Infinity Now, Yesterday's Forgotten Lessons

Ugh.
Gag.
Le sigh.
Pussy fucked Popsicle bunny.
Oh man.

Red wine mixed with Guinness. Bad idea? Possibly maybe.
Tequila for dessert. Good idea? Probably not.

Welcome to Hangover, the city of tomorrow.

I miss those things really.
How often do we see those city mock-ups that advertise what life will be like when we can fly our car to the moon and have picnics in bio-domes.
You'd think with all this new fangled raz-ma-taz about the world coming to an end due to the environmental conspiracies of the oil companies, we'd have apocalypse mock-ups.
I don't mean any of that factual, probable shit either.
Fuck no.
I'm tired of seeing penguins covered in oil, followed by Al Gore getting a blow-job at the podium for all his amazing work at pointing out things that other people have been shouting about for ages.
No.
I want a good ol' fashioned "World of Tomorrow"
I wanna walk into a city mock-up, where all the cars are being melted down for scrap, and helium filled dirigibles soar through the air.
I want panicked civilians screaming about how the previous generation raped the planet and left them for dead, then five minutes later see them slink off to the break room to have a cigarette.
Just for the hell of it, lets have the Anti-Christ strolling around, punishing the survivors for allowing sodomy and gay marriage.
Which will bring about the end of the world as we all well know.
I also want gift shops.
Oh the irony of it, I would laugh. And laugh I would.
A room full of plastic baubles advertising a world where they themselves would not exist, perfection.


"Every saint has a past and every sinner has a future."
- That Wilde and Crazy Guy

Lets get ready to rumbaaaaaa~

Rumba, rumba, rumba, rumba, rumba!
Rumba, rumba, rumba, rumba, rumba!

All right, so I had an interesting day.
I suppose it was different we could say.
Wine fest, Rastas, Go-Go Poles and Koreans singing.
God forgive me, I'm a devil a poach, nearly got six months for a killing a fish.
With a fork.
Sadly it didn't work.
The fish scared me.

Rumba, rumba, rumba, rumba, rumba!
Rumba, rumba, rumba, rumba, rumba!

So I called people I hadn't spoken to in months.
Maybe even years.
No, just months.
Eight to be exact.
One had a birthday, one was just gay.
Either way, it made my day.

Nighty night, and slap schlock tight.
Don't bugs the bite'let bed.
Make for the morning, no let the night!

Rumba, rumba, rumba, rumba, rumba!
Rumba, rumba, rumba, rumba, rumba!