The Christmas rush has started, and the countdown has begun
Advent doors are opened, but look what you have done
You've ridiculed the Bounty bar, and your spoiling all the fun
Why buy a Celebration, if your not happy after one ?

What's behind the cardboard doors, what did you all expect
A gold ring perhaps, or the keys for a corvette?
Why bother with an advent, when you have no respect
There's no need for chocolate genocide, or coconut neglect

You shouldn't be so outraged, with your Christmas Celebrations
I don't understand the malice, or the advent hesitations
If you don't want a bounty, buy heroes or sensations
It's hardly a matter for Interpol, or the united nations

Celebrations are your choice, there's no cause for your regret
The outcome is quite obvious, why are you so upset
Are the pictures not a clue, to what your gonna get ?
No rarity of Bounty hunters, so don't mess with Boba Fett

Are Maltesers that much lighter, in a Galaxy far away
Maybe you will find Mars, in between the Milky Way
A Twix or Galaxy Caramel, they we're for a different day
But you've dissed your celebrations, and no longer want to play

Some YouTube clips have surfaced, and I have read the blogs
I think it's just pathetic, seeing chocolate thrown down bogs
Your creating your own misery, as well as yule time logs
You won't be very happy, when your toilet blocks and clogs

On day two you still complained, and you wanted to resist
Is that because the chocolate, was not on your Christmas list
Would you be pleased with mistletoe, if you never did get kissed
Christmas spirit has been lost, with your Snickers in a twist

Some people are just morons, that's the message that they've sent
Their expectations are to high, and cruel jokes are never meant
Why is Bounty not as good, to start of an event
A Snickers in your calendar, doesn't mean a ruined advent

It is late
too late now,
everything hurts,
you have no face at all.
Lights are still shining bright
while your broken soul is dying.
Sense and meaning,
two things that I don't seem to get.
Come here and tell me
that you care.
This heartless city keeps burning all your letters.
Somehow I'm not impressed.

Pokemon was a way to train warriors, worried about their tribal spells, being ready for the action, and the mother is okay with him taking a long time to get to bed at night before his big match, and it's all set and ready, and its all set and ready, and the interpol weaves the majestic time tables to rotate into another direction, because they are full of perfection, the pokemon, presenting itself in the highest of fashions, in a beautiful red and white ball that reflects the sunshine always, yes.  

The different characters follow along their path, and they love to make their crazy sounds, and the brightest creature of all the creatures is a cat with thunderbolts!   A CAT WITH THUNDERBOLTS

shooting the lightning
shooting the lighting
shooting the majesties
shooting the lightning
shooting the lightning
shooting the majesties

OUT OF CONTROL
AND FULLL OF SPLENDOR AND MADNESS AND SWINE AROUND THE CORDIAL MEASURE OF SPENDITUDE ALONG A SACRED LINE
ALONG A SACRED LINE

When you went out on me, you forgot your things.
I left them for days, hoping you would return,
To take them away,
But on the 100th hour I found a box and decided to pack for you.

I started with the ashes of a poster you made me. Drug tights that I found in your car that weren’t mine and your phone, vibrating from the sext messages.  In went ash tray, over used bottles and unused condoms.  I found the rope that was always knotted closer to my end.  Cut my finger on the broken mirror of insecurity you placed in front of me when talking to your other girlfriends.  I tossed in the mask you loved wearing.  Buckets of *****.  Your socks.  Empty cans of courage.  Clocks full of hours I wasted when waiting for your replies.  A glass full of gasoline tears.  I had to throw in the skin you clawed off my back.  ***** sheets.  Cigarette ends.  Sifted through piles of poems describing a woman that wasn’t me, and found my love letters you tossed aside.  Towards the bottom I found ticket stubs, and the pick-up lines that never failed you.

But underneath the dirt I found this:

Pebbles from the playground with the tallest slide.  Sand from San Diego.  Mental pictures I took of you while you lay next to me.  Your cologne and your Fleet Foxes shirt.  The Lennon and Yoko vinyl we danced to for the first time.  Memories of you asking to distract me.  Memories of waking up next to you the first night I stayed over.  Interpol.  Pictures of you looking me in the eyes, convincing me that you loved me.  A scribbled drawing of a beast and you holding hands.  The wicker chair from the back porch.  Bukowski’s War All the Time from that hot summer day.  Splinter Cell.  I felt you kissing down my spine, and then back up.  I found images of us laughing.

I'm keeping the good things, but I can no longer bear this box of burdens on my own, and it is not fair to send your way either.  I’ll do us both a favor.  I’ll light a match and let the ******* burn.

Some people say the man is a strange host.
Whoever invited by Moreno
His legs become heavy, will not his guest
There be, and if he can, he will say, ‘No!’
Waiters in his service to Interpol
Company belong, in his hotel’s room
Talks held are hard, one shakes like a trapped mole,
And his big eyes furniture and walls zoom.
Al-Bashir he invited, and his trips
Were reduced. When out he goes on tiptoes
He walks for fear of the boss, who pays tips.
Kaddafi he invited, and his foes
        Chose his life to close, as he feared to end
        Like Slobodan. But Gbagbo hide couldn’t find.

Excerpt of Delenda Benghazi, Said Kaddafi
http://www.amazon.com/Delenda-Benghazi-said-Kaddafi-ebook/dp/B0077K010K

The Feast of the Epiphany This Year

If the Three Kings were to visit today
They’d need the proper paperwork
Passports and visas, and what is the  purpose
Of your visit? A check through INTERPOL

A cavity search by rubbery hands
An escort armed with bribes and Kalashnikovs
Through tourists armed with me-phones, selfie sticks
And cardboard chalices, following a Starbuck’s

Searching the East for a wondrous ATM
If the Three Kings were to visit today

When is the game over?
When the man dies?
When the first born is a girl?
At the end of the first meal without salt?
When the woman dies?
At sunset?
At the late time of night when the spirit ebbs?
When his one good joke is repeated too often?
When his son is killed by friendly fire?
When the potatoes are blighted?
At the end of high school football stardom?
When rejected by a prom date?
When destituted by frivolous litigation
Destituted by insufficient health insurance?

When caught cheating?
At cards?
In adultery?
In a resume?
By the IRS

When caught?
In a sting?
Ten most wanted?
Interpol?

When I finish my drink?
When I empty my wallet?