Garter-Belt Springsteens


...detente forensic nine inch catastrophe car-jacked ransacked bush-whacked and jinxed beyond all lush credibility that wasn't even there in the first place so how could the boxing gloves of a monk be a threat to the tear-stained sheets of a certain foreign policy now that Schultz the man has hung his wild years upon the nail of a conscience that ticked counter-clockwise to begin with mister usurped up the khyber let yer back-bone slip like some belly shaking bell-hop detective replete with meat cleaver down the pants like some heavy metal singer going ga-ga on the sabbath oh so black and oh so shop-soiled and well past the sell by date of such marketing vomit as suck rattle'n'roll for every two-bit savvy caught up on naiad and naive and eleventh street where the sun don't shine but it shore does recognize an imposter fresh out of fuck school skagged out on snapple spunk and violence and a Fidel Castro forget-me-not so vixen and military and magnet and young cause there's a plethora of windmills in yer mind proposing shag and a stab wound to the the mango swamplands of ego central and the president's semi-U-Boat-sub-conscious that was weighted down by the chain round his policy of imitating a sixties go-go dancer cum police officer betwixt 42nd street and bribe y'all so cackle cackle young bucks and stink of romance in Pakistan with the Sugar Ray of your dreams clutching a tattoed fandango of pay per view so peep show'n'shaft amid the reluctance of your soul that was beaten into submission by the last action hero all glorified and piss soiled carrot cake and annoying not to mention high on the sort of vengeance that goes no-where except the red cross of your muslim sensitivity so what's new what's for dinner and what's the answer napalm Ned got your torture in a twist cause yer knickers have been cleansed of all ethnicity so acute and unfortunately Bosnian and so submerged beyond the recurring nightmare that will haunt us all our days like maggots amid the slit-cock of non-humanity and bingo and far too much fresh cream to be taken seriously cause tomorrow never knows and neither does Tom Hanks nor the publishers of self-amputation that was jubilant to begin with but eventually got caught up on so much saxophone that the gospel according to both Jesus and Elvis got intermingled with the stars and the fetid stripes of misanthropy much to the chagrin of the former but we were told to imagine but everyone turned the other way like a swath of erections with far too many white elephants distracting our concentration 'twixt the bay watch of distraction mit purple haze und countless dunkin donuts so regal and immediate and sanctified and here and now that it should cum as no surprise to discover a collection of uzi suckin' garter-belt Springsteens on the loose on the hop on your case and bang bang you're so fuckin dead it ain't even funny...