Evil appears in many forms, and the righteous know this better than any run-of-the-mill dime store preacher. Sanctimonious wolves in sheepskin mingle among the unsuspecting dupes of the world. Preach the good word. Integrity has no meaning here. Survival of the wicked tips the scales in favor of the connivers. The takers keep taking, and the poor return for more fleecing. Pay up for paradise.
I've had it up to my gullet with the foul stench, mass media mediocrity, manipulated distractions, and continual intentional, deliberate perpetuation of misdeeds, flat-out lies, and half-truths. I was kept in the dark too long to see the light. The sun hurts my eyes. The glow of my digital screen is cold and unfeeling. Cozy up to the beast within. The blood of the lamb lays down with your neighbor in a farcical good time, the feel-good movie made for the holidays.
I don't care about the next wave of Kanye West's insanity. The next world crisis, latest scores, what so-and-so thinks about this or that. Container ships full of stuff floating off the coast, the next plague of idol-worshiping talentless flops. I'm sick of hearing about the next asteroid the size of the Eiffel Tower that may or may not hit the Earth. The solar flare-ups interfere with electronic devices. There's a hole in my shoe. Fake news, big lies, little chunks of fossilized feces. Eat shit and die motherfucker. Both sides playing against the middle. Stop shoving America down our throats.
The simple fact the general public eats up this dung tells everything you need to know about intelligent life. By the way, who made me the judge? You can't make this crud up. There's a murder hornet in your bonnet, a killer spider in your bed, some new flesh-eating disease to consume your common sense. Tastes just like the real thing. I can't take it anymore. Will it snow? The odds are pretty good considering it's fucking winter, you bobblehead clod.
The real stories are untold. Perception went haywire, wonky as the new, improved stupid scandal is better than the last one. Let's wag the dog, spin the doctor, tell a tall tale, play devil's advocate, send sympathy cards, we all lose around here. Who writes these ludicrous lies? There are no winners in life's lottery. Only the dead pay their respects in the living memorial. Buy another scratch-off ticket. Get in line, fucker. It never ends, does it? The hype grows more outrageous as the days pile up. To make things worse, it's Christmas again and another fucking new year. Champagne for everybody!
Any halfwit can see through the greasy windshield of freedom, cruising just over the next turn, the next big hoopla-hurdled horizon. A layaway plan to keep you on your toes before the next ass-reaming. Life on the installment plan. Bend over, please. Time for your examination. Wash your hands frequently and wear your mask, take another shot and please, by all means, shut the fuck up!