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Thinking about Gabbard in general, my animal instinct is to flatten my ears against my head, roll my eyes up till the whites show, bare my teeth, and trill like a cicada stuck in a Commodore 64.

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A short poem

Started by Lenin McCarthy, March 19, 2013, 05:29:51 PM

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Lenin McCarthy

March 19, 2013, 05:29:51 PM
(I'll call it "observation from an exhausted angry wasteland")

dear people who lead
and you who lead them from behind
dear corporate bosses, dear bankers, dear statesmen
go on, drink your wine.
but unlike in your youth
now, to tell you the truth:

that's not cocaine,
that powder you're snorting

IT'S CRUSHED BABY SKULLS.


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