Friday, March 24, 2006
Somewhere Over the Conveyor Bely
Life is good on the far side of things, below the third conveyor belt its all smooth as the finest silk. A hyperbole environment which is an elaborate exaggeration of things to come. This crude yet remarkable accurate deception, breaths a faint strategy which unfolds before the youth and seniors of our ethnocentric society, deceiving all who guise apathetic eyes upon it, even the inventors themselves. The Bronx is up and Manhattan is down but the stock is down and the deficit is all around, and our purebred blood line ain't so great anymore by-cracky. The liberals and conservatives are under the same banner of separate colors, and the eyes and lips are sporting word along the lines Hilton or gore. The imaginary morals have been searched for, and the truth is still a figment of a décolleté laborer. The bullies been taken out of power and the fresh out of high school kindergarten teacher is in charge of the juvenile asylum. Meanwhile in the jungles of a place most of our average citizens can’t find on a geography map for a fourth grade class, we have some mutant spawned scum sleeking his way to atomic dependance is making him self permeable to the thick caverns which hold global rule. An indecisive drooling simpleton sits in a puddle of his own impotence, proving his testicular fortitude by firing the heaviest level buck shot at woodland creatures, while the Shiite menace moseys feet behind his back. We sit and wait for things to come to us, and then we blame the foreigner or the minority with discontent. We pump our behemoth vehicles with gallons of precious natural resources and then tell the news that “the Muslims can go fuck themselves!” We sit back and expect the one hand to wash the other, and are so content with being in an abundance of service we pay the class clown who barley made it into high school to run the country. The constitution is a children’s story, to keep the lay back peoples of our land blind, and then we go Big Brother and tape the poor bastards pullin’ the pud. After shooting the pants shitting geezer in the face, we spend the last cent for a bit of sick entertainment with torturing the guy who bought Alcida's donuts and coffee, doing far more queer things to he than the homosexuals back at home who we outlawed decent rights to due to our imaginary morals, have even concieved. We are the univers's carnie show, a intergalactic Springer manifestation. The answer lies somewhere over the rainbow, where pigs fly and actual intellectuals reign supreme in a fare and none totalitarian way.