makes me grease
up in the bucket I let spill trills ago.
I ran out o’ the greasy chemicals with which to fill this shit,
legit,
¿or is it just fabricated?
¡Say it!
¡It’s the law!
¡Say’s the law!
Money’s time,
& all time gets spent on ‘ventuallies.
¿What makes 1 ‘ventually better than the others?
¿What makes plum jellies ‘bove the worth o’ butter?
So many things to flow all around,
like bliss, & fat, & clams, & oven mits.
I’m an occult.
¿& what do you spend your ‘ventuallies on,
but tea & booze & coffee
or coffee & booze & tea
or booze & coffee & tea
or booze & tea & coffee
or tea & coffee & booze,
but ne’er tea & booze & coffee—
that’d be wacky.
…
It’s cold, though.
¿How’d you know there’s nothing new under the Afternoon Moon?
¿O, where did you get that from?
¿What friends have you made fool with?
Ah, I know where you read that…
So I try to stir harder
the lucky pot that holds every ingredient in the world,
to sift those that taste spiciest
& leave out those that are too ricy,
to do
Senior Estadounidense’s Delightful Stew.
¡What a funny-looking peasant!
I am a Socialist, Smurov.
(No, not the lowercase kind, ¡you filthy prole!)
const int NUM_O_LINES = 256;
for ( int i = 0; i < NUM_O_LINES; ++i )
{
std::cout << “There ain't no justice—(¡Justice!)” << std::endl;
}
& I’ve left ‘hind my keen Dr.
& my theory general
to be uselessly bombed in combat
to give into the philosophy o’ the sad-faced, shell-fleshed crabs,
o’ the caged rats—
«You’ve already played that DVD, Steve,
& it ne’er worked for all your 5 Zanzibari rupees.
Maybe the sauce would seep into every baggie
if you’d just leave.»
I’m an Anarchist, Smurnov.
const int NUM_O_LINES = 2560;
for ( int i = 0; i < NUM_O_LINES; ++i )
{
std::cout << “¡That's how greatful I am!” << std::endl;
}
I lived on my feet,
I sat on my feet,
I ate my chili without grated cheese,
but didn’t e’en sneak you a single speech bubble—
¡Too much trouble?
¿Too many double faces!
I lived on my face,
I sat on my face,
& didn’t e’en arrogantly show my gratefulness
when you praised my speedy Lorraine kitsch.
I’m a Nihilist, Smirnoff.
I was wrong,
& I was wrong since the beginning o’ the bong,
so said my mother in legend…
look closely @ the diagram to see the legend…
I’m a Magical Socialist, Blue Moon.
But we must return to the chemicals I want,
we must return to the bucket & not the box,
not the pot,
left ‘hind like a chalk outline’
left on the space-age street on which we all drive by,
where the strawberry pancakes are long gone
& left me without a throat to sing the rest o’ this song.
I’m a Post-Democratic-Republican-Liberal-Modernist-Progressive-Anarcho-Rasputinist-Socialian, Smurov
Go all the way
to KARAOKE NIGHT, ¿eh?
«(DUH, DUH, DUH)
You think you got us #’d…
(DUH, DUH, DUH)
but we will strike like thunder…
(DUH, DUH, DUH)
We’ll fucking strike like lightning…
(DUH, DUH, DUH)
& be exactly as exciting…
(DUH, DUH, DUH)
& now you say we’re grime…
(DUH, DUH, DUH)
say we’re a coconut without a lime…
(DUH, DUH, DUH)
Well, you need to realize…
(DUH, DUH, DUH)
that grease ne’er dies—
¡Fight!»
I’m a Schliferpus, Smurtov.
No, I’m solo fuckin wit yo, habanero.
