After finding out that Ron Hull likes the same wine that I like,
it sent me into deep despair, followed by a desperate search for
meaning, followed by a much needed binge. My writing is proof of
my predicament…

(image: themassesareangry.blogspot.com)

If I were King in the land of the free
And you were my guiding star
We’d make a few changes in pertinent places
From New York to Miramar.

I wouldn’t bomb Congress
The mess would be gory
I’d bring in a threshing machine
And separate the wheat from the chaff
(Oh what a laugh)
So we could harvest a brand new story.

The one that survived this purifying ride
Would become my aide-de-camp
And like Diogenes of old
(Or so the story was told)
She’d go in search of an honest man.
Or woman.

If she found any left they’d never go right
Cause right is the opposite of left
And left is what’s right and right is what’s wrong
In this land that’s politically bereft.

I’d fire all the CEOs those blood sucking thieves
To a man they all stink a lot
And put them on welfare
Then cut it in half
And watch ‘em all drink a lot.
Muscatel.

Sex would be free in the land of the free
That’s what freedom is all about
There’s no more to be said so go jump in bed
And if it’s not free throw him out.
Or her.
Or them.

Now about all those jobs when you’re working for me
The pay is gonna be good
I won’t make you rich
(Not even my bitch)
Unless of course you’re really good.
(That’s a royal joke. But
Not worth a king’s ransom).

This could go on and on but before very long
I know there would be hot tar and feathers
I’d get a shellacking
Without any backing
And those feathers are bad in bad weather.

So I will bid you adieu and go have a cold brew
From the hair of the dog that done bit me
And if I again write like this
Don’t blow me a kiss
Please, please, please
Just hit me.
Kapow!