Our Left Coast sighs in a stupor of red from evergreen coasts to the casting bed. Hollywood’s big leagues deal their fatal blow; vapid perspectives from stars in the know. Glamour holds court: socialite solutions when celebrities talk revolutions. But red alone would bring our nation harm cut loose from white and blue—and should alarm the audience, who pay to see their plays while questioning their wanton West-coast ways: Designer-reds, a stain upon our land where red with white and blue ought take a stand. Such fluff from the stage set who roll in dough is Hollyweird yeast—rising now to show beautiful and swelling irrelevance unaware of its insignificance: Hypocrite pretenders all paid to act in films where decent values are attacked.
Let us turn then from Thespis‘ leering smile to lace up cleats and run the gridiron mile where other plays get tossed in endless zones as commentators rave in heightened tones while fools raise fists—then take the well-payed knee, their pigskin antics sold to you and me. ****** a fat mike before their muscled face. Note well the dull reaction, low as base. These tattooed thugs make vain attempt, through speech multitudes of more thuggish fans to reach. The sad attempt to use their words in vain lacks clear interpretation. Yall nome sain ? The musclebound elect, who toss a ball (as if their silly game was all in all) should stick to sports; decline to state their views lest fans their spectacle no longer choose. Thus stars of field and screen steal every show, and cause our dying culture worlds of woe.
Contemplate the ****: Boring nature imagery Abrupt line-endings