There was a time, not so long ago, but long before we knew exactly what was happening and why it was. But it was too late. It shouldn’t matter a rat's ass how much wealth you accumulate with your high standing in impolite society and with friends in low places. It sounds funny, I guess, but it could be simple and easy. Boiled down to a hearty stock of stewed-to-the-gill royalty. Inbred dimwits herky-jerkying about. Sticking stinking gin blossoms in places where they don’t belong. So many trifles trivializing truffles are sniffing around here. You’d think it was the holy grail hoity-toity of the Kennedy compounds, up there in those uppity gray gardens. Then again, you know the type. Crusty old curds. Heavy weighs the crown sitting on a solid gold crapper. King for a day. Senile oligarch with a bad case of the clap and even worse attitude towards humanity in general. Who doesn’t? I mean, come on now, who’s fooling who here? Kiss the ring, you plebeians.
You of the thin wallet and empty pockets. The original fool on the hill. If this is truly a simulation, then I want to change the scenery. And a refund. A new backdrop. Mix it up, you know; get down with it. Like James Brown going 100 miles per hour. It’s always happy hour at the Billionaires Boyz Club. What a scene, where the lame go, to be seen by lame scenesters. Top of the crop. The Snoop Dog of old-school white gangsters. The P Diddy of lecherous leeches sucking the innocent blood out of a delusional Christian rap cult. The megachurch MAGA World of Jesus Incorporated. The fox in sheep’s clothing that sleeps with anything that’s breathing with a hole in it.
Mayor Rudy drags himself from under the bus just long enough to drive his Mercedes to King Rat, the big cheese, down at the monthly boot-licking rally. Hooray for the honorable gentleman who waits patiently in line. That old cornpone, aw-shucks shtick only goes so far. Honorable men who won’t tell a lie. Ask Jimmy Carter. Like the dead comedian said, it’s an exclusive club, and we ain’t in it. It’ll be the greatest crap shoot in the history of the American nightmare. It looks like it’s back to the drawing board with those inept rocket science guys from the evil empire of branding and hashtags. Like a three-year-old with an Etch A Sketch.
Everything’s all a-Twitter over there in X Land. The mad scientists want to rule the world, but the fat cat greedy ass green-eyed grift monsters of supreme skinflints can cut it. Rotund cheese balls of gaudy gasbag lighting jokers—that one never gets old. Somewhere deep in the bowels of a primeval Amazon distribution warehouse. They tell everyone it’s a dirty job, and they’re the only ones that can stomach it. The emperor wishes an audience with the prime minister’s sinister sidekick. It's a rousing musical with Sylvester Stallone, JD Vance, and all the rest, dancing together live on stage; they sing and joke like Dean and Jerry.
Direct from a residency at the Las Vegas Taj Mahal casino. Promoted by Second Coming Attractions. It’s a real love fest here in the guts of the American dystopian dream. Pray for water. Take me to the river and baptize my sins away. Am I good enough to go to heaven? If it’s tough enough for me, then tough luck for you. There’s no point in pointing fingers. It has nothing to do with politics or religion, but keep your religion out of the politics is all I’m asking. This is what I’m talking about.
It’s not about ideology; it’s about respect and common sense. Decency and courtesy have gone the way of the penny, along with compassion and empathy. There’s nothing left to compare right from wrong. True worth from trash. History’s on constant replay. You can’t shuffle the deck and pretend nothing's wrong here. The winner in this game is the one with the most money. Everything can be bought, including the presidency. Name your price. We will top it. Nothing is too much for this exclusive club. They already run the world. Politicians are cheap, bought with a few measly bucks and some hooker hush money slush funds.
It’s time to pay off the piper, along with the dirty cops and the IRS. Here we have an excellent example of a man who sold his soul long ago and should be in prison. Think about all the crimes committed in this great nation; multiply by 10, and you have the Billionaires Boyz Club. Blaspheming in the name of Jesus and democracy, racism, genocide, ethnic cleansing, propaganda, money-laundering, you name it. Then, ride your golf cart down the middle of a fairway for a quick round of cheating at golf with a sawed-off shotgun on your lap. Count your blessings and bluff your way into another exclusive country club of self-serving billionaires. Part and parcel of the most corrupt government in the world. And we fucking love it.