Monday, February 29, 2016


When, out of lassitude, I cease to scrawl
the rude and sordid things my detractors
were wont to bemoan, my detractors
miss it much, but take credit for the shift
in tone, the numpties, claiming I've been
declawed. By what? By the frequency
of their whinging? By the teardrops massing
at their ducts? By the solemn brick facade
of their virtuecratic mugs? Fat chance,
fuckwads, it's just that I've found less lumpen
trolls and bears to taunt. Funny how when
you babies get what you want, you still
find it wanting, what? Funny how I still
give zero-point-zero flying fucks. Aw, shucks.

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