poetic injustice

[TISM]

I wake up dreaming, screaming
Of a net without a zero
If I could shoot the little fuckers
I'd be an instant hero

I look behind the crates
I search thru all the rooms
I peak around the corner
Oops . . I'm in a zero's zoom

Oreo with his green stick
It makes a sexy boom, but
I'd like to pry his back end
With the blunt end of a broom.

As I pull back from the corner
I feel a sense of dread
The red stain on the floor
confirms I'm really dead.

I wish for a larger keyboard
So I could bind a few more keys
to tell the little bastards
what their arseholes mean to me

I'm destined to be fodder
in their silly little games
The only recourse I have...
resort to calling names

TISM