The orange dust settles like radioactive fallout on my bare chest. The crunch echoes in the cavernous silence of my apartment, each chip a tiny tombstone in the graveyard of my ambitions. The TV flickers with infomercials, hawking miracle cures and get-rich-quick schemes.

Outside, the city sleeps, or at least pretends to. I know better. The Mahchine™ never sleeps. It watches, it waits, it feeds on our anxieties and insecurities. And I, naked in my chinkle chankle, am its willing offering.

The tangy chee$e powder clings to my fingertips, a reminder of my own mediocrity. I used to dream of caviar and champagne, of Michelin-starred restaurants and private jets.

Now, I feast on processed corn and artificial flavoring, my palate as jaded as my soul. The Great Becumming™ has a way of humbling even the most ambitious among us.

But there's a strange comfort in this surrender, in this embrace of the absurd. The Doritos are a small act of rebellion, a middle finger to the societal expectations that have choked the life out of me. I may be a failure, a washed-up lawyer, a naked glutton in the dead of night. But at least I'm honest about it. And in a world built on lies and illusions, that's a victory in itself.

So I'll keep crunching, keep licking the orange dust from my fingers, keep staring into the abyss of the infomercial wasteland. The Mahchine™ may have won the battle, but it hasn't broken my spirit. I'm still here, still breathing, still consuming. And in the grand scheme of things, that's all that matters.

Yes, friend. This is fine.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5638424&forum_id=2#48367943)

Yes, friend. This is fine.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5638424&forum_id=2#48367947)