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Newborn infant?

   There’s an app for that.

  It’s a strange new world, Jack;

and it’s nowhere near

     the Arthur C Jetson

  post-war dream, once promised.

      1+1=5;

and in December of 2012, you’ll

      be two—and the world will end.

The earth and sky fell to the Capitalists

        who put write name here

    in the White House/Capital Building.

Most recently, on the home front,

   a Tranny from Alaska

 shows that “she’s” the biggest

        swinging dick, squatting

in Monticello, with a mob of

  blue collar picketing dipshits,

       denigrating the corpse of

a founding father, mocking him

  as the embodiment of his fear;

 teabagging the rest of us, jaws

        agape in disbelief.

Public discourse is dead;

        wanna go ride bikes?

  Plastic Glow-in-the-dark Christs,

American Flags (made in China)…

Not much is sacred, Sobrino.

       We bankrupted your education,

   your future, your freedom, your planet;

all for petty family grudges…

      my friend, Benny, died

          for their feud.

Nearly a decade of war; but

   as long as someone else pays

 the price…

  In this banana and apple republic we’re

    building [no war but class war],

  filtering bullshit will be

          the only full-time

   job you won’t be able to outsource;

and it will be low-paying, hard work.

Your great-grandparents were

      part of the Greatest Generation.

    They understood that there is

                    nothing

         without hard work and sacrifice.

 In such a short time,

      we’ve forgotten their lessons;

  but who’s got time for thermodynamics?

    It’s such a dry subject, anyway.

Our call of duty is to buy buy buy

  (read: borrow borrow lose the house).

     We can blame this manifest pathology

   on past destinations—my obesity

  has everything to do with my genetics

  and nothing with the exercising of my

  freewill…

Forgive us, we are but helpless

      crippled victims.  You’ll have to

   solve the problems.

But you have to laugh, Baby James.

      You really do.  Find the humor:

  A naturalized Aussie pushes

        propaganda against immigration—

   a subject your mother may have a thought

      or two to share.

And then, there’s the women of the GOP…

       Irony is the foundation of most of Life’s

                punch lines; you’ll figure that out

            soon enough, I’m sure.

Beware, but don’t be afraid, Young One.

   They’ve had The Bomb for over

  half a century…

        Live, laugh, love,

     because life is an adventure

       of endless discovery,

   full of honeysuckles, bee stings,

        ocean waves, mustard seeds,

              and girls.

You’ll figure that out, in due time.