The heathens are at the gates. The good lord is calling you home. The savages are climbing the walls. Like godless undead creatures climbing out of their shithole graves. Stalking our humble place upon this earth. Listen to the warnings, prepare for the rapture. Rejoice! Give thanks, blessings and offerings. The end days are upon us. Save yourselves while you still can. There’s death on the installment plan.
There’s weeping and gnashing of teeth. Fangs and claws tear and rip weak flesh. No escaping the coming plague of partisans. Run and hide from the impending doom of brazen hypocrites. A momentary respite for the weary. Too tired to fight the power. They cave in waiting to be lifted like feathers to the heavens. We wait for a sign. Anything that might save our miserable souls. A thankless lot of sinners ill-prepared for Armageddon, much less tomorrow.
Our feckless leader's clueless as a fickle old maid. Selfishly covetous of those with the ability to forgive. He has no clue. A prayer vigil will be held across the land for the man whom was chosen by the divine right of god. There shall be a laying of hands among the righteous. The god that Christians worship as they pass the collection plate and count the coins they so grievously desire. Those nickels and dimes add up for the ordained savior of our very way of life. Wallets flip open in his presence in hopes that the sacred one will deign to bless the humble rabble with his infinite wisdom. That same knowledge so freely slung at three a.m. on social media.
To endure the mindless tripe of a failed business tycoon in his bitterness. Wallowing in the cesspool they wish was a swamp. Stocked with alligators and deadly vipers to eat the little children in flimsy cages. Always wanting more, returning to the scene of hideous crimes against our human spirit. Defilers and pederasts of the lowest scum ever witnessed on earth.
Saving souls with deep discounts and empty pockets. A bottomless pit lay-away plan for the greedy. Join the Christmas club. Pennies on the dollar. Down in hell you can hear them scream and holler. The great defiler. Satan wears many hats. There’s a hole in every soul. Deeper than the deepest dark where heaven meets hell, it’s the business of death and destruction, it's buy and sell and business is booming.
The faithful should have an option to go belly-up bankrupt... part of the scam a two-bit flim-flam con artist who demand you prostrate yourselves before the majesty and flagellate your bodies in submission to every perverse whim from the Devil in disguise. You mother humpin’ peace freaks. Lovers of an indifferent road. Why do you question the lord?
You freaking independent buttinskis who actually consider your vote counts for something other than your lame existence. Where the hell do you get off believing that you matter about any goddamn thing; fuck you and the horse you rode in on you, you lame American piece of shit. I truly hope your vote doesn’t count. Okay? Go vote for your goddamn freedom if you have any left. The sickness makes you believe your vote counts. Aren’t we delusional?
Maybe not. Either way it’s a losing proposition, on the short end of a non-existent stick you sit on. You’re at one with the lord? That holy conglomeration you may believe in. Heaven and hell stuck up your ass. You decide where you want to be hanging around. It’s thoroughly disgusting where we want to be these days. A sickening exercise in somewhere over the rainbow. Over here you want to be. A place where nothing matters and who gives a fuck. That’s how we survive the bedlam and the bullshit. Don’t believe the hype. Either way we’re screwed, but this is how we survive. Praise the lord. Pass the ammunition. Kiss my Sicilian ass. Once again you decide. Fuck them and fuck us. Any way you look at it, we’re screwed.
You want to believe in something? Believe in yourself. Or maybe believe in us. Just believe in something bigger and better. The truth, you know what that is… don’t you?