skonen_blades

More like Stephen ‘Larper’ amirite? Cause he's a troll
The House of Commons needs him like an anus needs a hole
Because he is a 'gateway' for a metric ton of shit
An oily, chunky tidal wave that we all know will hit
Our coastlines and our country’s reputation in the world
Soon I’ll be embarrassed when I see our flag unfurled
He’s talking shit most all the time through a shit-eating grin
When he talks, his words leak out like fecal gelatin
His cold blue eyes betray a lack of feeling in his chest
The patriarchy’s patriarch, more evil than the rest
A heart bereft of feeling is what makes this man so bold
Let’s talk about another part of him that’s hard and cold
His dick is like an iceberg ‘cause we've only seen the tip
And Canada’s titanic reputation is a ship
We’ve only caught him doing what we’ve CAUGHT him doing to us
His dick’s a shitty, stinky one because of where he screws us
He’ll do us like the government has done our friends down south
And when he takes the CBC, he’ll fuck us in the mouth
His parliamenterary member’s girth will make us sick
But we’ll be muffled cause it’s hard to talk around a dick
When speech ain’t free and it’s too hard to talk because of cocks
And Harper takes the CBC and changes it to FOX
When prisons house the homeless and challenged mentally
When pipelines move the oil from the tar sands to the sea
He said that he would change things and that when he was all through
We wouldn’t recognize our country anymore. Do you?
I can’t even face myself when I look in the mirror
And yet we seem to tolerate it maybe out of fear or
Maybe we just hope that we’re asleep and we’re all dreaming
But this nightmare won’t be over ‘til we wake up screaming
Harper’s party is expensive and BYOB.
Nothing there is given, free, or complimentary
Except the aforementioned non-consensual gift of cock
He’s rooster-proud, he’s confident and solid as a rock.
With his kind it’s all a game and all his chips are in
He doesn’t give a fuck about the rules. He came to win.
I’d say that it’s a game of tag and we are surely ‘it’.
All the poor could starve to death. He wouldn’t give a shit.
Or rather all the shits he’d give would come out as a speech
A stinking swirlie-cone of words. Man, he should be impeached.




tags

It was a stinky brick tunnel a few meters under the feet of the pedestrians. Brackish water flowed by thickly. Fecal gelatin bobbed to the surface occasionally like the eyes of alligators. The tunnel was a half-full artery pumping a sludge of molasses past the knees of our heroine.

She only dressed in pink and white. She always wore sunglasses. Her code name was Champagne Quartz. Right now, she was up to her thighs in a river of shit.

“This really is going too far.” She thought to herself. An very lean girl by nature, made even leaner by the fact that her metabolism had been overowound by the corporation.

Soon, she’d be under the sewer grate of the target’s basement.

She could see it inset into the ceiling of the tunnel. Weak lines of light filtered down from it, glimmering on the rippling surface of the dark river.

She walked slowly forward with her arms out for balance until she was standing underneath it. She looked up. Four bars of light from the grate played across her emaciated face.

She took off her over-sized sunglasses and put them into the pocket of her faux-fur pink overcoat.

Her eyes were dark, glimmering pits.

She reached up toward the grate and stretched her arms. Her thin fingers wound through the slats in the metal. Gritting her teeth, she clenched her muscles like a boa constrictor. The veins on her arms stood out.

The grate came loose with a crack. Champagne lost her balance and fell backwards into the river, entirely submerged for a second before rising back to a standing position, gasping for breath in the dank, putrid tunnel.

“Control is going to pay.” She said to herself. It became a whispered mantra as she reached up and wriggled through the small hole into the target’s green tiled basement.

This was where the target did his killing. She lay there in the dark on the hospital-green tiles. She was a stick figure dressed in pink and dipped in brown, taking deep breaths of fresh air that wasn’t tainted with methane. The river sloshed by underneath her. There was old blood on the tiles.

Suddenly the full lights snapped on. Champagne flipped up into a battle crouch, nails fanned for full deployment and eyes amped to red points for attack.

Her target was standing in front of her.

“Well, well. They told me they were sending the Pink Lady herself but I didn’t believe them. Whoo-ee! You smell bad. Can I offer you anything? Hose you down?” he said with a laugh.

Champagne Quartz relaxed her guard. Her target was right. This was too much. She stood up and leaned with her back against the wall and started laughing.





tags