THE BUNNY BOWL
by Rev. Chris Korda
Just past Hartford, on the "Christopher Columbus" highway...a highway named
after a pirate who cut people's hands off...Burger King smokestacks spewing
burning flesh...bulldozers in clearcuts, giant stacks of dead trees like
fingers...sewers, roads, malls, expanding, encroaching, more and more and
more...a continuous megalopolis from D.C. to Boston, why not? Commuters
safely ensconced in their pods, keep moving, normalcy at any price...High
school prison-like on the horizon, conform to this way of life or be outcast,
a lifetime of burger-flipping, truck-driving, cashiers, conveyor belts, unimaginable
tedious hours of metal-mouthed coffee and plastic food, wrists numb, eyes
glassy, time clocks ticking, calendars marked with standardized Hallmark
holidays, flag-waving lunacy of convenience stores and gas stations.
I'll be the one to change it, I'll stop the madness, I'll have a baby and
bring it up right, I'll teach it to fight the ugliness, to live the right
way, in harmony with the earth, no more supermarkets and plastic diapers
and baby toys, only politically correct eco-food from coops, recyclable everything,
catalogs of earth-friendly merchandise, Visa, Mastercard. Clad in a loincloth
of spruce branches, living in a tee-pee, my baby will think like me, do everything
that I can't do, fulfill my dreams of glorious righteousness, because I'm
better, none of this is my fault, it's not me, it's the bad ugly stupid people,
clogging up my drains with their turds, consuming and procreating and breathing
my air, my precious air that's meant for me, me and the other good intelligent
sensitive well-educated clever articulate people, God's chosen people, the
master race, we mustn't let these morons, these cretins, these useless cocksucking
niggers inherit the earth, outbreed them, more eggs, more sacred white patriarchal
jism, spurting into the fertile cunts of perfectly-formed aryan poetesses,
we won't stop until everyone on earth thinks like us, total control, boxcars
full of stupid people, gas them like Jews, in ovens of fast-food restaurants,
eat them, make them into lampshades, an army of babies, with my baby leading
them, the new messiah, ripping, tearing the mutant TV-watching shit-babies
into pieces, baby arms and legs in piles, triumph of Shakespeare and Descartes
and Plato, swells of Handel and Bach, victory.
Wait! What is this thing coming out of my anus? No! It can't be! A turd,
a turd, no, no, what is the thing I'm gripping, could it be the steering
wheel of a car? Oh God, no, I'm driving down the highway, toxic fumes wafting
out of my backside, it's me, it's me, I'm in the dirt, consuming! My kitchen
is filled with tupperware, my walls are smooth and white, with plenty of
outlets, appliances beckon me, "turn me on, use me," I'm standing in line,
clutching my debit card, some hairless ape is jabbering at me, what is it
saying? "Paper or plastic"? My precious baby is a chocolate bunny, flush
the toilet, oh the humiliation.
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