they can claim your focus in life was worthwhile
after all you made millions by the time you were
twenty two.
but really? you gave individual names to collectable
stuffed animals. and you can sleep with yourself at
night?
i’ll tell you this. i cannot sleep with yourself. nope.
not a bit.
and who doesn’t like millions of dollars? not me.
i don’t not like millions of dollars.
and you’re pretty worthless in a fight.
needless to say i wouldn’t worship you.
his god is money which is pretty to hold
and great in an Apple store but his god
cant fart. i’m pretty sure i dont want to
bow down to a god that cant even fart.
a god that has never experienced the feeling
of having run slightly too far and slightly
too soon after a meal and then had to stop
(a pause really) just long enough to make
sure the air that passes between the cheeks
will be fully dry.
if your god cant hold his liquor – rethink him.
if your god cant chew gum and walk at the
same time then what you live for is lame.
worse than a woman.
your scraping the bowl, johnny
your hanging around near the bottom
your sick of it
your sick with it
now, what were you smiling for?
don’t think i don’t see you, johnny
changing hats stage-left
your perfect delivery only
making an ass of your self
and at home how you check the papers
the gig is up, johnny
and this is the best you could do
where your opium dreams have lead
down with the curtain close
scraping the bowl, swirling the bottom
Dear friend,
I think you’re a sick joke from mother earth, and meeting you was my loss.
From now on, I shall endeavour to forget about your very insipid existence. But before I do, I wish you’d crawl back to your poor mother and seek her forgiveness. She shouldn’t be blamed for the monster you are. On hindsight I am sure she would have turned prochoice on you, hurling your satanic ass in a limbo. Then again the demon lord must have his dues, and you are it.
That said, if you must be a bitch of darkness at least put some effort in it. Do not just work a shady corner. Go global, go genocidal. Have a vision or something. That is my last advice as a friend.
At least when you finally land in hell, you will be able to proudly say ” I have done fantastic work for you!” Maybe then will your master let you sweep Hitler’s ashes from the grimy bathroom floor while he unleashes his horde of minions upon you. Do not get all coy, let them enjoy your suffering as they showcase their craftmanship to you. I am sure their creativity will literaly blow your mind. Let the next fiend do the cleanup!
I am sure down the ammonic hole, there will be enough cannibals more than willing to feast upon your splattered brain. Perhaps Idi Amin will do you the honor. At any rate, they will all have their turn as you explore together the meaning behind words like eternity and despair.
That being said, I will waste no further time on you, or keep you from your vile plans. I wish you nothing, but the worst. Do not keep in touch. I look forward to not hearing from you again. Kindly disappear.
Sincerely,
Go to Hell
the sieve and the sand 