Government Proudly Sucks, or Tiers of rage as I weep for cake

American government these days is like watching a 10-tiered wedding cake on a table with all four legs folding in unison.

I HATE to see cake wasted. The jergoffs we trusted to purchase the table with our money promised it was of good, solid steel, we paid 7 trillion times what steel costs and still got balsa wood table legs held together with Scotch tape and
postage stamps instead of nails.

The time for words is almost over though it should’ve been long ago.

Large numbers of people are going to have to be killed to set things straight.

I almost feel sorry for Obamarx. His pissant, wrong-headed, 500-million dollar socialist New New deal won’t help a fucking thing even when he jacks it up to a cool billion or even two bills. His pathetic ideas to get America “moving” again involve “investing” in highways.  So you put more GED stooges leaning on shovels on the median, big fucking deal.

I pity The Messiah because his four years of inadvertent recession-prolonging schemes are already completely overshadowed by the bailouts, aka The Largest Theft in the History of the World.

Maybe it’s better these numbfuck Washington aristocrats continue making the worst possible choices so revolution is inevitable.

But the blame for all of this still falls squarely on the shoulder of the People, that is, you and me.

We are the First Cause, we are our own cheap table legs. We got fat and lazy and we took it for granted that someone else was watching the crooks. It’s the prelude to every tale of a collapsing civilization.

The biggest mistake made in the past 60 years was/is letting the government run education. The Founding Fathers never addressed the idea of a “free” and public education because back then school was a luxury of the upper classes; most people were farmers or in manual trades where the younger you started the better.

I bet none of the Founders would approve of modern public education, seeing it for what it is: pro-government indoctrination camps run by a lazy, costly cartel. The Founders’ brilliance was that they had a healthy fear of government power, and rightly so. The lying fucks that run these schools are claiming government is your BFFL and deserves to be included in every aspect of your life. No wonder we’re screwed.

The bailouts happened because We the American people are by and large ignorant and apathetic about how (badly) government works and how free markets work.

We have allowed ourselves to be swindled and deserve every drop of blood soon to be spilled.

Beyond criminal bailouts, the problem remains our federal leviathan with its endless, expensive “helpful” programs, trying to poison the weeds of social ills with water and sunshine.

There’s no sense trying to save this cake, it’s already sailing towards the floor. Next time maybe we’ll make a 3-tiered cake and set it on a marble table. After a good few years of Mad Max-style hope and change.

Love poetry, or Trying to Turn Shit into Chocolate Cake

You can write love poems—even good ones—for specific women as long as you don’t expect the words to work. Because they don’t.

I have a friend who already has self-published one small book of love poems. The cover looks cool, it looks like a real book, but the poems within are the opposite of good: riddled with clichés and trite expressions like dead bats hung on a clothesline of pretension.

Worst of all, they beg.

A wise woman already knows a man who confesses to love her is completely vulnerable, no matter how tough he acts. Supplicating makes a man seem weak. Really, if you want to do well with women, remember they are Klingons at heart. The few that have hearts, ha ha.

Sad to say the woman my poor friend Can’t Live Without™ whom he’s known for years, is an Asshole, a sanctimonious, “spiritual” cruella who hates him for some reason he’s never quite explained. Judging from the fury of her words, you’d think he raped her and left her for dead; I think he deceived her about something, but nothing close to cheating on her.

I’d offered to edit his first manu, but halfway through he up and self-published it, full of spelling errors and all.

I suicidally offered to edit the 2nd one and heard nothing more about it. Then out of nowhere, last week he asked if I’d looked at it. When I told him I never got the file he flipped, then sent it.

Now I’ve flipped.

Love Manuscript #2, aka More of the Same, almost 140 pages of short-yet-hard-to-stomach poems. I don’t even envy the prodigious output, it’s all terrible.  I’m trying like hell to make his stuff work, but secretly I hope he ignores my editing. I love my friend and hate his needless suffering, and not because I have to suffer his poopoetry. If I could magically erase the cruella’s horrible personality and reprogram her or create a magical fuckbot in her image, I would. I’ve already dared tell him in a 500-words-or-less essay why I think this woman is a disaster, that even if she saned-up he still has no future with her and should be glad for it. But he can’t listen to reason any more than his poems can un-suck: the poor SOB is in love.

Some people are just fucking machochists, I guess. Like me, trying to turn shit into chocolate cake.

(If you ever find this blog, my friend, you’ll have to forgive me. You’ve suffered enough).