• Ears

Ears started off cool because of things like music and warnings that a bus is about to run you over.

We get to listen to beautiful, intricate melodies and harmonies and rhythms and timbres and tempos and we can let them carry us across moods toward thoughts or emotions we couldn’t otherwise express.

We get to hear a bus coming so we miss getting hit by it.

Come nighttime, or other people’s sexy time, ears are not so cool. Because they don’t fucking close.

We’ve got eyelids, so we can close our eyes. That’s good for sleeping or not looking at something that you don’t want to see. Too much gore for you to handle while watching a horror film? Bam. Close your eyes.

Mouths. They close.

You can even close your nose, albeit manually, or just choose to breathe through your mouth if there is a particularly offensive odor wafting your way.

We have the option. 

Not so with ears.

They’re just out there, open, all the time. You want to sleep and your neighbor thinks he’s a musician? Well, you have to listen to it. Neighbors upstairs having sex while you’re trying to study? You have to listen to it.

All offensive sounds are in effect ear rape.

Marching band?

Alarm?

Traffic?

Siren?

Wedding?

Television?

Shouting match?

Birds?

Airplanes?

Drilling?

Motorcycle?

War?

Fran Drescher’s voice?

Two cats fighting and then getting it on?

Fuckhead in a lecture who purports to ask a question but in reality gives a rambling speech so that he can show off his knowledge of culture and hear the sound of his own voice in the only form of socially-acceptable public masturbation he knows?

 You have to listen to it. Earholes are always open.

Always.

Ears are always open. Like fucking whores. All the time.

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