Viral Plagiarism
Part 1: Sgt. Perfection’s Broken Records Club Bandwagon
Attention: pop-culture leviathan, the mail’s arrived and your Messiah’s in. Counteracting the side effects opf a stereotype is messy work (someone’s gotta do it.)
Limelight minimarts with a mop bucket blocking every isle. I kicked off the New Year by making a fool of the freeway, fueled on caffeine, Wi-Fi and broken dreams. From oranges back to sour apples, relocated malevolence situated in a junkie’s paradise.
Harlequin harlot, lend me your fears! Armored assailant, programming progression. We should have done this years ago.
Part 2: Monotonous Miss America and the Sonic Death Rattle
Automatic sequenced malfunctions in the key of wrong, misfired frequencies all askew. If you ask me, it sounds a little plastic, even over this top-of-the-line system.
Today’s promising prodigy is tomorrow’s assembly line disaster.
A make-believe parade of idiot savants lip-synching at your New Year’s bash; sounds like the perfect recipe for stable ratings amongst America’s teenaged retards.
In this rendition of the classic parable, Goliath gets up and throws a bigger stone back.
Mr. Black and the Big Problem
Capitalist pigs in a free-for-all sludge marathon, feasting at the troff of incapability.
“We’re dying down here.”
If you really wanted your life back you’d start supplying it for others. See how the advance on greed and ignorance has panned out?
All our base are belong to you, the story is old but the climax is new.
Hopedrowning Soulsearcher
Day in and day out, change after change, bitter reality stays the same. Who the hell am I to command fate, and what in the name of dwindling sanity is life trying to tell me?
(Don’t give me that spiritual guidance bullshit.)
An infomerical selling souls, all decrepit and burnt down to cinders of cinnabar and bronze. Outside shells of domination and endurance; inner cores of molten dreams and plasticity.
False judgement is a shallow tomb and we’re rolling the rock away, making a path for the doubted savior. Nine times out of ten, humanity forgets to turn the other cheek. Both of mine are black and blue from the leeway. I’m all finished with indecision. This is our time.
Trachea Train at Semen Station
How cute, the way you try to scream with your mouth full. Poisonous mushrooms lodged in your windpipe, the greatest display of control tripping. Tonight I cut you a brand new pair of dimples and your smile was never more photogenic. Princess Puparia drooling like a starving dog. Quit begging and finish your angel dust like a good little whipping girl.
All Teeth Aboard the Curb
It’s easier to hate what everyone else hates, too. What’s difficult is finding compassion for the underdog. Get your own goddamned opinions.
Disrespect accounts for 98% of fatal accidents, but what I’m about to do to you will be on purpose. It’s all planned out.
Ignorance is a mask that shields the mind from beauty. By opening your mind, you can free your own misconceptions and burn down that old identity crisis. Stop pandering to hearsay, do your own research, and leave the ones I love alone.
Reviews on the Past (Here’s to the Struggle)
I’ve got a problem that low-profile advice columns don’t have answers for; I’m desperate for help. I need a way to get away from every day without estranging all the ones I love. It’s hard to think of.
Maybe if I was a scholar, but I snorted my way through school, so terribly ill. I questioned the walls, but with nothing to say, they just stared back at me. I’m scared that there might be a God and he isn’t listening to me.
My acquaintances slip back and forth, my closer friends all went away. I can’t ask them; they’d have nothing to say.
I’m dying to live but just living to die. I can’t move on and I’m not quite sure why. So what’s the point of boarding a train with no wheels? And why stay in this skin when I can’t stand how it feels? God, why am I still in this Hell when Heaven’s just down the road? I swear if he answers, I just might stay home.
