In the Lobby of the Beast
the femaloids
duck-strut
pug-faced
and grim,
their squat
formless frames
girded tense,
their bestial smirk-frown
faces cutting the air
like an icebreaker
lurching towards Murmansk.
I can see
it now. We
are in the
Lobby of the Beast.
the jut-jawed femaloids pass in parade,
chinless mincing maloids in tow,
a procession of ass-wipers,
the generation of whine,
from she to whining she,
dry-humping down the loathsome road
from Bethel to the sea.
Gothic Chorus:
"oh beautiful rapacious skies,
what amber rays of pain.
the manic Marriott piggys
cry: Across the Charred Remains!
Ameryka Ameryka
god shat his blight on thee."
into
the lobby of the beast
they charge,
face-first grim invincible;
onlookers gasp;
bell boys quiver;
"We're the Marriott Brigade,"
they shout and shiver.
Greek Chorus:
Screw heads!
Dweebs!
Liars!
Cheats!
Dirt bags!
Scum bags!
Fag hags!
Creeps!
our government at work;
last stand of the losers:
these plus perfect arrogant jerks.
like picadors on parade,
onward marched the Marriott Brigade,
into the
Lobby of the Beast,
And
Out the Bunghole of History.
Valedictory Prayer:
Dear Lord
Up in heaven
Or wherever you are,
May the memory
Of their passing
Grow blissfully
Fainter with each
Glorious, lovely,
New day.
AMEN.
