Dumbshit Poor Ramble

Dumbshit Poor Ramble

Now I’m poor, I know, and you don’t want to hear from me, I bet.
So just don’t read ok? That’s all you got to do to turn me off.

I’m trying to lay some vinyl, you see, squares I got at the dollar store,
3 for a buck and that’s cheap. Affordable vinyl, you might say,
So the mopping here, the daily mop, mop, mopping
Won’t turn this floor to sawdust like it’s doing.

I am having thoughts while on my knees, and that ain’t uncommon for us po’r,
Despite what you might have read.

I should improve, I know, my lot, being an American, I should.
Opportunity everywhere, you say. I know. I know. I’m trying.
I’m laying these vinyl squares, and that’s improvement.
So get off my aching back for just a moment.
At least while I’m improving this floor here.

I think this war going on,
(This is what I’ve thought all along)
that whole shock and awe speech, that Mr. President unwrapped for us,
from his pulpit to the press. Shock and awe those Iraqis, we will, he said, like he couldn't wait.

Well that’s just fine, Mr. Bush.
But I think,
It was mighty dumbshit, respectfully said,
(please don’t haul me away Mr. Rumsfield and I know you’re still out there watching and covering women’s breasts that show anywhere, thank you)
it was mighty dumbshit in the shock and awing,
to blow up everything, knowing we’d have to pay to build it all back up afterwards.
We should have left a bridge or two. They’re so expensive to build, I’d think.
And maybe a power plant and a public swimming pool, too.
So the defeated Iraqis could cool off and feel better after we blew their cities to bits.

Then, we had to start the rebuilding and the rebuilding.
Of course there’s people getting rich off the building and rebuilding
After the shock and awing.
Might be friends of Mr. President.
Respectfully, Mister, it doesn’t seem right lining pockets atop blood and
Little kids detached legs and flying organs.

The American people waving flags and straightening a soldier sons collar worriedly in front of a big plane. Earnest people going home to earnest jobs or no jobs, watching the TV nights, and mom nervous in the kitchen if the news is on, and big fat rich people lining their pockets on the blood and the earnest faces of America while their sons are safe in some frat boy cat house, frittering the blood on fast cars and booze. Mister, it doesn’t seem right to me on my knees here, pulling the thin white backing off the sticky side of these vinyl tiles I’m laying.

Lots of things don’t seem right to me.

Like the peace demonstrators trashing and thrashing and screaming what they want and I know it’s not peace. Because I know some them screamer people. They want to glow is what, and peace is a nice glowy sunny happy word. Like God, you know. Makes you feel higher just to say either word.

God. Peace. I love those words, I must admit. I like rolling them around, or throwing them out for the right effect. But better be careful, you take either word in vain.

Them peace people really are opposition people, opposed to current Mister President. And when he’s gone, if their guy is in, they’ll shut up and justify anything. Just like the current Mister President worshippers who scream everyone should support their President out of respect for him being President alone. But they won’t and don’t, if some opposite of their guy is in. Do they forget their complaining of a few years ago, how loud they were hating the Mr. President then? Have they changed or something, had an awakening? Ha ha, I don’t think so.

That’s what I’ve seen, year after year, until I figure everybody’s the same really, and should shut up and go to work changing things instead of yelling about changing things.

Like the peace people should put their lives on the line to create peace, that’s what I think, instead of laughing and joking in big lines marching with signs on a sunny Saturday afternoon, for a lark and that glow of goodness. Everybody wants somebody else to do the real hard work, the hands on work, the dirty work.

Man, it would be so nice if you could stand on a street corner and demand anything you wanted, by holding a sign and somebody else would do all the work and make it happen and not even charge you a dime either. Man would I love that.

I can think of a million signs I’d make right now, of the changes I want done and somebody else to do it. It’d be like having a Genie in a bottle. Or a servant or better yet a slave.

Well, I’m getting up. I’m stiff and that bad tooth is whining in my head. I want to lie down, is what I want. But I have work to do. Work to do. Work to do.

Now remember I warned you right off. Just don’t read and you can shut me off without any other effort at all.