In the New Dream
I’m burning in agony
Could be fever, could be the fires of hell or Climate Inferno, it could be that I’m just stuck in the middle of my signature transformation sequence
I’m burning, I’m screaming, I’m all out-of-sorts
It’s all kinds of fucked-up
I’m super into it, I guess, I’m really trying to martyr myself for the role
Like Harvey Keitel in Bad Lieutenant
Something like that
High above me
There’s this magnificent chimerical amalgamation
Of all of the bogus authority figures
President, General, Admiral, Commander, Creative Writing Teacher, Work Supervisor, the All-Seeing Eye of Big Brother, Uniformed Police Asset, Pastor, Priest, the guy beating the drums to keep the oarsmen in time from Ben-Hur, Acting Coach, Online Wellness Griftfluencer, Monolithic Pop Star, Big Brother’s perpetually clogged toilet known as Big Shitter, Conspiracy Podgrifter, Mother, Father, my shadow self with the truly baroque sword-gun and the decadent Final Fantasy villain hairstyle
All of the bullshitters all-in-one
This amalgamated whatsit says to me
As I’m burning
It says to me
“You’re fine. Quit feeling sorry for yourself.”
I say, “Help me! I’m burning! I’m in pain!”
“Well, you’re just lying there feeling sorry for yourself.”
“I’m burning! Help!”
“You gotta help yourself. You gotta make your bed. It’s all in your head.”
“ARRRRGGGGHHH!!!”
I spontaneously combust
I go nova, to put it bluntly
Before, I was burning
Now, all is burning
It’s pretty cool
The best part is when the Chimerical Amalgamated Bogus Authority Whatsit comes crashing down out of the sky
Real big explosion
Cities blown away
Impressive miniature work
Actual pyro
Just little dibs and dabs of computer graphics here and there, you don’t even notice it unless you go frame by frame
A class act
But the Amalgamated Authoritarian’s still alive
Alive, and burning
At the bottom of what appears to be the Crater of All Cities
The Great Amalgamation
The Chimera of Chimeras
Cries out
To me,
“Help us! We’re burning! There’s such pain! It’s burning us! Help!”
I start to move my mouth
I know exactly what I’m about to say
The words long written down,
It’s all in your head
Stop feeling sorry for yourselves
Make your fucking beds
Lots of howling and incoherent gibbering
The sound design on this thing is killer, dude
From out of the cacophony
Bits and pieces get some coherency around ‘em
“Didn’t I bless you . . . didn’t I change your diaper . . . didn’t I give you an achievement structure . . . didn’t I make all that hamburger helper . . . didn’t I get you those balloons for your birthday . . . didn’t I give you a mission . . . didn’t I give you a source of pride . . . didn’t I bandage your knee . . . didn’t I give you a Christmas bonus . . . didn’t I put a gun in your hand . . . didn’t I teach you three act structure . . . didn’t I show you who to kill . . . didn’t I teach you long division . . . didn’t I give you the final boss battle of all times . . . didn’t I bomb all those civilian populations overseas . . .”
Good points, all worth considering
So I do that thing
I consider ‘em
And then I call down, like, ALL of the lightning
Every hair on my body stands tall
There’s a full-on cookout down in the Crater of All Cities
In the End
It’s all revealed to be a stealth pilot for my caustic celebrity chef persona reality series
Kitchen Obliterator
It goes for, like, fifty fucking seasons, dude
I make all of the money forever
Don’t ask me to explain why
People just go for this mean TV chef thing
I don’t question it
I just spend the money
