Innermost_Outlandish_Ego.pdf

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Innermost Outlandish Ego
by Frank Ruf
Air Force ONE
the real estate sized flying soap box opens up
and releases a military parade of daughter-dating-dolls asking:
hey, how super-inflated can a single atom be?
well, for a nuclear-button-second, like the king of debt
who lets the son-in-law try to dump
his 666 on an oil-boy
with a princeling-to-prince booze-hug
TWO Coups
first, sell your condos to Russian roulette-professionals
those Crimean-Champange-players
ready for the intercontinental game
and then, second, sell a tax-trick to the public
waiting outside the Winter Palace
the rest is knee-jerk-talk
about the honor of the flag and the hacked social-media-gulag
THREE Screens
upvalue the anti-spaceforce-warfare-capability (or whatever)
of your Nixon-suite with gut-extention and a golden knob
treat the manic children of your mind’s ever-hungry eye
to cheeseburgers in bed - and then put those kids in cages
while watching yourself
on three screens
killing your father
FOUR Walls
build four walls around the swamp
and below the water banana-replicate a rublegate - here devour
the sound of silent citizens - your favourite song – go mad with it
auction off the last reverberation of foreign policy
and then safely sit for a deposition (a.k.a. the pee-pee):
but draw your knife-sword-gun (#GetReadyRussia)
and pardon your precious bodily fluids
FIVE Ideas For The Next Napalm-Opera
first: hire & fire
second: let it hot-desk throughout your innermost outlandish ego
third: reuse evidently oily soap on sad facts
fourth: let its desert-bleached moustache
fuel your carbon-government
fifth: fire the fire and make new soap
from the ashes
SIX
TH
Sense
to relax the lizard-brain after noble nuclear diplomacy
heat your bodily fluids up for spankee-mode
grab an anti-locker-room-talk-capability-magazine
roll it up and hand it over
all news is good news? – the truth is:
333 million of us spankers own
the presidency’s tanning goggles
SEVEN Ties In Tar
ring seven dictators
marvelling at the shiny row of the seven
lawyers of your lawyer
who dance in the foam of clean coal
dangle your seven ties
and let them sign
non-disclosure-agreements in tar-sand
EIGHT Years In Office
a hot deal to squeeze your dacha-family
into the Oval Office-jacuzzi, gently simmering
right atop the red tip of our melting iceberg:
make your barbies and princelings drill crude-butter by the fire
place the fairytale-machine on the mantlepiece
(or read them Oedipus?) and every year try to swallow more
of that super-rich and debt-fizzy fat
NINE Heel Spurs
nine years of high-ISO Vietnam War-icon painting
and another loser was: journalism
now, embedded, reporters instead paint
war-porn with black-site-blood
naked they storm the headlines
blind behind the visionary parade
of legendary deferments
TEN Commandments
Sayonara Mr Spankee, before you go
please, finally fake the Bible and de-bribe
the bear, your brides
and the Broad and Wall-Streets
and then convert to Islam
pay your 130,000 dollars
so they won’t tell Krishna
The Commander’s ELEVEN
TH
Commandment: Cable Beauty
how fancy to wear a fox-tail
to the jacket of Commander-in-Chief
as the Army’s Field Manual requires of every officer:
zooability – through mutation down to soundbite-bombast
how hard to de-dress in billboard-combat and
how easy to mobilize a furry broadcaster
just share your fixer
Five To TWELVE
Now we’re past Easter 2018
resurrection-season for über-hawks
camouflage-painted raptor-eggs are suing their own memories
while wizards go for witch-hunts in golf-carts
the so-called leader of the (so-called?) free world mutates
– as long as pussygrabbing fake-trumps evolution –
into a fact-stripping porn star outcelebing el presidente

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