LEFT TO MY OWN DEVICES
It's already here; the creeps with their
strange machinery have the streets
loaned out for Christmas cheer. The
usual mistakes - lighted wreaths hung
from pole to pole, on wires with the
little bulbs. Everyone's afraid of
everything now so there's no Merry
Christmas or Jesus K. Christ. And
certainly no Mary, whether the
Virgin good one or Magdalen the
whore. You can bet where I'd be
headed if there was more than an
infant and some cows to be bedded.
-
A few of the local virgins (yeah, pshaw!)
are strutting about in their little red skirts
pretending to be Santa's elves. I think they
know more of Epstein than who's been
good or bad. Early to bed and early to rise
keeps a man's unit healthy wealthy and
wise. My brothers in arms, this is all
calendar stuff, but they don't make
centerfolds any more.
-
You want trash in your basket? I can
get you some coal. It's alright; he's
making a list and checking it twice.
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