THE LIMITED LIFETIME WARRANTY OF JOHN GALT’S SHITTY FINGER

SECTION ‘A’
(as in “Another” say it with me
in the count of three 1… 2… 3…)
I got John Galts eyes on me.
Watching.
The holy guard of the almighty dollar…
Ayn Rands Rangers got eyes on me too.
Awaiting any sign of infraction.
Holding their line.
Said with the confidence
of a Dollar Store Discount God.
Said with the confidence
of a Dollar Store Discount Fascist.

SECTION ‘B’
(as in “Brother” say it with me
in a count if three 1… 2… 3…)
Fragrent soap for the hands
smelling like a beautiful delicate flower
or berry or fruit…
An aroma good enough to eat…
Spreadable by pump and spoon
over a perfectly toasted
slice of bread…
The tecnology of soap to cover up
the inferior strength of toilet paper…
To cover up the fact
that your finger just
busted through the toilet paper
when your wiping your ass.
Bust on thru to the other side…
that shitty finger
Becoming shitty with help
From inferior toilet paper.
It takes a handwashing
with the fragrant soap
to eventually cover up
the fact that you had
actual shit on your finger!
So you wash your hands
with the soap and when your done
you give your finger a security sniff
just in case…
Your finger might still
smell like shit!
It may need another dousing
of soap, washing and rinsing
to make positively positive
that despite the truth
about where your finger has been,
it smells only like
you been dipping it
in a bowl of fruit salad.

SECTION ‘C’
(as in “Fruit Salad” say it AT me
in a count of three 1… 2… 3…)
Thats why
it’s called fruit salad you know,
cause its all mixed up, in there together.
Me, you. Philip K Dick…
That four-fingered fucker Micky Mouse…
All of us are in there…
The fruit salad of life.
Nothing is forever.
Every empire falls.
Every king dies.
Every cadtle crumbles.
Everyone puts their pants
on the same way.
Who is John Galt?
That guy with shit on his finger.

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