1/24/2006

What the FUCK ARE WE DOING????



Man, I thought it was motherfucking this and that and the other thing back in August was going to blow the shit open. Then I thought it was that fuckwart Mclellan sticking out his shitass pussy Yale YRC booze-stained birdy lip and askin' some fucking reporter if "he was insinuating something" at some Christing White House briefing or another over this fucking Abramoff shit.

Then I thought for sure it was going to be this fucking domestic surveillance shit. See, now it's every day, baby. Some new humiliation. Some new scam. Some new no-bid contract. What a fucking nightmare. The way it's picking up steam.

And it dawned on me a few days ago that we'll put up with pretty much any fucking shit. yeh, unless they come for our flatscreen, man. Then it's Katy Bar The Polesmokin' Door, man.

It's like a day gig, man. It's like the fucking outrage is a pastime until motherfucking dinner. Or th' new season of Armenian Idle. Jesus fucking christ. What the fuck are we doing? What the fuck am I doing? I, me? huh? I ain't my brother's polesmoking keeper. Y'all do what you want. I'm living in a fucking glass house for sure. You know?

yeah, all very well and fine to be all Soulfinger-this-and-Sal-The-Feist-That-and- ain't-it- funny- the-other-thing but what the fuck good does any of that do?

It's all racing towards critical mass. The decision is going to be upon us. It really is. It's any, any, any fucking day now. You think I'm just Lightfootin' it but man this time it's for reals.

I'm telling you. I'm telling you you're going to wake up really fucking soon, maybe next month. Maybe in the spring. And you're going to have to decide. You're going to have to decide if you believe in your fucking house and your car more than what's fucking right for our kids and our fucking country. You fucking dig me? Because it might not be what we think.

God damn it. I'm having a harder and harder motherfucking time writing this polesmoking blog. I'm getting a little tired of bein' a hoot. can you tell? I'm gone for DAYS. I look at that god damn screen and I think what do I really add to anything? Best I can do is preach to the choir. Preach to the fucking choir. Not that there's anything wrong with the polesmokin' choir, of course. I'd hate to offend EITHER of my readers thus.

Look, man. I'm singing "What's Going On" to fat white fucks that have funny things written on their t-shirts with words like "cunt" and "Arab". And my little rebellion is to say, "what the fuck! Let's bring 'em home!" during the guitar solo. I'M A REGULAR MOTHERFUCKING ABBIE HOFFMAN, MAN. I'm like a white, non-filanderin' MLK Jr.!!! WOOOO-HOOOOOO!!

I'm fucking ashamed of myself. I mean, I've got the don't-play-the-man's-game, thing down. Doin' all right there, you know? All that means is I don't have shit. Got that part. But I don't have the nuts to go ALL THE WAY DOWN, DOG.

IF I HAD A NUT IN MY SACK I'D PULL THE FUCKING RIPCORD RIGHT THE FUCK OFF. BOBBY LIGHTFOOT AND THE ORCHESTRA OF SWEET REGRET MY FUCKING ASS. YEAH, ONE MORE TORTURED FAILURE SONGWRITER ANGSTING ALL OVER THE PLACE IS GOING TO BRING 'EM HOME. YEH. YEH.

Well, at least I do more than that tosspot Bono. THAT fucking guy. Jesus Christ.

Although he did set some "painless" mouse traps in our attic last week when I had him over to TEACH HIM A FUCKING OPEN G CHORD. Guck.

so what THE FUCK ARE WE DOING? WHAT ARE YOU DOING? WHAT AM I DOING? Look, people, we HAVE TO DO THINGS THAT RENDER US UNATTRACTIVE TO POLITE SOCIETY, MAN. We have to BE FUCKIN' BRAVE.

I'm going to go do SOME REAL DRUGS, MAN. Some BIG BOY DRUGS. Some WHITE drugs. Like they used to when MEN WERE MEN AND TH' PIGS WERE SCARED. Then I'm going to get myself ORGANIZIZED. And then...then...once I pay th' electric...and th' cable...and th' payment on th' flat screen...and...and....and....

YOU SEE? SEE HOW THE MAN GETS INTO THE FUCKING DRINKING WATER??? EH? EH?

I'M GETTING APPENDICITIS FROM THIS FUCKING SHIT. I'M GETTIN' A MITE PIQUED. A LI'L VEHRKLEMPT. Aaaah, I curse the FUCKING DAY I entered the world of Men. What a disillusionment.

It's so hard to be counterculture registered trademark anymore. God damn it. Unless you want to move some fine GAP products. Dammit, now I'm crying. No, wait, that's just flopsweat. From th' white drugs. Ooooh...but they was good for a half hour. Now I have to sell my stereo for more. Wait, people don't even have stereos anymore.

PEOPLE DON'T HAVE STEREOS ANYMORE!!!! WHO'S FUCKING AMERICA IS THIS? WHEN THE CRIMINY FUCKING CHRIST DID THIS HAPPEN?

AND OUR CHILDREN!! WHAT HAVE WE TOUGHT THEM???? DRUGS ARE BAD?? DRUGS AREN'T BAD, MAN!!!!! GUNS AND LIES AND OIL AND SHIT AND MONEY AND WALMART AND POLITICS AND CEO'S ARE BAD!!! COME ON!!!!
You're going to tell me next to THAT FUCKING LITANY THAT DRUGS ARE BAD? I'M SUPPOSED TO BELIEVE THAT? Our little brownshirt children are BUYING IT. BUYING IT. Oh, God.

JESUS AM I TH' ONLY ONE WHO'S JUST FIT TO BUST A GUT!!!!!!!! GET UP OFF IT! GET UP! STAND UP! DON'T GIVE UP TH' FIGHT! IT WORKED BEFORE, MAN! BACK IN THE DAY! FIRE ONE UP FOR ABBIE! GOD DAMN IT!

DON'T YOU KNOW THAT YOU CAN COUNT ME IN?

out?

What's that say, huh? Does it speak to your Quality as a Provider reg. tm.? Your Q.P. quotient?

Just means you're a good consumer times 4, baby. That's what it means. You roll the dice and you flip the coin just like the rest of us, every day pissing a little more ozone layer away, baby. Off th' grid with the lot of us, daddy. Toot Polesmokin' Sweet, baby.

Can't even feed a family anymore without signing on the fucking dotted line, man. How's that sink in, Mr. Casual Friday? How's THAT shit working for you? I know this guy in god damn Holyoke who has 11 aunts and uncles and is working class. Can you imagine trying to have a fuckin' brood like that now? Guh---uh---uh. You'd have to be that pussy metrosexual hair-gel devouring human monument of greed and avarice Richard Branson to sink that many damn pucks.

See, what I'm trying to say here is that really the only way I can think to stab out at The Man is to be borderline motherfucking homeless. You ride the rails, you show up in towns and agitate. You take the fight to The Man. I guess that's O.K.

When you get that mysterious feeling that you -j-j-just can't get it UP to earn like a good little American Worker.

Ah, well. We all have our crosses to bear. Mine just needs paint a little more'n yours. Fuck it.

Fuckin' Bono. Jesus Christ. Pussy hairdresser metrosexual bitchass. I bet he listens to Th' Blackeyed Peas at home.

The Blackeyed Peas! Ha ha! That's what we have! We earned it! You get what you deserve, my dearies!

What you deserve!!!! Whatius Youius Deservicus, as Illiad would have said. The great prophet.

The Blackeyed Peas. The soundtrack of madness. My madness.

8 Comments:

Blogger fgfdsg said...

My blog entry back on the 14th:

After the War On Christmas, faulty intelligence, WMD, man-whores in the whitehouse, the domestic spying scandal, and constant political doublespeak. I'm completely burnt out. I seem to be suffering 'Outrage Fatigue' - I feel there's no further down we as a society can go any more. There seems to be little anger over the fact we're being lied to all the time. It's just easier to just shrug and accept the false truth because it means we don't really have to do anything to change it.

Yeah, just tell me what do you want me to believe now so I can add
it to my perception of reality. I'm too numb to question anymore.
Whatever you say.


Where do we go from here Bobby? Down, down, down. I know one thing - I may be scared but I don't think i'll be surprised anymore. The barrel is actually bottomless.

To me it's just a relief to hear someone else shouting at all.

tmtgyetx - Up To Par And Katie Bar The Kitchen Door But Not Me In

1:18 AM  
Blogger fgfdsg said...

Oh, re: the whole metrosexual thing

Whatever happened to that Queer Eye post about training Polesmokers to be good little consumers? It was the most trenchant discussion of the whole concept i'd ever seen.

auxvmxbd - the sound made when trying to say 'polesmoker' while your mouth is full of pole

1:23 AM  
Blogger The Viscount LaCarte said...

God damn it. I'm having a harder and harder motherfucking time writing this polesmoking blog.

Been trying to say that for weeks!

At least you aren't making it worse.

10:34 AM  
Blogger Neddie said...

Here's a little cheerer-upper for you

kncwtggj -- accompanied by truncheons keeping time on human skulls

12:06 PM  
Blogger Soundsurfr said...

Man,have you tried decaf?

Me, I'm going Buddhist on all your asses. All this shit is flying around and I don't give a flying whazoo. It's just Karma. I open up a can of Zazen and all that bad mojo is revealed for the ILLUSION that it is. Dubya's voice is the sound of one hand clapping, bitch.

Can you picture me sitting on my fat ass with my head shaved and my ear lobes dangling down to my shoulders and my legs crossed and my beer belly hanging over my privates and my hands in the Buddhist bird-flip position, pondering the meaning of fpoxb as they fly over my house in a Haliburton airplane with listening devices trying to find out why I'm not watching Fox News? Do you see how serene and unconcerned I am?

Children, playing with toys. All of them.

fpoxb - on all your houses

2:47 PM  
Anonymous roxtar said...

It's my soon to be famous Black Sky Theory. It's easy to spot one big, black target, hovering in the sky. Two, three, still no problem. Forty or fifty, now you're starting to get some overlap.

But these days, man. These days the sky is fucking black with targets. How's a master marksman to know where to aim? If you pick off anthrax, Katrina's still up there. Take a shot at Abramoff, and the Swift Boat Veterans float around shrieking like harpies. Shoot your wad at Jeff Gannon and a gallon of santorum falls out of Scotty McClelland's goatse like aperture.

I've got a shotgun, a wood stove and a sturdy bicycle. I feel like a rich fucker. Loved the ramble, btw.

2:56 PM  
Blogger Kevin Wolf said...

I hear ya, Bobby. I see what's going on and the lack of outrage and my mind starts making up little statistics about the US population:

percent brain dead: 81%
percent angry civil liberties being abridged: 14%
percent planning to watch Super Bowl: 89%

Well, I say gzhufmj!

2:56 PM  
Blogger beyond passionate said...

Bobby, I'm always amazed at your telepathic powers. How'd you know what I was just thinkin' myself? Only you say it better.

At least you still have your pride. Me, I work for the Hombre Grande, a boss that's Bush's biggest fan, who sits in his office every day with Fox playing on his TV. So me and my buddy at work huddle and gripe in whispers about the mass hypnosis that's turned Americans into zombies, like in that movie "Invasion of the Body Snatchers". And if we hear the boss coming we quickly change the subject and pretend we're working. So ya think I might go home and have trouble gettin' it up with the old lady? At least you still have some pride.

We NEED you Bobby, to remind us pussies out here what it means to be honest.

BTW, to completely change the subject, what's happened to the previously promised audio clips from the Harrington's big Halloween gig?

4:11 PM  

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