That’s great, it starts with an earthquake. An escalator, actually. “President-elect Donald J. Trump?” Christ. Well, at least Lenny Bruce is not afraid. Because he’s dead, presumably. Don’t misserve your own needs. Seems a little late for that.
Reporters baffled, trumped, tethered, cropped. TRUMPED. What in the fuck, Michael Stipe. What a prophetic line. Â Except who the fuck saw this coming? But while you and I are freaking the fuck out, the vitriolic and patriotic sure are feelin’ pretty psyched.
Six o’clock, TV hour, don’t get caught in Trump Tower. A tournament, a tournament, a tournament of lies. No shit. Offer me solutions, offer me alternatives and I decline. Sounds like a quote you’d see in gilded letters on a wall in Donald’s office.
Is it really the end of the world as we know it? I guess we’ll see.
But I’m pretty fucking scared regardless.
Also R.E.M. is a good band listen to them.
