Saturday, April 20, 2013

'Twas The Night Before 420

Twas the night before 420, when all through the city,
A bomber was hiding, in a boat that was shitty.
He laid all alone in a blood and piss soaked bed,
Scared that the SWAT team would soon make him dead.

The country was watching, wondering where he could be,
In devilish anticipation of a death on TV.
When one lucky smoker found some blood in his yard,
He ran to his phone, and the FEDS came down hard.

They showed they meant business, and fired some rounds,
Then listened to him whimper, and other pathetic sounds.
It dragged on for hours, and the kid seemed to be screwed,
Then the cops got him to surrender, with the promise of food.

The people were cheering, the terrorist beaten and dragged,
Then taken to the hospital, where he was treated and tagged.
He would get no miranda, probably suffer more beating,
But no one would care, he deserved even worse treating!

The media vultures arrived, circling overhead,
Eager for news, on if the killer was dead.
But the doctors worked hard, to make sure he kept breathing,
Because if the man died, the public’s rage would be seething!

"We want torture! Interrogation! and a televised trial!
And we hope he pleads not guilty, so the show lasts awhile!
To Gitmo he goes, after we’re done in the courts!
For more humiliation and torture, even a raping of sorts!"

And after our bloodlust, and the media circus,
Islamophobia would be stronger, with public burnings of burkas.
And America remains undefeated, foiling another terrorist plot
But who fucking cares?  Let’s just smoke some more pot.

Happy 420!

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