War on Hugs (or, How I Got to be a Conspiracy Muffin)

Politics, I swear to earth’s nipple…

If I ever hear the P word again –
I’m going to sue the Atlantic Ocean
for unlawful curiosity & reason of ravioli disease.

President Mojo has announced today –
a war on hugs…that’s right
all squirt gun cartels must
dress up their weapons in bikini tops
and arouse the KFC bucket.

The muffin conspiracists
are investigating the death of low calories.
Veganism, GMO, gluten free,
I shave my arm-pits to avoid
time-travel from ever happening.

The war on period
gives my hormonal balance
a bad hang over.

This is how republicans & Democrats
use oil money
to penetrate the systems massive black hole.
We want Juice not justice –
We want cinnamon buns not peace.

Gary Busy
unbuttons Mother Nature’s soil,
a discolored shriveled heart;
he seeks an opportunity
and harasses my empty employee.

Benghazi sounds like bengay.
Terrorist bums bath in Christmas ornaments.

Hooray for the obese testicles,
Hooray for the conservative potato.

Relax you weenie slaves –
it’s only restitution in the state of Manhood.
My prom date is Zoloft.
I’m so eager to hit the G-spot depression –
if it gets wet you must acquit.

A good propaganda omelet
surely you don’t know mean World War 3.

If that’s the case
I’ll tuck the bomb to bed, kiss it,
and smile away for a good night bliss.


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