Deaf and Dumb

The neighbors dropped by to say how superior Trump makes
them feel. They love every minute of it.
Never have my neighbors ever felt so good about
themselves. All night long
they run around the neighborhood, shitting on the sidewalks.

I wish they’d eat a little humble pie.
I’d like to see their hair on fire.
I’d prefer to hear that the one had taken the butter knife and
jabbed the other in the eye. That, or mixed a little rat poison
in the sugar bowl at breakfast.

A nation of pompous asses. A network of self-righteous spies.
Urged on by some damn fool, egged on, as they used to say.
They need to go back to church. So much for rhyme or reason.
The silly asses can’t read and write. They should go back
to church to learn to sing, if there is anything to sing about.

Men are finally fulfilling their dream of using the ladies’ room.
They wish to set their hair. The guys are tired of peeing standing
up. They sit now in the cubicles clipping their nails and tearing
their cuticles. Jesus, fucking Christ, how did we get here?
One hears now how men are putting their pubic hairs in curlers.

The day is coming when the women are sent to war and the men
stay home with the children. This is what people want. Ladies are
dying to have their heads blown off. They can’t wait to hang out
at the local pub all night and pass out in their own vomit.
The gals say it is a lot of fun to pee standing up.

My boss asked me if I had an emery board. He had smeared lip stick
all over his front teeth. His wife had disappeared; her platoon was last
heard from somewhere in Surinam while under attack from anti-government
forces. He hasn’t slept in days. They hadn’t spoken in months, not since
she wrote to say she’d contracted the clap.

My neighbors laughed when I told them. It is all Trump’s fault, they say.
They deserve to die, each and every last one of them. That’s what
they get for fighting back. All we had to do was concede to enemy
demands. Give peace a chance. We are the world. Turn the other cheek.
All the enemy wants is for us to surrender 50% of our lands.

The ass drives an electric car. In fact, he has two. He and his husband teach
Maoism at the state college. They’re leading a seminar on public humiliation,
using techniques designed to drive people to suicide. They have the kids
berate each other. They are trained in holding secret trials. They study
how long human beings can survive while being denied nutrition.

Nate’s specialty is bursting the ear drums of those who refuse to obey.
He says if done well, he himself can hear their ears pop. After being gang raped,
the victims are subjected to screaming volunteers known as “raving patriots.”
Many of the techniques employed were perfected by the Russians in Lubyanka
State Prison. He loves his job.

They’ve renamed the nation’s capital Luv City. Citizens demand the right
to live free of the stigma of capitalism, colonialism, and racism. Men wear
prison stripes and women go topless to show who bears the blame for crushing
the hopes of all mankind. Whites no longer own private property and are taxed
at 78%. They are the only people required to work.

We escaped. I live with my wife on an island in the South Pacific. There are many
of us. We live like orangutan on nuts and a sour species of banana that causes
lifelong diarrhea. Our lifespan is reduced but we are not subjected to thought
control. We live without electricity and weave our own moccasins. The only screams
we hear arise from the cries of mynah birds and native peacocks. Life is good.

Preservation Society

If you listen to the history majors at Princeton, you’d assume everyone
was forced along the Trail of Tears, beginning with Paul Bunyan and
ending with Sophia Loren. Oh, what a horrible life it has been.

What of the Bataan Death March? Was that the Cherokee or the Iroquois?
And where did they go? From Auschwitz to Timbuktu? Or was that
another group? The Buffalo Bills? The Memphis Chicks? Elvis?

I can’t think. I am in despair. I am sunk in woe. I must make application
for a guaranteed income. When will Congress vote to forgive me?
I am consumed with guilt. I am unable to sleep. I am impotent.

Who said what happened in the past belongs in the past? What nonsense.
The past is all we have. I am waiting for the waiter to declare that my meal
is on the house. What I hope is for the proprietor to pick up the tab.

I am owed. They told me at school one has to play the cards one is dealt.
What if I have only one? I was given one card to play and my father told
me to hide it up my sleeve. Mother told me to hide it down my pants.

Teacher read to us from Profiles in Courage. I studied the photos of the
Kennedys and felt instinctively we had nothing in common. I hate the
idea of being quizzed at the dinner table and I can’t stand football.

My friends are so rich they never talk of anything but money. They are
always short. They were wisely advised not to make a move. Save. My
richest friend always says he has no money.

Every sentence at my age begins with “after the funeral.” There is no other.
I am old enough now to no longer know the living. All my family is dead. All
my friends have died. The dead are replaced by strangers.

A man has been on my tail from this morning. He is parked outside. He must
be after my newest invention. I have been hoping to be invited back to the White
House. I received a commendation by mail for my sketches of the “drone.”

I demand to have all my debts forgiven. I want social security and personal
freedom. I demand liberty. Hope is faster than light. Light is too slow. Hope
and change are my destiny. I want a refund. I’ve paid a terrible price.