It sucks stars, stuck with the BoomBoom clock
that measures our hours left,
like an egg timer whose sand is nearing Done.
In 2016, the clock said we had three minutes to midnight.
You-Know-Who brought us down Main Street
in his hot air parade, de'classe' clowns, and hoisted
baton twirling bimbos wearing no underwear to the sky,
America is Great Again, not a single mask in the crowd
of Vikings, Disney characters fostered out, feral fools.
The Turd Blossom pageant featured hits of LSD
and no one wanted to return to reality-based thinking again.
Now, after all the damage that's been done
and all the damage that is sure to come,
the clock is set at 100 seconds to Zero Dark.
Humankind cannot bear very much reality
and wants to get in the pants of the first mermaid it sees
(I do not think that applies to me).
All the kids will look like guppies.
Atmosphere.
The Return of Yuppies.
.
I propose we give Trump some comeuppance.
This Jan 6 let's Lefty Up and march on DC
and knock over the fat cops with their coffee crullers
busy reading up on the latest theories on the Covid origins
in scratch and-sniff cartoon panels
We'll spray paint conclusions on the wall
lift up skirts and see what we will see
throw a pig oinking through the hallways
levitate the Capitol Building, beat some snot,
show Mighty Righty the value of imagination,
but mostly disrupt and stop and even light on fire
the ceremonial certification of our banana republicanism
and tell the f*cking felon to ixnay that way
(points toward the Deep State, I mean South).
For better chaos and coup-like activity,
and chicken coops filled with scavenger flying monkeys
made refugees after the Wizard was chased from town,
bringing the latest pearlharbor event -- better that than
the former host of Saturday Night Live
should rule the roost again.
He wasn't even funny and gawd knows he can't sing.
He;s have nothing in common with Zalensky.
.
Jan 6. When they certify who we are. See you there!
Bring your Boston Strong cream pies.
