Look, Ma...

Let's be honest... Every day men are pushed further and further towards the complete relegation of their meathooks: hands-free this, voice-recognizing that, and motion-sensing the other. And when we are finally allowed to curl and gesticulate our bony digits they remain fruitlessly bound to plastic-pebbled tablets and rubber-riddled joysticks. While our forefathers used brick and stone to construct town halls and churches, today our "monuments" are built virtually of transient ones and zeroes.

Our changing lexicon reflects our evolution towards inactivity. When was the last time someone said they had just returned from the "tool shed" to mean a site for storing hardware instead of describing some ultra-lounge along the Sunset Strip? "Screwdriver" is a form of unwinding after a long weekday and "Saw" is another deplorable installment of Hollywood's latest profit-seeking bowel movement. Their spellings have remained identical while their souls have been replaced to what a marketing company's most recent focus group has deemed relevant and hip.

Even the best of us can become complacent if we are not vigilant. Thankfully, under the luckiest of circumstances, there can be hope in a swift ass-kicking from our friends; my compadre at Secret Service was kind enough to offer his boot by way of a Pinewood Derby. Quickly, I got to work:

So use those appendages God gave you. Build, blister, bleed. Just fucking create.