Friday, March 16, 2012

Language Is a Fat Butt

Mobilize yr appetite!  One potato, two potato...
I used to know a guy named Dut,
Now I have a fat butt dragging & I'm in ruts
Until a day with little presence of mind can kick me in the nuts...

Envision a world muddled by connections, writhing like street-food snakes in confusing, mutating copulations & courteous pluggings...An armored zebra with a microwave-face, lightfucking honeysuckle from a kitchen outlet...a Libyan insurgent w/ a Cuisinart-heart lubing his smartphone-operated genitals w/ the blooms of polio-vaccines and "donated" poor-person plasma.

Today, an SUV built out of recycled newspapers and lasersculpted liposucked fat runs on amniotic biodiesel & perfumedly repressed genocidal dreams.  When purchased new the trunk comes filled with warm, gooey protein bars.  Like Chinese babies or sacred art, our elected officials should not be for sale.  They ride, not backing down, whispering threats into mics concealed, surely, somewhere on their persons, and never yet have the taxes been done this time before quite like this.

Tired, I thumb-rub a sweater of delayed frustration into my eyes.  Like Wal-Mart, I rollback.

Chess is a kind of Rickrolled eggroll, wearing gymshorts, the embodiment of a Casual Friday & particularly E-Z cheez casuistries.  I have pain, like a patio-table's umbrella, flapping protection right outside my heart.

Q:  Why is death not a public forum for discussion about our current social, economic and political climate?

A:  Everyone hates talk of the weather.

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