i write this sort of *******, and they wonder why it's not Pompeii mascara.... they wonder! they wonder!  i'm half as worth to be amused... when they stop making jokes of eastern europe, or how the males make perfect plumbers, and the women perfect ******... how i think western europe deserves a beating and a ****... how i pledge my allegiance to мама Россия: you are, no, surrogate father model type, a ******* ******, hillbilly... colonel i rather pledge allegiance to your enemy than waste my time, licking out your ***... the sober me is way gone... i don't like western europe, i just think of it as a homosexual haven: but **** on me! the castratos can sing in that english county home! like some Italian, my guess! you're the one stressing darwinism, i wasn't even asking! i have no allegiance with the west, it's auper-land to me... a barricade, something the Chinese might add with a sneeze: achoo! Hans! Hans! kraft Honk bei Donkey Kong! für eine Hong! that said, the west is boring with its quest for journalistic freedom... they bore me... i'm satire prone enough... they really are a lost clause to a case, that once might have ringed true... it's when my ethnicity was brought onto the canvas, that i wished them all the more debasement in practice so shallowed, so despised, so... well... me pledging my allegiance to Россия... it's a case of: you just become tired after a while.... too many Pakistanis get in the way... you start to keep / remember a plot... but never earn a living as a plumber... then you rebel... and that's when people start to not like it... but then you're like: hey! no problem! i liked how you dealt with the original problem in the first place! here's to free love! when you heard enough jokes about Eastern Europe... just about then... you turn you prerogatives to a super-power... and you realise that the only slavs in western europe are the rich... so you begin writing, addressing the poor... it then makes sense, only then... ensuring the west is given a firm foundation of an immigrant status to usurp the Apache as worth a sneeze into a hankerchief... there i, toward Siberia bound; i'd laugh when you stopped at the **** and the Paddy... now i don't feel like laughing... i feel like cannibalising your ***; only because vegeterianism is way too risqué, and India is too far away.*

because the real poets said:
give me your everyday!
because the odd poets said:
i love you!
   i said unto mutter РУС:
absolved, that i am,
  overcome by a feeling...
      i have a heart
in a place that delves in all
my ethnically bound women
as mere ******...
not in a "like it's ment to be"
but in: do i really have a care?
then to later rob me of my
tongue; ugly irish! ginger *****!
              set
           it's become a near fetish to
think of nothing but
    a human sordid bone
   when there's a beef allowance
to set my teeth into.
it's a shame to even say these words,
and eat nothing...
        ******* bunch of cauliflower
fairies when they said: there be clover!
there be clover!
    imagine an Irishman that hadn't
enticed himself with Joyce!
   pish poor ire-mann if you ask me.
my allegience still stands with mama РУС,
ah shucks, the romance and the "greek"
in me.