Network

Will someone explain this inner demon that haunts many
Maybe this clouded consciousness has finally expired
Was it was some test on the people as if we were lab rats
Maybe depression is some psy-op posing as clinical truth

Drug companies have a cure for everything, and nothing
Basic life instructions seem to condition us all and are obeyed
The media gives us our opinions and sells us on the latest trend
They solve pending court cases and propogate the newest truth

Our own government created and maintains a welfare nation
Rights of the poor are just that, poor, slaves to the upper clases
No one ever fights for that welfare family, especially that welfare family
The powers that be have one goal, and that is to exploit the sufferings of others

We should send all media outlets on a fact finding mission, on the moon
Then bring the American listeners hard facts, while standing on that sound stage
Debrief all the network slaves through techniques I won't even go into and post the answers online
The mainstream media is a terrorist organization, we have all come to accept

Written by deathsbackdoor

"Chicken Hunting and Culling The Herd"

or..."Dichotomous Diatribe"
 
Offensively curious people disrupt the natural balance.
Claiming to be righteous, they speak of love and romance.
It would be a better world if they just stayed silent.
They know who they are, rotten inside to the core.
There's no beauty in these beasts, them even the God's deplore.
Flipping through our letters, they're just fearful bedwetters,
 seeking redemption from their many imperfections.
No personal introspection, they get continual rejection.
Prying eyes telling lies, living in their
trailer park pigsties, somewhere, who really cares.
Snoopy neighbors constantly watching us,
making unnecessary fuss, they're nasty as pus.
Cocksure pricks, needing a hard head slap with a hickory stick.
That would do the trick, knock they're brains out of their noggin,
maybe some flogging, too.  And tell 'em, "Screw you!"
Sinful sphincters, losers, not victors.
What if they fell in a pit of twenty-foot boa constrictors?
It would serve them right for their sleights.
I pray for it with all my might.  How about tonight!
A worthless, clueless lot, ranting ridiculous incantations, just snots that
need to be shot with double-aught buck.  Oh, it's just their bad luck.
Rubberneckers creating traffic jams, needing not one, but several wham whams.
Masquerading as writers, spewing mindless prose about things they do not know,
I'm hoping they just blow away with the rest of the tumbleweeds and hayseeds, inbreeds.
They call themselves Masters of The Art, I call them worthless body parts.
Obscene, mean and vulgar, they need to be drawn and quartered, thrown out as carrion
to the vultures and other scavengers, including the jackals and grackles.
Oh, let us bring back English Law penalty culture to those who insult us!  
It was more civilized than these emotional pretenders, they're not real contenders,
they cause just more stupid ruckus.
Worthless small shrews, lacking any prominence, not worth even a single halfpence.
Again, their smooth lips and elegant pens talk of love and romance.
Really?
I say, "Okay, bend over, pull down your pants,
I got something for your romance, hungry red ants for that stance."
Renegade inhumans like these should be penalized on their knees for good reason.
They've committed
High Treason and crimes
against those of
us with a pure heart.
What do you say,
let's start today!?

Written by Strider