Kennedy Liver Farms & Prozac Bagels

science never sleeps
yea, growing livers
for Kennedys. drink
to that. recombine
DNA. millions for a
cloned, bleating, woolly
sex toy named dolly.
yea, they just love giant
breasted dumb blondes
from Nashville. hey, its
that silly little quest to
discover that we know
nothing, where tiny little
men with glasses and
oxford degrees spend
their entire lives to
develop rc racers with
bad radio receivers, you
know the Martians would
probably prefer the latest
copy of Hustler. and you
know some of those
Nashville sluts won’t cost
nearly as much. maybe the
Martians won’t kill us for
stupidity if those little men
with glasses and degrees
send them a toy that works.
hey lets all learn about the
learned men, yea. they made
pharmaceuticals and hospital
machines, keeps those old
toothless jello eaters from
dying when they should. yea,
lets them handle more
abuse from the young
before they finally go. then
again why should Martians
bother killing us, when we
do a fine job of that on our
own? gotta love science,
anathema, the tool of entropy.
Take the prozac spread with
your bagel, and lets find out
about these tragic little men
with glasses who ironically
work to make the world
a better place. yea, they design
ice-cream flavors and bombs,
machines to worship all day
and workers compensation
for the machines making us
do what hands were never
meant to do. such a
better world, or so they
claim. poor fellas are just
speeding the inevitable. so
damned smart. I’ll probably
spend my life in a cheap little
community college writing
about the happy things in life
and the cash I have to spend
on the inventions of these
sad little learned men. they
manufacture freedom, yea, the
new slavery, Orwell’s nightmare,
killing elephants on television,
watching purple dinosaurs teach
children the art of telemarketing.