Promise me, son, not to do the things I’ve done.
—Kenny Rogers
Repetition is the highest
form of slavery. Never-
mind that it doesn’t
matter what I say.
Values are less
valuable as
the high ground
gets high. It’s
our job to separate
the wheat from the
chaff, amorally
speaking. “Turning
the other cheek is a
sin,” says Mixed-Up
God, who’s always
walking away from
trouble (when he
can). I spit up
an egg sandwich
onto every offender.
Each is an officer
who bears a key
as host to this
year’s city-state
nirvana.
Nirvana
is made of
regurgitated
gold. And
molded bread
my dears.
Good old bread.
