Hamadam Slam In Five Parts (The Johnnunist Manifesto)

I. 23 Skidoo

Hmm...slam...
Wonder what that is...
Slam...
Slam...
Hmmm...slam? Slam! Ham!
Damn, hamn! Slamn the damn ham!
Have a damn slam with ham!
Hamadam slam!

II. (The Mover)

I have no idea what the fuck this "slam" nonsense is.

You know what I think of when I think of slamming?

I think of people I want to slam.

There. There's your goddamn Slam.

Here's my world,
a bunch of vaguely-Leftist assholes
plaguing their minds with their little
backstabbing clouds of impetuousness
while shopping for the latest opinions
from their favorite bands.
Fucking each other into oblivion.
Not that there's anything wrong with that, but,
goddammit,
don't make me sit there and watch.

Imagine being so far to the Left
that you're coming out the Right's ass
and you sit around hearing everyone chant
"ABB! ABB! ABB! ABB!"
Well, FUCK ABB.
Fuck all you "all I know is I hate Republicans" assholes
because you're embarassing me
and the rest of us who can actually READ.
I don't want you cocksucking Faux-hemian wannabes
parading around until some Rightwinger comes along
and simply asks you what your ALTERNATIVES are.
And you look at him blankly
and keep chanting.
Fuck you,
gays are gonna get married, and its' not that I don't just
"don't care if they get married"
I WANT them to get married.
Quick, Stu, grab Steve's hand
you're going to be my birth control.
If a bunch of people who can't have children are going
to fall in love,
for fuck's sake,
LET them.
There are no anti-abortioners stuck on a plane
with his seat being kicked by a screaming two-year-old.
Nor are there any "Pro-Life" closet cases
blubbering about the "Right to Live"
when some baby is drowning out Bill Murray on the screen.
You think you have a right to live? Fuck you, welcome to earth,
death is your only right.
You were never even alive until someone pulls the chord,
be it your umbilical, or your IV.

III. (The Glass Menagerie)

But don't you DARE mistake me for one of these
"I love death, I cut myself" socialite elitists
who'll take one look at me and decide,
I don't wear enough black,
I don't know enough Marilyn Manson lyrics,
I don't fuck enough fat punk rock chicks.

You think they're so fucking great?
Think they cut themselves with the \cutest\ little pair of scissors
and have the most chique child psychologist in town.
Oh yeah, \they \know what pain is.
I'll sit there building my immaculate glass house,
each 1/16 scale piece held together by invisible glue,
and here comes their bitching:
my parents fight
my parents drink
I hate my friends
I hate to think
I hate these words
I hate this song
But I sing it anyway
'Cuz if I don't, I'm wrong
Meanwhile tip-toe, tip-toe, up comes the house
glass piece upon glass piece
and here you go with your pain:
scissors on your wrists,
lighters on your tits.
And I'll listen, and laugh,
and stomp, stomp, STOMP
on my glass house
shards so deep they're in my ankles
my shins a waterfall of blood
underneath my toenails I jab in a piece I feel at my ankle
and fuck you, I laugh.
There's your pain, and
trust me
two seconds of your thumb over a lighter can not TOP that.
Your little poems about cutting yourself?
My last short story got me banned from AllPoetry
in which I describe fucking a five year old boy in his asshole,
slitting his throat,
cutting off his head,
and jizzing down his esophagus
and all the while, laughing, LAUGHING
because I'm a hypocrite for hating the haters
but,
Fuck you,
you've earned it.

IV. (The Shaker)

SLAM.

Another Faux-hemian steps into Hot Topic.

SLAM.

Another "social activist" buys a Cosmo with her mom's credit card.

SLAM.

Another $20 million bomb hits a $2,000 house.

SLAM.

That's what we need.

When I was a child, I saw a beer bottle on the road outside my house.

Right Wingers who mourn a dead Supreme Court
bureaucrat
while malaria claims another Nicaraguan.

I walked calmly into my garage, and acquired a tool.

Another girl takes a swig of a stolen cigarette
and taps her wrist with scissors.
Because she's so tough.

I walk back out to the sidewalk and aim over the beer bottle.

Another gay kid walks to school
and another rock
severs his c-6 vertebrae.

SLAM. Sledgehammer meets sidewalk, with concrete in between.

V. The Jonnunist Manifesto

And I STILL don't know what the fuck a Slam is.
But what I do know
Is we probably agree on everything.
A poem about having a penis?
I'm a male
and I found it an extremely arousing poem
But I gotta say, babe
I got the biggest one you'd ever see
and its OKAY for me to say that
because love is a natural thing
and it doesn't matter who its' WITH
as long as its' love.
And its' love, baby.
Unless you're a feminist
and I can't say "baby" to a girl
which is BULLSHIT
and FUCK YOU if thats' so
because 33% of all domestic abuse victims are MALE
and women are immune to the draft, but men aren't
and women more commonly murder their children than men
and goddammit, women never have to BUY their weed
and if a man grabs a woman's ass and she turns around and punches him in the face, she's standing up for her rights
but if a woman grabs my ass and I turn around and smack her out of instinct, I'm under arrest
and women have
EVERY,
SINGLE
RIGHT
that a man has, and all the priveleges
with HALF of the responsibility
if that
so rule one: the sexes are equal in everything. Men and women are to be considered and treaty equally in every way, even physically, 100% of the time. There is NO sexism in Johnnunism.
The Right Wing is
OUT
If I wanted a bunch of moronic,
hateful,
hypocritical,
lazy,
ignorant,
incestuous,
Christian-fascist,
racist,
sexist,
homophobic
ASSHOLES plaguing my country, I'd say America's just fine with me
but until then, things need to Change.
And fast.
Rule the Third:
If I want a bottle
or a joint
or a hit
I GET one
because marijuana isn't nearly as harmful as tobacco
no matter what you've been taught
ask ANY doctor.
Number Four And There Are More:
Leave me the FUCK alone
with your ads
and your comMERcials
and your CORPORATE FUCKING SCUMBAGS
the FUCK away from me
anyone with more than one million dollars to their name
is SUMMARILY EXECUTED
WITH a HAMMER
I'll fuck 'em in the ass
then I'll slit their throat
so I can cum down their necks
then I'll tear their heads off
and drown their children in their own blood
because FUCK the World Bank
and FUCK the World Trade Organization
because you HATE
you HATE
you HATE
all that is GOOD and PURE in this world
and I'll burn in the imaginary Hells before I give any of you
a single, useful application for existence.
Number Five:
No war. Period. End of story.
Number Six:
There are NO GODS in Johnnunism.
Get your crosses
your stars
your fucking LEAVES
out of my face
and YES,
this includes Wicca.
And Satanism.
And Judaism, and Islam,
and especially,
above absolutely all others,
Christianity.
Because I HATE Christianity.
If I never hear the story
about this asshole
who spends the first 30 years of his life doing nothing, then spends the last 3 deciding he's the son of a BIG INVISIBLE MAN IN THE SKY, walking around preaching, curing a blind guy with mud and raising Lazarus from the dead (because I guess God made a mistake in killing him in the first place, right? Unless He did it just so Christ could prove a point... yeah, THERE'S a compassionate deity) before deciding it would just be easier to DIE for people's sins, so this mother FUCKER, who can raise himself from the dead anyway, and goes to the most amazingly wonderful Heaven you can imagine, decides its a SACRIFICE to die. Well, its' BULLSHIT
and my world needs NONE of it.
What I need is love,
and compassion,
and HOPE,
and knowledge,
and curiosity,
and HOPE.

I love you all very much.