Poverty-Stricken Africans Receive Desperately Needed Bibles
“You say you’re suffering. I say, let the good Lord do the suffering for you,” she said. “You say you’re exhibiting the deleterious effects of severe dehydration and chronic malnutrition. And I say that no matter what ails you, the Holy Bible is the best medicine there is.”
Yukko the Clown, from Stankervision. You can’t top this:
Pre-YDM thoughts (Yuppie Death March):
You are the future you carve out. You are an atypically typical creature that is bruised, aged, and wittled down into a sensible, presentable human being. You are presented and you are shown. You are young and progressed until one day you wake up and it is all gone.
When they are sad in their suburbs robots water the lawn
and everything they touch gets dusted spotless.
So they start to believe that they haven’t touched anything at all.
While the cars in the driveway only multiply.
They are lost in their houses.
I have heard them sing in the shower
making speeches to their sister on the telephone.
Saying, You come home.
Darling, you come here.
Don’t stay so far away from me.
This weather has me wanting love more tangible.
Something I can hold because it’s getting cold.
So lets hold up our fists to the flame in the sky
to block out the light that is reaching for our eyes
because it would blind us. It will blind us.
NYC. Went here. Kit, someone stole DaDa bot. I am not shitting you. The tables, the words, the colors. Everything. Even worse, it was some kraut. Probably some slob German efficiency-art Robot, with glass eyes behind neandrathal frames who thought they were replicating lower-case god with silent plagarism. I seriously hope this registers with you.
Ouch, get off me bitch!! I live with a psycho. You suck at life.
Went to Gray’s Papaya. It made you sick. Hot dogs are made of squirrels and horses and shoes. I think it was the shoes part that did you in.
I had a lot of time on the bus. There were no distractions, just silence. I miss you (bold you). Even a turn for the worse twists into a turn for the best. I seriously hope this registers with you.
Came back, felt a little non-sensical, a little cryptic. You probably wouldn’t get it, even if you had been there.
PREPARE FOR YUPPIE DEATH MARCH.
Ho hum. A rich girl’s carefully constructed life is thrown into sylishly-tussled disarray by her faux-serious problems with a rich drug addict. I may as well be reading about Paris fucking Hilton’s problems.
