Posted by
m0t0r1zed on Thursday, October 16, 2008 2:49:57 PM
Note: for some reason, it started out as semi-rhyming doggerel, but this was not intended. i subconsciously keep trying to turn it into rhyme, but i ain't gonna waste my time to pen a poem about a bunch of fatheads.
The masters of the universe have all convened due to a crisis of magnitude never before seen. When the masters of the universe tremble should we all not quake and fall to our knees? And pray for the heavens to hear their desperate pleas?
The common man revolves around the world-axis of these Titans and Atlases of industry. As these epic heroes of capitalism struggle to rally a new order against the Dragon of Chaos, battling at the edge of the economic precipice. But the common man is too ignorant and stupid and dumb and moronic and imbecilic and pea-brained and dimwitted and dense and shortsighted and obtuse to realize the dire magnitude of the events that are portending - too profound is the saga and scope of interbank lending.
The great center of gravity of the solar system is threatened, and should the Nine Planets of the world of banking fall, our miserable lives and existences as pitiful satellites merely leeching off of their credit-based noblesse oblige will be scattered and flung off into the nether realms. The planet-gods must be restored! Their cosmic arcs and cycles must be kept regular and serene. For by saving them, we save ourselves - the tiny, unworthy moons that we are, who orbit their grand splendour from afar.
Perhaps they may even annoint a new global emperor, a Sun King, to regulate the seven continents and the primeval seas and ...
Aw hell, get over your own sense of self-importance, you stupid b@st@rds. The world doesn't begin and end with your existence - even though you may think so, and everyone else has been suckered into thinking so too ...