I Kissed Ten Sharks On The Lips

This is my current favourite song. I really can't stop.

The glow from your brass instrument stabs me in the heart of your persons of interests list. Have you ever been a member of the Marxist Party of Canada? This is your piano clatter? I guess this is your idea of ambiance, right? Step back, nothing to see here? That’s perfectly acceptable. Even though you’re a jerk, even though you’ve been living with a terminal disease, I’m not going to feel sorry for you or the crap you put up with. No one wants to assassinate the Secretary of State, right? Oh god, even though your eyes are bright red from crying I'm offically out of sympathy. I’m going to headbang to the National Anthem. Who decides what gets capitalized? I don’t know if my own name is deserving. I don’t really think this respect, in literary form, is really warranted. I wish comedy was an excuse for dissidence. Though it may be.

I’m really not sorry, but I wish my excuse was valid. That last shot, of you crying, hugging your friends and storming that VW van. That means more than anything I've ever done. Your cup runneth over, mine, broken and razor sharp, sticking gracefully in the meaty footbottom of toddlers and debutantes.