D|o|G, 2018 | Nye højder af digterisk formåen i forening med hidtil usete niveauer af meta-analyse er, hvad D|o|G – Diaper of Glory – præsenterer i sit seneste digt, hvor digteren retter et nådesløst kritisk blik mod nutidens sygelige kredsen om det identitetspolitiske vanvid, der hærger den vestlige verden og truer med at så splittelse og meningstab overalt.
Turn the turntable around the turning table
I tackle the difficult question of child labour by pretending to form a new labour party full of children, while my roommate hysterically laughs into the floor.
Is this relevant to the exciting new chapter of a new D|o|G poem on such a warm new goat day? No, no new news.
Bedridden onion controllers walk among us in tyrannical terrestrial vomit, and we can all see the benefit? Am I right, Moon? I said: Am I right, June!!!!!
Hello? Hey! Great to hear from you … well not much.
I keep on hearing radio signals inside of my left nipple and I must say: that doesn’t feel alarming in any way, it actually makes me feel quite calm and horrified.
Could anything really make you happy, if your only enjoyment is watching small toy planes falling out of a big burning airplane while you insert a tiny brown stained Lego brick into your rectum?
Yes, something could, but to go into details would be too uncomfortable, please show some courtesy, you disabled kidney kid!
Hahahahahahaha hoooooooooooooohooooooo hiiiiiiihiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii halalalalalulol!!!!
This omnipotent, trolley-fumed house band is pretty much all I want in a dead, corpseless girlfriend.
Don’t be colour guy, unless your life’s all about being a colour guy, then by all means continue.
So, let the grand opening of yesterday’s ass humus event electrify my mortician’s sexy Puerto Rican bend.
Because in the end, big black bowling pills will always slam in disgusting owl honour!