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Writer's pictureTomás Tedesco

Nancy Reagan

It took me 27 years to light up this joint.

It took me 27 years to buckle under

the pressure and give in

and throw up all the french fries

outside of Kyle’s Kitchen’s Parking Lot.


It took me 15 years of listening to my mom,

20 years of school,

it took so many baby clothes being given to me with the color light blue,

it took a lot of not information to get me where I am today,

sitting bloated, high, thinking

fast food is the only option there is


and a world where I can’t eat

my french fries with mayonnaise

is no world I ever want to be a part of.


We are plugged into a lot of choices

we don’t consent to,

based on survival and what’s available.

For example, I love singing to Disney movies

but I hate how unrealistic

their romantic relationships are.


You are supposed to find the one partner,

the one job, the one cubicle to fit in

for the rest of your compressed miserable life

until one day, you explode

like an anarchist car bomb

outside of Wendy’s, the ultimate monument

to this dystopic society.


We are not all Tyler Durden,

some of us smoke weed

and we are confused when following

the dreams of others doesn’t give us

what we want. So wake up


&

stay woke.


15 minutes from now

the world won’t care if you approved those

weight loss permits for a residential area,

the only thing that should matter is

how to get your fucking mayonnaise

so you can dip your french fries

while you are driving a convertible

at high speeds in the freeway,

with no hands in the steering wheel

because that’s what this lifestyle is all about,

while Nancy Reagan,

with her ketchup covered lips

embraces your cock,

while a drone captures a picture

& uploads it to Instagram, or

Coonstagram, so others might be

captivated and imprisoned

by the false bukkake lifestyle

of painting white walls white,

without looking around to see that

the walls are not even connected and

they are already white,

so pull your dick from Nancy’s

french fried filled mouth

and splatter the ketchup

all over the white walls,

and into the cubicles.


Have your co-workers see you

like an orangutan, gesticulating

like a downward U.

Get escorted by security, AKA

more white walls, ghosts of a shell

of what used to be a man

and join the sea of broken cogs,

that get ignored outside of Ross,

the holy Mecca, the Alpha

and the Omega,

where others who lost the system

but couldn’t find themselves

roam around,

empty and full,

but not with the right things.







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