I can't fight for my own freedom because

I can't fight for my own freedom because my grandparents didn't pay the bill. They had their thrills in tv and pills with forefathers of representation, demoralized, democratized,&

we were redundant, redacted and reissued. I saw my whole generation lost in a haze of plural meanings. Everyone had issues but nobody led. We ranted to the choir on blogs.

We agreed with each other on Fecebook (the plural of Facebook) and social media became obsolete. Our generation was known as the We-Wees, so politically correct were we. And so

unprepared were us We-Wees for the great war that would erupt over the politically correct way to refer to transgendered nazi pedophile narcissist Jewish-Muslim population.

A shortage broke out in the We-Wee nation for blue coloured clothing. War had meant rationing and with it brought a lack of police uniforms. The We-Wee police were forced to wear

bright yellow uniforms after all the other dyes had ran out. You can guess how they dyes their uniforms yellow, but I highly recommend you don't try. The We-Wee police was not

He got a long wooden spoon to scratch with and trained his monkey to fetch beers. A recliner, a TV, a man and his monkey. Some call it paradise

, me included! After a year, his monkey presented him with an invoice for services rendered. When he refused to pay, Norbert packed his little monkey trunk and dragged it thump,

thump down the stairs. Then Norbert Drove home, doused everything in the house, torched it. Parked across the street laughing watching it burn, all Halloween orange & chimney red.