The Bullshit Guy

To be a member of this community one must be a bullshit guy.

One must forget the letter "I" and put the community higher than the sky.

"Listen."

Listen? Listen to who?

My desires grant me power and will.

My elders lied to me when they said our life was written on a cloud, and God was the author of eternity.

My destiny is for me to define.

With my free time I rhyme.

There must be a jealous God where there're none before.

So many restrictions on days in this world, this stage.

The community pays for the progression of science and knowledge, and celebrates the bullshit guy.

We reap the rewards of lonely hermits who socialize in internet chat boards.

I tell the Wal-Mart patrons, "Haven't you heard? It's the end of the world," and laugh.

They all tell me to "go home."

Ah, fuck Wal Mart.

I read Zarathustra in the parking lot at the Highland park, and I'm like, "Fuck it! Yeah! Let it all burn!"

The community had planned my murder.

They wanted to turn my brain into mush.

When did San Bernardino turn into Pious Cow?

Drop a nuclear bomb on San Bernardino's valley.

The '80's were for burning.

Why the fuck are gas prices so high?

Someone upload a YouTube video that teaches us how to cyphen gasoline with a garden hose like my uncles did in the eighties.

Nobody cooks eggs on barbecue grills anymore.

The community hated my uncle Joe.

Who worked for his blue tarp-tent, electric scooter, Marlboro-Reds, crystal meth, and early morning forties.

The bullshit guy is a used car salesman with a fat belly.

He hears verbal attacks in the non-decipherable social conversations of the community.

Everyone keeps telling me to "go home."

And I tell them, "you first."

The bullshit guy is first in line.

The billionaires get it.

The population of the planet is approximately 6 billion and 1 people, according to Google.

Instead of fighting wars we should all build 6 billion more rockets and launch the people of Earth into the abyss where Zarathustra sits.