Oddly enough, idiocracy plows on slowly,
Plodding along in its galoshes, nickels in its hand.
Painting nonsense memoirs on the expensive paper
Called media
And forcing the most valued forces to scribble a few lines
On a paper napkin in a pub
And tape it to the restroom wall
And wait for a whisper of gratification
While idiocracy shouts its uprising into the microphone
Called media
Rousing the orgasms of idiots
Who are too busy with their nickels to notice a single whisper
of sincerity.
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