Archive 08/26/08 - (2)

   

Call Me What You Will

 

Call me Homo gibbon, Homo bonobo, Homo lowland gorilla.

Call me Fuck-Nuts. Call me Ishmael. Call me Douche Bag.

Call me Neanderthal Dick Cheney Bush look-alike.

 

Call me humanity going up Auschwitz's chimneys,

Flushed down Wall Street's latrines,

Torpedoing into heavy-water oceans, as "nucular" turds.

 

Or if, in a contrapuntal fit of fugal, dystopian dissonance,

You wish to call me a cosmic misfit, a universal jerk-off,

I give you my unbowdlerized permission to do so.

 

I won't give two shits in a pine-tree-shilling Johnny On The Spot —

Nope! Not in the slightest. Not even one small shit for man.

Au contraire. Were I to die tonight (which ain't likely),

 

I'd be thrilled to death, literally,

To submit to flat lines bending in distant space

(You know, my clueless allusion to relativity, E=mc2,

 

All that high-falutin' Swiss-Jewish bullshit

Spewed by one totally spazz, absent-minded theoretician,

Who made available the ultimate undoing of civilization,

 

In the prime of its scientific enlightenment: atomic doom).

Hey, wait just one gol-darned frickin'-frackin' minute!

Call me Senator-in-Absentia John McCain, from Dementia.

 

Just the very stentorian GOP-WASP sound of my name

Seems to have American conservatives breathing heavily,

With wet dreams of seeing the U.S. superpowerful again,

 

The dominant force in world Monopoly and Stratego.

OK, so vote for me, come November 4.

Send me and my rich-bitch wife, Cindy, to the White House,

 

Where we'll initiate a DEF-DUMB-AND-BLIND-CON-1 alert

That we're out to slash taxes to zippity-doo-da, for the Trumps,

And bomb the commies, bomb Iran, bomb Pakistan,

 

For allowing the Taliban to use its mountain passes

To train jihadists to attack our "Abolition of the Willing,"

Convert the world, by sword and suicide bomb, to Islam.

 

Oh, fuck it! Call me whatever in hell you want!

Admittedly, I'm easy, easier than sin in Sin City,

Easy as the American dream FEMA-trailered by Hurricane Katrina.

 

Oh! But wow! Holy P.O.W. smokes! Hold on, pardner,

Just long enough to listen to my oracular admonition:

Whatever you do, at all costs, don't vote for the N-word.

 

He's far too good, for the likes of you, whitey, ofay.

What could he do, short of redeeming you, redneck America,

From your totalitarian legacy of racial terrorism:

Your poll-tax disenfranchisements, your Jim Crow lynchings,

Your depredations, deprivations, despoliations, denigrations —

The last the worst, for erasing black from the rainbow?

 

Tonight, I've got a better idea: call me nothing — Mr. Nothing —

Then bury me, before we all die

From a pandemic of stage-three metastatic Dubya-oma.

 

 

 

 

 

 

08/26/08 - (2)

 

 

 

 

 

 
 
 
 
 
       

 

 
   
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