Only a fraud can get elected jester but the fraud
need pretend she is not a fraud, until now:
not flaunting one's fraudulence dings, dents,
deflates poll numbers. Every time I was a fraud
and pbjed twenty years ago is re: scab-scraped,
different audience, different drug. The clown
credits for admittance of past-clownage:
fake frauds faith in you, me, v fake frauds true.
-
I said everything is a metaphor
about me. Still, I'm suddenly obsolete
at work. They wish I'd go now, once the geriatrics
and emeritus die my sole valuable asset
as Ishigurian butler ends. I'll be more than
useless. And thus the world. I am liberalism's
baby, spoiled by progress we're born with, not into.
-
Dearest, it's fucking award season. Twooterville's thumb-excited!
This year's candidates: Best Sanctimonious War Criminal: Worse Load
in a Pantsuit; Fake Humanitarian Base Likely to Kill
Us All. YOUR VOTE COUNTS!! The sanctimonious war criminal cancels
your vote, your vote his! Tweet me! Is this the dumbest poem re: This? Say yes.
