Today my toast looks like Christ,
like planet earth,
like me in a dinosaur-proof suit,
bristling with spikes
that I invented when I was afraid to fall asleep.
But I don't have time for visions. Christ,
I don't have time for anything!
Bombs in the basement. That's for the NSA.
A toast to the NSA!
(Lift up your cups, your mugs, comrades!.)
The NSA keeps us mad.
Mad as a Hatter.
Without madness I just start