Hey Marxie,
you see all these people in a tizzy?
They want to piss on a mosque
or throw rocks at a gas station.
No one cares about Gretel.
He still lurks up in his laser secured corporate plaza.
Hear that?
He’s rubbing his legs together.
He likes to lick new consumers
with that mix fraction math-forked tongue of his.
They come by with their bags of new clothes,
their kids either in a stroller or on a leash
and he licks ‘em and gulps ‘em
and slurps ‘em and gobbles ‘em
and God only knows.

You’ve seen these insane shamans of the information age,
e-mailing Nostradamus quatrains and doomsday poetry,
the epic struggle of the country
against outlet and stripmalls
suburban sprawling like bird eating spiders.
I drive through that shit in shame.
Work sucks, there’s too much rain, and the radio stations all sound the same.
You got Bitch or Choad or Loaf or Lou doing shots in the studio until they puke.
One week they’ll eat a nickel and shit in a bucket to see if it comes out.
The dj’s just laugh and complain and masturbate.
Well, fuck you!
I masturbate, and I complain!
But I’ll kill myself if taking a dump becomes the highpoint of my day.

Marxie this is quite serious.
How you supposed to figure them proletariats?
Just when we need ‘em they flock to Hooters fer pro wrasslin’.
I just don’t know Marxie.
People fly into this city simply to go to the mall.
Like decadent mole people they scuttle through those lighted tunnels.
Did you know someone threw a university down there? A university!
The graduates are all white, they got red eyes,
they’re scanned into the system, over at the plaza
they’re tied down, at night
they cry out, they’re lost,
they’re like fucking convicts in the lock down Marxie.

Marxie, what say you and I just say “fuck this” and go to the titty bar?

Contributor: Derek Tellier