. . . Which brings me to a point: security.
(a Dissociated Press release.)
Or,
Reflections on Ten Hours of Television While On the Job
by Sammy Markewich
aka Y2K
Pourquoi?
Because if it ain't Brokaw don't mess your pants over it.
To do nothing about it? O.K., but why?
Pourquoi? Pourquoi?
Because, last night,
while one American got paid millions of dollars
(less than security) . . .
the baby was pushed out with the bath water.
Double chins chewed it out and spit it up into worldly-oneness broth.
While we cannot solve all of our problems, we can talk about them until we're
blue zeros glued onto our retina, dreams of living to one- hundred,
spontaneously growing organs out of the flush and flood of progress. Oh, I
forgot to condense that! Oops, we're grown up now.
But, if it ain't Brokaw don't Fix your eyes on this buddy!!!!
The melting pot melted.
Someone stuck to the bottom.
Whomever smelt it dealt it!
and that poor Nixon fellow died. Why? Because of the cops. They'd been
planning this for months. Without them, I don't know.
Crowds would come, crowds would go.
Bleeding as they ebb and flow.
They would surely blow it,
as newsreel cronies yellow . . .
shhh, it, it, it's coming!
Take stock of the options:
Ten?,
nine?,
eight?,
seven?,
six?,
five seventy-five . . .
Only one hour to go! RudyGiuliani RudyGiuliani RudyGiuliani RudyGiuliani
Brown WillieBrownBrown Brown WillieBrownBrownBrown BillClinton BillClinton
BillClinton BillClinton PopeJohnPaul PopeJohnPaul PopeJohnPaul PopeJohnPaul
StingSting Gloria Est-e-Funny rubbed portraits on toilet backs against the
wall to wall units of time everlasting time out after a hard day's time
immemoriafter time is on my one-sided-story side effect crunching towards two
snake eyed sphincters squeezing memorials to the living through barricades of
the dead. Woe, that really blows my mind! What a trip! I'n't it a riot?!
If cops bring peace to peaceful crowds
Then, it follows -- we follow it -- we really need cops.
Then we really need violence if to achieve peace and si-o-lence.
Is that a forced rhyme, or reason? Bad crowds. Good cops. Verrry good.
McDonalds' trumped up Eyeful Tower sucking oxygen like a brain moving like a
feral wheel under a millennial dome gargling Drano into foam e-mailing credit
limits to and fro to discover that to suck an opponent must blow and blow
hard. Fireworks.
Fifty pounds of bull launched high into the air. Trickle-down after the big
show? Empty shells in smoke-screened badges.
PRO-POLICE STATE SPEWS RIGHTS TOWARDS Y2K.
Put stock in babies, portfolios of the future flailing backwards making
champagne-bubbled turds, workers working towards their freedom, Microsoft
houses, whatever the market tomorrow espouses.
Work will set them free if you love someone set them free to beat up on you
and me and me and me and me.
Does progress really mean just 2000 flushes?
Ring in the new(s).
If it ain't Brokaw, whatever!