Saturday, April 19, 2008

The stagnatest generation.

.
You open up your mouth and say,
"There's nothin' to do in this town!"

And I say, "Pipe down, indolent spawn of the internet!"
Don't be wettin' in my bed
You're incensed, you're so dense
You expect me to be interested
In your relentlessly adolescent torrent of inner torment
That was intended as a statement!
And it ain't a question: you've made fessin' a profession!
To supplement your other methods of employment:
Malcontentment; complainin'; incontinent frustration!
Your schematic is titanically ironic
You're flagrantly impatient to the point of histrionic
Yet you're gravely stationary, been waitin' to be entertained since birth
Now you're the hardest-shirkin' slave to instant gratification on the face of the earth!
Wither the worth of the witless
Please cease to belabor this explicitly scripted behavior
I don't care to savior, maybe you can save yourself
But probably you'll just be overwhelmed and wander off
To gawk at some other unencumbering, numb, dumb shit, dim-wit

You lazy punks!
Self-entitled lumps!
Your ship is sunk because I debunked your triflin' slump
And you kicked the brain-bucket
Have you ever sought fulfillment?
Do you endeavor to be full of excrement?
I didn't wanna put you down, but you started thinkin' aloud,
"There's nothin' to do in this town!"
.

1 comment:

PeaceLily said...

you so win. the other poets shouldn't even bother reading.