"Get in there!" one of the little shites hollered, like some bouncer at Chuck E. Cheese,
there to muscle out mini mafiosi f*cking around in the small ball pit --
Viva la revolution! and got you thinking about toilet paper
You wanted to stuff a roll in his mouff,
And wipe away his sh*t-eating grin.
.
Some were FBI informants.
Some were former Disney World employees who never learned
to make Momma proud.
.
"Get in there!" And we got the presiding douchebag with horns letting out a rebel yell.
Presiding at that conference table with unkempt cable management Cat-5 just laid across the frame like a floozy all boozy
Did you see that video of Trump's first speech after he was shot? Him coming through, expression all triumphant martyr?
The f*cker survives a nick to his earlobe.
So he'll never wear a ring there. Big whoops. Still a pirate.
That look! That theatrical, long-suffering, angsty thing.
I wanted to worship him-- no, I mean, horsewhip him, but I had no horse.
Hat tip to Groucho, but f*ck him, too.
.
You, too, while we're at it.
.
Will DJ blow up the world to keep it from learning?
I understand that bin Laden was good buds with Jeffrey Epstein:
it's right there in the fully released redacted files:
Picture of them all 69 in the summer of '68 modality.
January 6 is a day that will live in infamy.
Right down there with 9/11, the Inside Job,
and do we know where Jackie was on November 22
(that was a clone in the car with "JFK").
Now I need to take a sh*t. I bang on the door.
"I need to get in there!"
There's a flush. The better half opens. It's a paradigm sh*t.
.
And smells like it.
Luckily, we won't have to vote again, DJ says.
"It'll all be fixed in four years."
"I'm a Christian, too."
Go f*ck yourself some lost soul howls at him, tormented by this cross to bear.
DJ has him taken away, Harold Pinter birthday party style, to have his candles blown the f*ck out.
.
Icing everywhere. White House cake. Third of it missing.
