Blonds walk by the window.
Machine-gun fire in the alleyway.
The New Right, armed to the teeth, march through the streets.
Fascist tourists and shimmering sycophants slither over the wreckage of my brainscape.
Hot irons burn flesh.
I feel guilty when ..............................................
Red fire hydrants get hit by cars when they cross the street.
The Third World is blown up. The survivors re-settle in Scarberia.
Going to high school is declared a dangerous and subversive pastime.
Tarantulas become the new rage in fast-food.
Tears and conversation are declared illegal.
Pastel coloured canvasses are pitted against uppers and downers.
Artists rise up and shoot the rich. Massive fires, out of control, burn down all the capital cities in the world.
Heroin addiction is mandatory for all 12 year old girls.
Moth-eaten fur coats drive shiny purple Cadillacs.
Insanity is driving me out of my mind.
"You'd be on Welfare too."
Tantalizing tanks crash through my front door.
Punk rocker boppers wearing black leather g-strings.
Eccentric intellectual fags, with "nic" breath, smoking illegal cigarettes. Cough, cough.
Making porno films for Minimum Wage.
Unshaven fashion models slink in the front door. Conversation around me diverts my attention.
Kindergarten classes are force-fed magic mushroom at recess.
New York's most successful black pimp is elected President.
"You have to rim the doorman to get into a disco."
People look at me and laugh. Empty beer glasses clink by their own accord.
All the classic statues of the world come to life.
Old women go on murdering sprees.
Nice buns saunter by.
Ugly Androgynes wearing golf shoes walk across floors covered with reclining retarded youths.
"You're barred for smoking dope."
Scuzzy raven-haired hustlers nervously look at my face.
People lie and cheat and are praised.
"We've had 3 Vice-Presidents in the last 4 weeks."
Welfare recipients are lined up and shot.
Ghosts of old lovers lurch by and ignore me.
Dope costs $60.00 a joint.
Bestiality is celebrated and decriminalized.
Peeping Toms are given medals for bravery.
He just left. No one talked to him.
"I got ripped off two times this week."
"Do you smoke those things?"
The stupid greasy-haired man told me he wants to be Prime Minister but he still hangs out in divey gay bars like this one.
The oceans are filled with warm vomit.
Strangers peer over my shoulder. Small talk and icy snobbery.
"She's a very special guest," the jukebox sings out.
Billy clubs break open my skull.
Dykes on bikes fraternize with the blue-rinse set.
Saxophones burst my eardrums. Hand claps and instruments of percussion.
"Time to twist and shout."
Elephants trample innocent victims.
Syphilis scars on your face.
Blank newspapers sell for $10.00 apiece.
Physical torture becomes a way of life. Brain-damaged adults are only the symptom.
What does the President do when (s)he has PMS?
Fingers tap rhythmically against the table.
"The cops come in and everything."
"Check and see if my buddy's here."
"I'm not changin' my hours, man."
"I'm guaranteed to get busted."
"I do the fuckin' driving around here."
Sex-starved turtles use too much toilet tissue to clean up battered babies.
"My cakes are dry. I can't go on," she wrote on her suicide note. (Perhaps she's over-reacting.)
Concave cunts kill cute construction workers. Battalions of deranged office workers destroy six tons of mimeographed memos.
Depressed artists throw acid on priceless works of art in bombed-out museums.
The Sally Ann dispenses free birth control pills on crowded streetcorners. Dollar bills float down from clouds.
Libraries have sound-proof rooms for manic-depressives to scream in.
Hard rock music, played loud, is mandatory in elevators.
Lunch breaks are abolished.
Contradictory orders are issued from Parliament. The Oval Office follows suit.
Everyone's hair is dyed purple. The beehive is in vogue for men.
Teenagers shave off their pubic hair in mass ceremonies in public squares in the winter.
Long-nosed people are beaten up by isolated cops.
Large maimed mutant mice scurry along deserted streets, late for luncheon dates with diseased derelicts.
Burt and Curt squirt red ink on each other's freshly laundered shirt.
Painful anecdotes stab and jab into the air, piercing the lungs of sensitive souls.
I screamed out slogans on a busy streetcorner.
Feminist schoolmarms wear stained-glass underwear to underground weddings.
"Visionaries will be shot on the spot."
Delirious delinquent drunks destroy the silence on the subway.
Decadent gerbils hold raping contests to avenge centuries of domestic enslavement.
100 effeminate fireflies dance on the head of a pinhead.
100 transsexual pinheads dance on the head of a pin.
But asexuals never dance, except with politicians.
Brainless bungling bureaucrats flunk out on toilet-training tests.
The big bomb goes off.
"Yippee!!! Thank the Goddess!!"
"Which one?"
Boom!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! See you in one thousand years.