"The Goon of Doom"

He has no brain,
only a teleprompter
mounted on the handlebars
of his motorcycle.

He zips around town,
then off to the nearby city.

He stops at a good spot,
in a vacant lot
beside the busiest street.

Sitting on his old motorcycle,
he whips out his wireless mike
and reads and begins to talk.

Soon there's a crowd,
as he grins with a strained voice.
A few walk away.
Most stay.

"I am the Goon of Doom
before the rise of the Anti-Christ.
Hear my words of the coming
attractions..."

He takes a deep breath,
"You won't be worth
a burger or can of soup.

You'll have a rag for a cork
after you try to poop...

Plastic robots
will seize you
inking you
down.

Becoming one
like me...

A sign
of what
you will become!"

He rips off his shirt
to a flesh torn ribcage
with a limp heart 
hanging inside...

He laughs
then coughs...

The crowd screaming.