What would happen if we could provoke the ignorant to think, the apathetic to care? |
My blood brews as I watch workers rot, drivers idle, celebrities parade (those sheep!) after the brawl of puny "brains" started by the ruling deuce of morons. I want to launch a war against the stupid. The lambs bleat a mish-mash of songs which laud a leader who stripped them of their wool. "Hail Bush! Hail Bush!" they croon and cry. They languish in the valley below, left to starve. I grab a bottle of glue and tip-toe in the night. I must fix their broken minds; I must be the mole. "Dude!" they scream, blood curdling at my sight. I smack their little heads like they're broken dolls. Tonight these lambs will know the truth. I shall not give them new wool, but shall give them new thoughts. I begin to weave new ideas with wit and glue. I shred their clone outfits and piece together new cloaks of philosopher's fabric. With my glue, I hope to forge a truce. Will they loan me their ears so I can hear their bleats so new when I'm done? Will they sing to scare the leaders? I work as dawn's glow caresses my back, painting me a crook under Bush and Cheney's glares. I snuck in on horseback (now the binding glue) to heal the ripped wounds in the lambs. Now I have turned their pawns against them. I hear them soil themselves as the woolen shrews awaken. |