microrebellion, craft brewed.

homestyle table wail.
and either it's the phalanges, the carpals, or the synapses staging microrevolution?
or maybe the brain staging a rebellion, recoiling at how awful all this is,
but my heart is fortified and saddened because it knows that i will try to pound it out until there's just bloody stumps left and i don't use the shift key because i'm typing with my nose.
but typing with my nose is going to make it hard for me to stare out the window while i type as i am wont to do.

and i'm not all that overly attached to capital letters anyway.

but.

a meek proposal, so mild as to possibly one day inherit the earth. a suggestion.

we are the romans. we should revel in this. all of the money that is being spent for cheerladder games like "vote for me!" should be spent to vitalize local economies and create jobs in constructing modular recyclable eco friendly non-animal tested colisseums (yesh i don't know how to spell that sorry i am such a marginal and ign'nt roman) that can be taken down when campaign season is over.

and we send anyone who is frog enough to bellow hir own name to the admiring bog the livelong day into those stadiums naked armed only with pens and swords and see who comes out alive.

carry the bigshow on widescreen flatscreen every screen in the land: pay per view and pbs alike, the advertising spectacle so grand as to make the superbowl marketing extravaganza look like a twelve year old wanking it to the barred screen lines of some cut rate skinemax flick pirated three times. halftime will culminate in a good old fashioned orgy (we are romans after all) with manic pixie dream girls rolling around on the field (in the blood mud) eating cupcakes, while madonna has a threesome with britney spears and angelina jolie while the winsome ghost of lohan hovers above all, her skin translucent wings gleaming.

the bars would be packed. it would be unifying national spectacle and fair sacrifice for the honor of leadership, no?