Friday, March 24, 2017


Este es el renacimiento americano.
Welcome to it, motherfucker.
Everyone with an Instagram is a creative genius!
Everyone with an etsy is Michelangelo!
Everyone at Twitter is Dorothy fucking Parker!
All these bright bright minds have come together
for the first time in history
to congregate on social media
telling what needs to be told
selling what needs to be sold.
Kitty cat comics.
Ironic t-shirts.
Penis coffee mugs.
Brand-new venom spewed by the hour
at The Powers That Be.
The American Powers That Be
ain't lookin' so hot in their Versace.
All that Planet Fitness pilates yoga
plastic surgery sweat ain't resultin'
in much.
"I don't know what we're cheersin' to,"
the pretty Latina RN told me at the block party
as we held onto our JELL-O shots
like they were the holy fucking grail.
Me neither, girlfriend.
Here are some guesses.
We're cheersin' to blow jobs executed
with graceful manipulation
our eyes on the Zales prize
and prime Stone Oak real estate.
We're cheersin' to JELL-O
the best pop art
America ever offered.
All those optimistic colors and flavors!
They shake.
They wiggle.
They're so damn Chupacabra Disco!
We're cheersin' to self-published books
about this current dystopia
but with Disneyfied endings
because the mermaid with long hair
and bouncy tits
always gets her prince
and a kingdom without walls
with rainbow flags
whipping in the sprinkled donut scented wind.
We are here to CHEER until it hurts.
Do the splits for Jesus.
Do cartwheels for Future Husband.
Wave cherry red pom poms for
America The Little Engine That Could
and Did because Google
because Facebook
because SnapChat
because AshleyMadison
because Tinder
because OKCupid
because everyone is happy
and well-adjusted, finally,
in tighter pairs
than those animals so snug
on Noah's Ark.
More than enough LOVE to go around!
And cake.
And Sears houses.
And tractors.
And pick-up trucks.
And microphones.
La la fucking LA.
Look at me!
Here I am!
Selfies at the ready!
You haven't seen American tits
until you've

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