Boomers.



Y’ever wonder,
why we,
as a species,
continue to elect,
pay, bribe, praise,
and otherwise appoint
as some moral authority,
a bunch of hypocrites
and kiddie-fuckers?

Happens a lot,
don’t it?
Sure says a lot,
don’t it?

And not just about the
loonies and perverts
with terabytes of kiddie-porn
and secret lovers,
gay-bashing Bible-thumpers,
and body-dumpers and grave-diggers
who seek out those jobs.

It says a lot about us,
collectively,
for puttin’ them there.
Again and again.

Cuz what we’re sayin’,
again,
collectively-speaking,
is that we’re content with a few…
sacrifices,
if it means shit don’t get any worse.
For us.
Individually-speaking.
Fuck them kids
and all those other poor sons of bitches.
S’long as I’m not the one all fucked-up,
or dead.
Disappeared.
A footnote or hashtag
lost in the wash of the latest news cycle.

S’wrong with a lil’
ol’ fashioned human sacrifice?
S’long as it’s not my ass
strapped to some fuckin’ altar
or magic-circle.
Or my kid in a public school.
Nightclub.
Movie theater.
Vegas, a concert, my car,
the privacy of my own home.
Outside a convenience store.

Fuck that, and fuck you.
I’ve got clean coal,
my Atari and Ford Pinto.
A right to bear, a license to kill,
and feeling safe at night.
A blacklight poster and shag carpet.
Eight-track tapes.
VHS and white hoods,
Devil’s Triangles,
bad combovers,
flying cars and social security,
a sense of self-worth,
pissed-off lib-tards,
my youth, a full head of hair,
a dick that still works,
and the love of my father.
Also, have you seen our big fuckin’ wall?

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