more than five million Congolese who have, in the past ten years, died in wars and the countless millions more who have died or are suffering from poverty, malnourishment and easily preventable diseases like malaria.

By the time my thoughts complete these contemplations I have finished my lunch safe in the clutches of Suburbia, America.

I get into my 2007 Mazda 3 and my thought races to the receipt held to my refigerator with a magnet. The total for gasoline last night exceeded $44.00. Ouch! I consider driving over to Irving and invading Exxon/Mobil’s headquarters but I realize I can’t spare the gas!

I turn up the air conditioner and trek my two blocks back to work.

As I walk up to the doors I get ready to scan my badge and walk in. My desk isn’t too far from the main door and I quickly sit down and hit "ctl+alt+del." I sign on, check my messages and begin a new post.

"Troubling Thoughts on Congo"…

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