WOULD RITA VANT TO BE AN AMERICAN NOW?

Sweety farts, lip lock my Iranian Setter's tongue,
In beer stained drool I fool your deepest urge to implode.
Sweety farts, Romanian eyelashes cover your Body, uh,
When Commenici sat upon your hairy Nadia.

Wash your acupunctured ass in the dawning of Christianity,
And bow down to the last remnants of your Cult of Depression.
Capitalistic chutzpah cries out for blood,
Fuck Grenada by invading it again or at least a PTA mom.

Virginal office workers devour pork chops,
Engrossed in inching closer to finally getting porked.
Whoring investment bakers devour whore derves,
Prelude to humanity divestment off the board.

He is the walking definition of the word tool,
A useless perfunctory prop to occupy your slime.
Vindictive hippies miss days of naive laziness,
Oregano moisture hanging onto the hair on their tongues.

Philandering meat all over your street,
Pandering to the masses during fleet week.
Stoonad soup for matzah ball morons,
Hormone pills stain underwear in the dark propulsive night.

Be a Mensch at the ender of winter,
Or whine about your aching guzuntite.
Dye your nipples blue in electrified bliss,
Elephantitis of your sternum evolved from a mosquito bite.

Sometimes when you feel like a big shitty potato,
It's time to take out your telekinetic liposuctive friend,
Macy, and have her move your boobs beneath your tuckus as a pillow.

Sometimes manual orgasm are unaccompanied by fantasy,
A literal button pushed quite easily in an anti procreative stance.
Shtupping underneath the boardwalk is so 1955,
Would Rita vant to be an American now?

{POETRY}