A Parody

Brigitte my love
Our Country suffers of many debts
The people are restless
Whatever shall we do love?

Ah Macron, we must think past the cookies
The solutions are complex, answers evasive
Let me speak with Marie Antoinette, she shall know!
Queen of Navarre, By god we shall be saved!

Marie, Marie Antoinette our people are restless
Our republic is in debt. these are crazy times!
Whatever shall we do?
I am fed up, allons-y

Ah fear not, if they have not bread!
Let them eat Nutella!
Lower the prices
Nutella for the masses!!!

Marie, are you sure? very very sure of such things?
Oui oui, on with it, my father was emperor of Rome
Nutella will calm the masses
Come here Nemo. taste, see even Nemo is tres happy now!

And so France lowered the prices of Nutella
Thus began the nouveau French Revolution
Riots in the streets, brawling in the magasins
The uprising has began, we want our Nutella for free

The masses rose
Nutella for all, Nutella for sans prix
We are all somewhat fou for Nutella you see!
And so the masses fought each other for Nutella's liberty

Nutella one and Nut Ella all!
I swear to your Brigette
We should have given them Macarons!!!
People remain civilized with cafe and cookies! n'est pas?

Emmanuel my love, fret not
The revolution shall be quelled
Qh I have the perfect person for this
He shall restore order to our dear republic

Prey tell Brigette? Who could do such a thing now
Riots everywhere, the masses fight each other daily?
The streets are not safe
There is a shortages of Nutella now, we are doomed cheri

Non non mon amour, I shall call Alizee
She shall sing us out of the terrible mess
She is the mistress of Doug McMillion
This man can save us all!!

Brigitte, who is this man you call Doug?
Why Emmanuel he is the president of Walmart
He has squashed many Black Fridays rebellions
He shall save us all!!!!!!

From these unruly unsavory Nutella shoppers!!!!!



Vive la France!
Vive Alizee
Mange ton macaroon mon cheri
C'est ton droit et ta liberté

. Alizee...
   'you're so transparent...
you should be a window...'
*******
winfow-licker:
blaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah...
and...
   no comment paraphenelia
of...
          what excuse
there's to have,
        to begin with.
funny woman:
                        ah ha...
you're as transparent
as to be worth replying
to a window...
                genius!

what a ****** nightclub -
   in some dingy part of Romford -
now?
   gone gone gone...
but at the time -
   when tool's stinkfist came on
i lost it...
    started to trance within
the confines of a dance -
   like a berserker on psilocybin...
me and Samuel -
    with our hair waxed into
spikes - he a mohicnan -
   i a:  greg tribbett -
   dingy - murk - alcohol stinking
rat hole -
              clammy walls -
sticky floors -
            a nightclub -
also a sinking ship -
             yummy -
                    underage drinking -
started at 14 with white lightning:
haven't stopped -
               just dosed up -
and? all the merrier -
     but cooking and regular showering
saved me -
   hygiene and your atypical
dietary requirements from
the Raj -
                  that's when i lived
in Ilford -well, Gants Hill -
just across the synagogue -
   on Beehive Lane -
    above the estate agent -
    ha ha!
   those orthodox jews on yom kippur:
scuttling into the synagogue -
ninja stealth mode -
         ratty -
      wearing Nìké trainers -
because, you know? right?
   the hebrews are not allowed to wear
anything worth a leather's inch on
their body...
             ergo? no belts, no leather shoes...
**** me...
   HELLO ISHLAM!
so you can't eat pork...
   but you wear shoes...
  made from pork?
                    well done!
and that belt?
    it's not crocodile leather...
  look...
   if you think that's a god not teasing
******* his pants from laughter?
ha ha... i will...
              the pristine beast -
homage to the boar - that wild pig
ancestor...
    ah... zee fwench -
     alizee - moi ****** -
      hell... if you started jerking off
aged 8...
             and was first kissed
around the same time -
    puritanical Dutch protestant ******* -
lying was never **** -
   *** - only the catholic way -
point being: i never understood
the concept of a strip-club...
     huh?
    eh?
    the **** are these people talking
about?
  look, but don't touch?
what's the point of a *******
saddle... if you don't have a horse?!
- ah... RM1...
        long gone, gone gone gone...
me and Samuel...
  walking back from Romford
to Ilford...
   singing Backstreet Boys songs
and talking about the girls we liked
back at school...
  the eternity mile(s) -
                 trying to baptize ourselves
free from the heavy metal drone
sound of the excess volume in
the rat hole of a nightclub
where underage drinking was and always
would have remained: the norm.

to have invested so much in that it would have
to yield so little... it's hardly a making
of a degradation...
   but it's also a looting of the most believable:
         pretending to be a member of a club:
         blistering at the crux
of "being" ordained... the kippah for a bowl
of grue: green and blue... or perhaps oats...
      semolina with milk... then again...
i just wait for the: first come first served...
and that's how... the guise of hyper-inflated
publishing works... it's a shortcut
in the chemical labyrinth of the ol' Brian:
i.e. the brain... since there's no
"grand scheme of things": who isn't waiting for
a dickensian paragraph...      who is?
    feed me some more sputnik ***** and
golgotha wine and i'll rattle you with a juggling
and audacity that's: pure rhetoric on paper...
but it's not what's somehow the last
possibility... of my peers there are no
robinson crusoe remainders...
no cul de sac echoing back footsteps to this:
if life was a necessary hyper-inflated scrutiny of
repetition that's  well proportion for:
the army of the sea vs. the army of the cliffs...
           brief interludes with mongol fire...
or the ottomans...
        extending epochs of the wind and...
  glimpses of the far east
within the confines of the haiku...
otherwise: to thank the greeks for democracy...
but then the reply concerning alexander...
fairness exemplified... given enough years
and fudge-packaging a stupendous
grey area of dunce and gimmick comatose relief...

  alizee - moi ******....
        so little of fwech and euro-trash
first becomings...
      my own toes tied to the over-sexed like:
jerking off blind drunk while
extracting the least
fathomable entree of a... a loaf metaphor...
          
      such that the last known depravity
is an analogy in:
in the kingdom of the blind...
the one-eyed are king...

or giving limbo status to a peacock
strutting... and the drool associated
with biting into a lychee perversity / persuasion...
  
it's otherwise such a formidable roundabout
of the common parle of...
   a mediocre apple...
exemplified should push come
to shove when transformed into a cider...

but when so much is being allowed...
so much is made inclusive...
it' beyond fathom...
that there is such an adamant stressor
to make counters with...

you couldn't possibly make
watermelon ice-cream...
you could... make... a sherbert...
an ice concept of pop!

ice... pop... brittle is a necessary
adjective...
              brittle ice...
                       tooth-pick loot...
a carpet of concrete slabs...
        i do remember being prepubescent
while also being sexually "active":#
i masturbated
before i could provide the sludge
for moloch's altar...

    even if you were to guillotine
my testickles dry i'd tell you: there's a sensation
that's a priori to the actual
provision of *****...
           but that there's a muddle
of an a posteriori connectivity...
to make these affairs synonym...

for all the prized conventions
of leftist liberalism... and this... pauper...
this... it's impossible to not want
to... grimace: sour **** ******* a lemon:
       with the words...
why, not, so... supposedly... inclusive?
                
  it's impossible to join
the left politico with a hard-on
because... it's not the pyramid scheme...
and: as i have seen a *******
get drop-kicked in the face
giving out flyers: supposedly anonymous...

           no... very impossible!
it's not like...
  i would ever watch the end of Wimbledon...
and see the duke of kent...
prince edward KG, GCMG, GCVO, CD, ADC
is not! des Esseintes!
clearly! most evidently!
third removed, a cousin of the narrative!
but under no scrutiny of
the public eye... given the trophy ceremony...
inspecting the ball boys and girls...
like one might: inspecting
a horse's teeth...

who's fooling who when the "plebs" are
making scrutiny of:
the welcome pedophiles from: on 'igh and oink...
i sometimes wonder as to why...
perhaps pedohpiles find the grown
woman... too... intimidating...
too... blasé... some variation to test
personal memory cinema with a rigour
of archeology?
          a grown woman can be
such a biological fixation:
an impasse...
                          what is... a return to youth...
i remember being kissed for the first
time when aged 7...
   the erotica of prebubescence is hardly...
that... genesis primer
of *** and hormones...
and... being led by the current of influence
of those that failed...
mimic ***...
              ordeal of a body yet
to be made subject to...
coercive chemical soup...
   or what teenage girl are sold...
when they are told... teenage pop culture...

to shelter a kiss before the hormones...
it's like... being a gemini twin bound
to the expression of a typhoon...
                         the sensation of clenching
a breath... and that loss of brass
when the image confinement machinery
of consciousness "relaxes"...

        as such... i want to understand
the depravity rather than the immediacy
of a reaction to it...
that, the latter... pushes it
into the extremity of moloch
baby ****** cannibalism...
which is beside... anything
a marquis de sade mind might conjure...
the ******* must find
the adult woman intimidating...
in that... she is a transcendence of
reproach...
      she's not the safe material
of juvenilia of teenage summer love
stories of teasing the ****** of
same-*** loot...
        
                      aren't we somehow
allowed some complete...
god-like... freedom of thought?
esp. if there's no... moral (th)ought
translation?
                    can't we... in a democracy...
enjoy... our own... despotism...
nabokov-putinism and therefore...
retain a return to:
a cohesive... sensible...
a democratic society...
but if all we can... in thought...
in air... but not with ink...
in blood... a scribbling hyena cackle...
on pseudo-paper...

              for the act itself...
esp. with toddlers...
          countless examples...
but we're "talking" borderline...
schoolyard antics...
                                the hormone brigade
before a woman becomes
intimidating... demanding...
a widow...
                           a pure **** bride
misnomer / metaphor...
                
i am sympathetic to the theatre of thought...
because...
i known the pre-ordained shackles
of restraint that allow me to...
decipher a waistcoat as imploring...
buttons included / buttoning up inclined...
a tie has a methodology of tying involved...
as do shoelaces...

it's socially normative / expected...
               however: how i curate the despot
ego... and how i please... to showcase it before
a willing crowd of digestive major...
is my and my audience's choice...
third parties are excluded since
there was never a subscript of a signed
understanding translation...

      i want to be, at best... completely...
misunderstood.