progress

twenty twenty four

and somehow toes are still

ten problems

that can hide inside socks,

but soon

even they will escape

and screw me over like every

law passed

that makes me wait- - - -

instead of turning left on green.

i hate how pacified

we've become.

too terrified to turn without permission.

double-stuffed fuck holes

with scratch & sniff sticker brains

that can only think

when clawed by a teacup cannibal.

Uh merry cons

are justa buncha shit dicks

with hit lists,

trying to out-vote their

retarded neighbors,

meanwhile...

the intellectual incest

that occurred in-cuntry

has left us

groveling like hungry dogs

and barking

at the broom handle

that beats us.

cartwheel to communism.

lower case i love you,

upper case-

Oh Boy, We're Fucked.