I respect the fact that
you’ve taken a different path
from the Untermensch.
I quite like the fact
that you can allude to Nietzsche
in a well-constructed sentence.
I’m cock-a-hoop that from these philosophical roots
you’ve built beliefs
that, like the junk that you
pick up from the streets,
you firmly intend to reuse.
I’m chuffed to bits you’ve made a table out of a disused door.
I love the way you smack
capitalism firmly in the jaw.
Why, you’re like a more
radical version of Al Gore!
I adore the fact that you’re so fiercely, nay, violently anti-war!
I just wish you’d wash more.
Yes, I just wish you’d wash more.
Does your squat not
have running water?
Not sure how I feel about
you sponging resources,
but the smell tells me the
private company ought to
supply you for free as a
simple act of benevolence to
the local bill-paying community,
as part of their
corporate social responsibility.
I share your views on the need for a
techno-global proletariat movement.
For the disenfranchised to
get connected to the net,
use the means of production
in an act of self-government.
Why, it’s what Marx and Engels intended.
Let me join in – just move my computer
to a room with a vent in.
I intend to think globally and act locally
when the fumes from your arse
have stopped choking me.
Because when you speak –
people listen.
You give them a choice.
Because your breath smells like a
rat crawled up your arse and died,
and you shat it and ate it,
in a pathetic attempt
to end waste and famine.
So the choice you give is this:
hold your nose, or vomit.
Yes, I just wish you’d wash more.
It seems that the clothes that you sweat in when you mosh wore,
the damp fibres rubbing bacteria into newly made spot pores.
Please stop dancing; could this rancid smell possibly waft more?
What do you think a cloth’s for?
Your house smells like the band’s wardrobe on the bus of a goths’ tour,
your pants are older than the Nordic god Thor.
I don’t want you to give up
and join the rat race once more;
I wish you well in your endeavour
to start a peaceful war.
In your ideology, just like your bedroom,
I see no flaw(/floor).
I just wish you’d wash more.
I want you to turn on, tune in and drop out,
just don’t want you to drop in unannounced
before I have the chance to get the fumigating chemicals out.
Now, I love your commitment to political change,
to the overthrowing of the new world order,
even if it’s informed by a personality disorder.
I respect your belief in sentient beings,
the compassion shown to bacterial disease.
Fight the good fight, my friend –
make the world take notice.
Maybe before that public meeting, though,
you could sort out your halitosis.
Cos I’m rooting for the underdog,
even if it smells of dog.
The kitchen sink equivalent of
Luke Skywalker – Puke Dishwater –
you are a new hope…
or you would be, if your direct actions
included buying
some organic, fair trade soap.