It roughly translates to I spit on your shadow,
cook your own stinkin’ hamburger,
or cross me off your damn list.
You can basically interpret to fit the situation.
You can also call your doctor
and see if he’ll meet you through zoom
for the pain in your head that means
you either have a tumor or bad memories
that started when you first came out of the womb.
Either way, you’ll probably get through it
for at least another day, which you’ve been
telling yourself is better than nothing,
when you consider the alternative. . .
No, I didn’t die on cue and neither did you,
which means we may as well wait it out.
Smile for the camera, and pretend it’s all been
a valuable learning experience
leading to wisdom and a happy ending.
Now I must go and relieve myself of everything inside
so that I can face the crowd. Promise them that their story
will live forever, not only among those of our kind,
but among the lower animals as well, who keep getting smarter,
yet still do most of the dirty work that keeps the rest of us
looking so fresh and new. . .