Bothered Man

When I was getting my slice of humble pie in the soup line earlier today, the music was Neil Young's Southern Man. It made me think of that confederate flag I put in that last Wally cartoon (Wally #9/Hotel Life) to help to illustrate my hillbilly marmot. What is a hillbilly? Isn't that someone who is totally out of touch with modern civilization? What better way could I illustrate that than with a flag that suggests he does not know that the Civil War ended with the South losing? I'm sure that most of you got the joke. And then the poisonous creeps who want to destroy me out of loyalty to the frauds who ripped me off want to try to turn me into David Duke with it. I guess I wouldn't suffer these problems if the broadcasters ever wanted to tell the truth about me in the last twenty years or so instead of letting rich stars steal my hit songs and popular blogs and then leaving me broke afterwards. And then they point to me as if it's my shame that they work for a crooked industry that steals from the poor to give to the rich. I posted a recital of my long poem the Mammals on YouTube today. You may view it here from its embedded location above the text of the Mammals (Complete) in my Storyblog. Please don't go to the people who steal my things for their side. They have no side. It's not their work. Let them talk about their own work - if they even have any work. I doubt it. They seem rather too lazy from all their thefts of my hard work to be capable of producing their own work. And I won't pity any suicides from among the ranks who were involved in this crime. The warped self pity of an unrepentant fraud could drive him to suicide as quickly as the misery of wrongful condemnation could have caused his victim to do the same. Lastly, I think that if that hotel owner's dollars were converted into brain cells and added to his brain, it would make a vast improvement. He's not out cruising in his limousine, stabbing me in the back with more lies about me to all the neighbors again, I hope, like he did when I was homeless in 2012 and Roxanna's noisy friends had all my new songs that I wrote in the Hotel Europe the year before. That's why I needed a charity to find me home; he destroyed my image too much to let me be able to find one for myself. We sure let rich creeps get away with a lot against poor artists here. And we let bullshitting actors rule us from the television while truth telling poets are pounced on and torn to pieces. I can't believe I'm still here to give hope to the faithful.
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© 2017. Statements by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved.