You Let Everyone Get Away With Murder
Everyone thinks they got the funk, but you ain't and neither has that lady next door. You con't know what it is. You wouldn't know the funk if it slapped you across the face with a sock full of cold porridge.
Don't even look for it. The funk isn't there anymore.
The reality you have to face is that you are a cannibal. We are all cannibals. Blah blah, nice Chianti. Don't pretend you don't
know. It's not like the secret is well kept. Every time you burp you are reminded.
Don't Chaise Me, Bro!
Look at the Argos catalogue. They've even got in on a website now.
They ripped you off, they took you for a ride. You canme home one day to discover that your daughter is no longer a
virgin. A letter on the door mat informed you you have cancer of the anus. Your wife left you for her astrologer. You never
saw it coming.
This year everything will be different. You can enjoy a break with your violated daughter and her lover, the cat, the garden hose. You don't need the wife, just the familiar clicks and buzzes of a seaside pinball machine and the sublime poetry of E.E. Cummings.
REMOVED DUE TO COPYRIGHT VIOLATION
- E.E. Cummings, 1913
