mmmccl

punks vs. pundits

it was the year all the mem-bots
got migraines. sarge’d blame
“the goddam emo-upgrades”
but mostly we were all just
bored solid. “roblogs are
nerds, too,” i can hear ’im
squawk in the present (irl),
a wannabe in real, “no
pain, no solid,” all
high-like, on the
tundra to nowhere.
same as like walking
backwards on one of those
flat escalators like they used to
have in all the heliports. “’member?”
“you must be,” the whisper came and
went, “y-you must be the jerk-bot, jerk-
bot, j-j-jerk-bot,” stuck in the joke loop. all
of ’em got laugh-sprayed (tethered to a tubular
spliff-blot, no doubt). but before the sprockets
finally pooped out, clumped up like hair-blobs
what got the itch to stick its digits into sockets.