I’ve got to say something about people that go around talking smack against others, yet can’t tolerate their own piddly bullshit. They don’t know how to act amongst civilized people. Those poor souls who author epic poems about their sordid lives. The world isn’t ready for their scary talent. Mediocre, meandering, self-centered poetry of the mundane. It drones on, without the drama of the flimflam sham ceremony.
Celebrity cults will never run out of excuses for mindless sycophants and ass-kissing types. A failed presidential hopeful hates pop stars. Shit-posting on X. I hate everyone and everything, so I must be a worse monster than they could imagine, and I'm plug ugly too. I’ll post my grievances at the tortured poets department. They’re welcome to dispute my claims. They know who they are, and they know who I am. It’s a lost cause either way. Let it play out. Everybody has opinions, and most of them stink. Keep your comments to yourself. Nobody asked you for your views. Tell it to the newspapers. You want to entertain during halftime at the Super Bowl?
It’s wobbly poetry in motion, as the talking puppet-headed pundits say, stupid is as stupid does. I’m not sure what the hell that means, like the poetry is moving somehow, wobbling somewhere. It’s fluid, like a river flowing through a flood of fake-news climate change. Under its own locomotion, with ripples of phony words lapping the shores of a new scary world. People say crap all the time. Whether they mean it or not, this is another story for all that sewage under a burning bridge. You can figure it out if you’re a math major or a creative accountant looking for loopholes. Instead, a big, fat zero plus zero equals less than nothing. Dancing on the stage in a flimsy, revealing costume. How in this world do the people living in it even matter? If they don’t pay their fair share of taxes, then why should we? Buy a ticket to the end of the world.
This is how a comedian, or worse, a poet, gathers pertinent information about the major events and issues of the day flipping through the news. Cherry-picking the facts from fiction. I’m guilty too. That’s how truth gets twisted and tangled in jingle-jangling sound bytes. That’s the way cookies and sandcastles crumble in the spilled milk of your favorite news source. A casual glance at today's top news stories will give you a migraine. Read at your own risk. Don’t linger too long on the small talk. It’s not, so the grand design is to distract and destroy the common sense you were born with. There’s an app for that. Don't let artificial intelligence sway your vote.
A natural bullshit detector. The official radar station for pinpointing the location of bald-faced lies and cheap trash talk is about little if nothing. This is how the world works. The mechanical system of finding the truth in a pile of rubble. The details lack substance. There’s no leg left to stand on. There’s no point in playing possum to the rabble. Sucking up to the status quo’s ignorance. This is how they get elected. That’s how they play the game. Convenient lies and propaganda. Misinformed miscreants vote for or against the insanity of this or that party. It’s a cheap-shot carnival game where all the prizes are shoddy junk, and the spinning wheels are rigged. That’s how they play it here, in the land of the greedy and the home of the rich. Poor people need not apply. They’re not allowed to play the game they support. The innocent pay the bills for the rich. The rest skim off the top. The spectacle of watching the world burn. I read it in a meme.
The doggerel of insignificant rhymesters blowing out gibberish are talking out their asses. Siphon off scum from the surface of the pond. Who cares about the legitimate concerns of the public? The people who pay the bills. Not the famous ones, but those who dole out hard-earned cash. The liars and cheaters should be damned. There’s no inside story. That’s how they control the mass market. The anti-social media platform has no secret agenda. It’s all gravy when you wallow in a pigsty. That’s life in an empty parking lot. There’s plenty of room and no place to go. The philosophy of ignorant bliss. If you say some idiotic lie enough times, it’ll stick. Even though you know it’s a stupid joke and a lie, it doesn’t make any difference to the person telling you or the ones who are still listening.