Get out of the car, Donald
We were 70 hours behind the inauguration line
When our country’s death wish began to stutter
Like a sexually frustrated poop yogurt commercial
And Donald Trump turned his entire head
Towards the window and screamed
“Pull over you shaggy faced bastard!
That Burger King just looked at me funny
Did you see that? No respect for my huge intellect
Or the Presidency!
I think my ego’s going to puke!”
I pulled the car over
Hoping that maybe this would be the time
Maybe something factual had just
Come out of his mouth
Maybe he really was going to puke
And he’d get out of the car
Like I’d been trying to get him to get out
Of the car since that soul-hacking night
After he’d won the election
And I’d walked out to the car
And found him sitting in the backseat
Humming a Billy Idol song
And screaming “Who the fuck does this Billy Idol
Guy think he is?! Total loser!”
To an empty potato chip bag,
Humming and screaming,
At the same time
I’d been trying to get rid of him
Ever since but it was proving impossible
As much as Helen was determined not to get
In the car for the rest of our finite-forevers
Trump seemed just as determined
To stick around
He’d moved in
He was shitting in the glove box
It was hopeless
But maybe this time he was being truthful
Maybe this time he really had to puke
And he’d get out of the car to do it
And while he was vomiting himself into
A vast parking lot that separated Hobby Lobby
From an abandoned Brakes Plus
I’d be able to slam his door shut
And hit the gas pedal until my nose bled
Until even the rearview mirror
Had nothing else to do with him
And I’d be free!
He’d be gone
We’d all be free!
Sure, I’d be alone in the car again
But Trump’s reminded us all
There are worse things than being lonely
Like injustice and Donald Trump’s children
Loneliness I can live with
At least we’d be free
But instead of getting out of the car to vomit
Donald sat quietly for a couple of minutes spontaneously Tweeting
And when he’d finished insulting the Civil Rights Movement
And everyone who’d ever been to the Virgin Islands
He tightened his seatbelt and told me
He was hungry
“See if you can find us a Burger King”
He whispered, with his hair the color of radioactive semen
And overly breaded onion rings
“Have you seen my knife and fork set?
Am I sitting on it?
I could really go for some Burger King
There it is!
No, that’s my dick
Donald,
This isn’t going to work out with us
No matter how many times you tweet
“This is totally going to work out between us”
Everyone who’s bothered to pay even a little bit
Of attention knows this isn’t going to work
So you should go
But you won’t go……………
Donald,
Just because you tell people that David Coverdale
Dreamed the song Still of the Night
Into this existence and after waking up and unable
To find a piece of paper he wrote the lyrics,
So he’d remember them,
On his own dick
Doesn’t mean that David Coverdale actually
Wrote the lyrics to Still of the Night
On his own dick
And just because you order
A wall of Whopper Jrs and tell
The sad cashier that I’m going to pay for them
Doesn’t mean that I’m going to pay for them
Donald!
You fucking monster!
I could go on but Donald wasn’t listening
He’s really really great at not listening
“Wow! Look at the tits on that squirrel!”
Donald howls like we’re driving 120 mph
With the windows rolled down despite the fact
That the windows are up and we’re only doing 30
Repeating himself:
“Look at the tits on that squirrel!”
Only it wasn’t a squirrel
It was Democracy
And those weren’t tits……….
“What are they then? Am I supposed to say bosoms?!”
Donald blasts, “Would that make everyone
Feel better?!”
I try to point out that they aren’t bosoms
Either but he’s already forking himself full
Of Whopper Jrs.
Still in the car
Not listening
“Bosoms! Ha! You anti-corporate-sensitive-types
Are soooooo sensitive. Hand me another Hamburger Jr, asshole
I mean Squirrel Tits.
I’m tweeting it anyway!”
[Historical Note: In lazy Sci Fi reversing the polarity
Of EMPs solves almost everything
If only this world was lazy Sci Fi
And we had us a bag of polarity reversers
And some goddamn
EMPs]
(written for last night’s F Bomb Fantasy Island reading Mercury Cafe Denver CO)
Multiverse Johnson 