Monday, September 20, 2010

America: A Rant

Fuck you, America, for fishing permits and helmet laws, and for not
letting minors carry guns. (No amount of Twinkies or Family Guy
reruns could ever appease the rage I feel toward you for that).

Fuck you, America, that every town is not like Vegas, 'cos you know
that’s how we roll but still withhold it anyway like the pilgrim
fuck you are.

Fuck you, America, for any and all taxes, I do not care how many cave
people you vaporize for no other reason than it’s cool as fuck,
my mind’s made up.

Fuck you, America, that I never see celebrities at the DMV, and for not
giving me that Trophy Wife you promised me, and for not
making me famous even though I know you watch me
every second of every day.

Fuck you, America, for lying to my face that the rest of the world
wouldn’t kill to be like me, the coolest asshat on the planet
because I do not give a fuck at any time and I will do whatever
it takes to make myself happy by any means necessary.

Fuck you, America, for being such a fucking pussy that everybody wants
to crash your party, and for pretending that it wasn’t you who put out that first hit of crack for free.

America, I’m pissed, and I will never rest as long as dishes must be rinsed,
laundry must be folded, and groceries must be taken out of bags.

I cannot be at peace, America, til there’s a Walmart on every corner, and
every food store has Maine lobster at 3 o’clock in the morning,
and there’s a decent sport to watch in February on TV.

I won’t give up, America, until I can hear Tibetan acid jazz whenever I
please, can take care of the national debt on my wii, and watch
porn while I drive my SUV.

I won’t let up, America, until the President admits the moon landings
may be faked, and the Temple of Satan is allowed to home school,
and there’s at long last a Church of Tranny Christ.

I won’t be satisfied, America, until the loftiest mountain peak is accessible
in my jeep, and the most inhospitable desert serves roadside ice
cream treats.

I won’t forgive you, America, until Minnesota blueberry pies are freed
from prison and onto my plate.

I won’t stop hating you, America, until you show some fucking dignity,
and stop listening to everything I say.

I won’t back down until my body's in the ground, and I’m strolling
through the heavens telling God how much I miss those chili dogs
in that stainless steel blue diner that just appeared one day
without my even trying.

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