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russs.livejournal.com2003-12-15 11:46 am
Sour Grape Serenade
There are certain moments in life when all that touches one's soul grows thorns and no longer bears the welcoming touch of the familiar. It is during these times that I pray for acid rain and forbidden man-made mist to find it's way to the nostrils of the many bewildered human insects who think that all they have to do to make a difference in the world is spread untrue gossip and cause an unbearable pain in the hearts of those who do not deserve such treatment.
It is at these moments that I wish I could breathe fire and pollute the water-ways of stupidity with a drug called finality. For one to think that the whole of the world cares only for magazines, tv shows, Jerry Springer, fashion, the in crowd, empty calories, fast cars, pretty fucking smiles, walk on bit parts, whatever the fuck it is that you diseased wretches find amusing, is for one to accept that the natural order has never really been a natural ingredient.
The next time someone tells me that their lawn is greener than mine, I swear, I'm gonna pick up their proverbial dog of war and scream "WELL THEN MAYBE YOU SHOULD TELL SPOT TO FIND A FUCKING TOILET YOU ASSWIPE" Perhaps then they'll get a glimpse of my suspicion and know that their guilt will soon strangle their skinny little pompous necks.
I once heard that the so-called people in charge are merely just puppets made to hang on hooks in high places. I am beginning to believe this, and I want the names of all the little pussies hiding behind their guilt so that I may finally untangle the heart killing chains of suspicion.
I'll be looking through your trash cans to see how YOU motherfuckers like it.
Now DISAPPEAR!!!!!!!
It is at these moments that I wish I could breathe fire and pollute the water-ways of stupidity with a drug called finality. For one to think that the whole of the world cares only for magazines, tv shows, Jerry Springer, fashion, the in crowd, empty calories, fast cars, pretty fucking smiles, walk on bit parts, whatever the fuck it is that you diseased wretches find amusing, is for one to accept that the natural order has never really been a natural ingredient.
The next time someone tells me that their lawn is greener than mine, I swear, I'm gonna pick up their proverbial dog of war and scream "WELL THEN MAYBE YOU SHOULD TELL SPOT TO FIND A FUCKING TOILET YOU ASSWIPE" Perhaps then they'll get a glimpse of my suspicion and know that their guilt will soon strangle their skinny little pompous necks.
I once heard that the so-called people in charge are merely just puppets made to hang on hooks in high places. I am beginning to believe this, and I want the names of all the little pussies hiding behind their guilt so that I may finally untangle the heart killing chains of suspicion.
I'll be looking through your trash cans to see how YOU motherfuckers like it.
Now DISAPPEAR!!!!!!!