CliffSongs

  Hey, Former Guy…   Listen: You were made president by Russian interference.   You beat that rap even though you were caught. You mishandle and misappropriate public funds. We saw you. You beat that. You vilify and demonize public demonstrations and use excessive force. You beat that one. You drop the ball on the biggest global pandemic since WWI. The world saw you. You beat that rap. You break law after law in public while you're "president." We saw that. You beat all of that. You let racists be racists and get worse and worse and get called out for it. You beat that. You enrich yourself, your family, and cronies off of the office of the presidency and beat THAT. You incite a riot and attempt a coup... Everyone saw you. And now things might be catching up? But you can probably beat this stuff? But then you get caught with your hand deep in the cookie jar. The DOJ has documents you stole. The nature of those documents pro

  The Tide   In soiled cities and greasy towns, Broken promises are passed around. Sold they are as education, To any with less information. And the elders there accept their gold, Faulted glitters should leave them cold. They walk with steeled averted gazes, Through streets filled with starving faces. Now empty aching walking corpses, They’ve accepted their empathies’ rigor mortis.   The American Dream, it’s banners furled, Is only one part of a dying world. And money blooded in drugs and violence, Cannot fill the angry silence, Of skies and water now turned brown, By people who’ve turned their vision down. Who try self-healing with fancy cars, And bigger, cleaner, more expensive bars. And get their dirty hands in off the street, Where the others are, with naught to eat.   This is the world I that must roam, This bleeding place, this gutted home. “Increase the concrete! Tear down the green! Then rape some brains ‘til they’re scrubb

  A Summer Comment   Another day of work in summer, My muscles ache and sweat, Baking at home ‘cuz the AC’s out, My brain’s on fire yet. Three days of work left this week, With the heatwave not topped out, And no, my dear, those are not tears, That’s sweat that accentuates my pout.   And so, I sit and say things like: “Shit, it’s really fucking hot.” I might as well you know because hell, you know, I can smell my feet begin to rot. I should be thankful though, it’s not winter so, My heating bill’s real low. But just the same, I’d be just as sane, If it were twenty below.   Oh, heat is fine, in fact heat’s divine, When viewed from winter’s chill. But face it folks, it’s a heavy yoke, Just look at your electric bill. Now I LIKE summer and flowers and green, And birds singing in the trees, But I don’t like sweating or heat-dazed forgetting, Brought on by a hundred degrees.   What can you say to me, that magic remedy, That will cu

  Halffidavit   “These are coming with me.” said the man with the long tie, And because of all the chaos no one there would dare deny. He packed boxes and more boxes, no one was keeping score, Then they were taken helter-skelter down to Palm Beach shore.   Some boxes in the basement, some stashed next to the pool, But all of them that were there, were there against the rule. So, NARA sent some fellows round who said, “Hey give those back”, So, the lawyers gave them some, not all, just to throw them offtrack.   Now there’s a halffidavit, redacted through and through, You begged that everyone could see, we got a real good view. Maybe you’ll stop talking, this was a real miscue, Florida has sprung a leak and they’re standing next to you.   See, the way that records work is that they reference each other, And records keepers never shirk, above all stuff that’s undercover. So, when the NARA people took a really good long look, What they saw that they

  Faith   Lost in a labyrinth of secluded observation, Madnesses beckon in the midst of creation, Behind a wall of unwilling stiff negation, Spurning humanity out of simple frustration.   Never realizing the once glorious dreams, For lack of the harness needed for cold, malicious schemes. Life’s once-bright promise is showing it’s worn seams, Yet still holding dearly to hope’s long ‘fore-lit gleams…   Hope is like an opaque rock where we may find a stand. Dreams must be clenched tightly, Though they’re not held by hand. You must believe in yourself with all your aiming heart, You must perfect this approach, Because faith is an art.   Starvation waiting ‘round every next bend, Held at bay only through work with never a clear end. Asking for help above with yet more prayers to send, Wanting to borrow someone’s strength, yet still willing to lend…   Never bending to the constant rank assault, Of the incessant naysayer who only can find fau

  Education   In a small room with a locked door, Sits a small child with a radio. The radio only gets one station.   And he can’t hear anything else. And he won’t hear anything else.   In a larger room with a locking door, Sit a few children with their teacher. The teacher knows only one thing.   And they can’t hear anyone else. And they won’t hear anyone else.   In a large building with many, many doors, Sit hundreds of children with a handful of teachers. The teachers only know a few things.   And they can’t teach anything else. And they won’t teach anything else.   In a million homes with two million T.V.’s Sit hundreds of millions. And they’re sold what they’re allowed to dream.   And they can’t get anything else. So, they won’t get anything else.   Then… They have children.   Cliff Lake 8/27/1997 Copyright © Clifford Lake 1997

  March of the Believers   I saw some people over there Moving fast to a nowhere Filled with tales, the latest scare No time was left them to prepare   For the unnamed calamities That surely meant fatalities So they ran from the vague specter Seeking safety, a protector   At last finding what they would seek A man who of more threats did shriek He promised he was the only one Could save them from the tales he spun   What was required was they not question The exorbitant value of his protection And of course, their contribution Lest they test the retribution   Of their fellows gathered there So pony up and have a care To this mission their fealty swear Because the enemy is somewhere   So they gathered in their number With fear and hate disturbing slumber Until their minds were hollowed out Until they were made most devout   And set upon a reddened path Strewn with lies and fear and wrath To bolster the claims of cheats

  Please,   If you have a brain in working order, If logic is not anathema, If rationale has its attraction, There are notions not possible for you. You will not accept incoherent ramblings as proof of something. You will not accept a proven lie as such either. You will not accept a deflection as argument.   If you have a heart operating well, If empathy does not taste foolish, If you still truly feel, There are states you cannot countenance. You will not abide the mistreatment of other creatures. You will not abide the cessation of care. You will not abide the cackles of the oppressors.   If you have a soul that is not too begrimed, If you have not succumbed to avarice, If you still aspire to surpass yourself, There are conventions you must decry. You must lift up those that have fallen. You must teach those that will hear. You must reach out if you still have one good hand.   We are in this together, Though it may seem that you ar

Dear Mr. Helpless   Dear Mr. Helpless, what fine shape you are in, As your cells turn to fat with your hand in your chin. Perfecting your plans while you sit in your chair, As the rest of us breathe your air of despair.   Dear Mr. Helpless, your life will begin, When you put yourself back in motion. You don’t feel successful, your secret I share: You cannot hit bottom if you’re already there.   Dear Mr. Helpless, you cannot deny, You’ll stay where you are if on daydreams you rely. You’ll never make gain from what you only intend – Actions are the only means with an end.   Dear Mr. Helpless, you’ll stay nowhere soon, If all that you do is sputter, stammer, and swoon. Life is a set of choices you make, Your stagnancy reflects what chances you take.   Dear Mr. Helpless, you’re beyond my control, Beached as you are on depression’s shoal. In my asking you this, I lend you my hand: I know you can sit, but will you not stand?   Dear Mr. He

  Eats   In Coffeyville, Kansas, on 169, Is a dirty little place that invites you to dine, On burnt toast and eggs that are runny, And pieces of meat that may once have been bunny.   Now there’s only one waitress, she’s got a drippy nose, That she’s constantly wiping on the front of her clothes. The attitude she has may just lead you to murder, If she ever bothers to take your order.   And she’s not very bright, but at least she’s real slow, But she’s always really quick to tell you where to go. And she doesn’t have a pencil, and she doesn’t have a straw, And she doesn’t have a clue, and she doesn’t have a bra.   So, the food is always cold, but the coffee’s even colder, And if you ever get out, you’ll only be a little older. And the prices are high, but so is the cook, Who makes everything they serve look like some toxic gook.   So, if you’re ever in Coffeyville, (on 169), I’ve got a little tip that may save you a dime: Get in there and

  The Man Ran   The man ran from darkness, And ran into a wall. The man ran from anger, And into darkness he did fall.   The man ran from depression, And ran straight to his anger. The man ran from fear, And ran straight into his danger.   At first the man ran, But when he did stand, He found himself.   The man ran from denial, But he could not escape his own lies. The man ran from reprisal, But he could not meet his own eyes.   At first the man ran, But when he did stand, He found himself.   Where can you run, When you’re always with yourself? Under the gun, How can you be someone else?   The man ran ‘till he’d completed a circle The man ran and found his own other. The man ran to the reflection of him, The man ran until he was his own brother.     At first the man ran, But when he did stand, He found himself.   At first the man ran, But when he did stand, He found himself.   Cliff Lake 12/29/1996

  Untitled   Broken, Like the empty shells of lobsters in some tortuous god’s oblivion, He makes his way through the streets of an almost living city- Its streets strewn with the detritus of plastic lives, Broken toys of a society whose soul lived in its wallet, Only to find out that there was nothing gained. His mind reeling from the sundered colors of artificial joy, He leaves behind him a wake of things unchanged, Not seeing, Not knowing, Not accepting, Not being. He hasn’t been here. He hasn’t improved, he hasn’t destroyed, He hasn’t adjusted; he hasn’t lived in this reality: He is a ship that collects no barnacles,   A soul concocted of grease and silicon, He slips away like mercury, Leaving not a molecule to speak of his passing. He hasn’t been here. Unscented by any dog, unstung by any insect, He blunders by building after building until, Weary with the whistling loneliness, He falls into a pile of twisted limbs and heaving chest

  Dreaming in Place   The young man makes it a point to go by her house every day. But when he runs into her around town, he can never find words to say. So, he goes to a bar or a movie and dreams of touching her face, But no matter how many places he goes, he’s just dreaming in place.   And his dreams take the place of his actions, And his actions just live in his head, And though his plans have their attractions, He will keep on dreaming in place there instead.   He’s only dreaming in place, He fears rejection and disgrace, He’ll keep on dreaming in place.   I read that a cop busted a dealer in front of a store, Dealer was locked away and replaced by three more. Cop filled out his papers, thought he’d helped the human race, People like poisoning themselves – that cop is dreaming in place.   Do his dreams take the place of reality? Does it not get through to his head? What is the real causality? Are we dreaming in place and misled?  

  Down the Wind   I’ve been up and I’ve been down, And I’ve been in one place spinning round. And I’ve been bad, and I’ve been good, And I’ve done things I never thought I would. And I’ve been here, and I’ve been there, And I’ve wondered if I’m getting anywhere. And I’ve felt good, and I’ve felt pain, But I’ve never broken against the strain.   So, I just keep on walking down the wind, Faltering, falling, getting up again. Uphill, downhill, one foot in front of the other, Always walking, never stopping, Walking down the wind.   There are boys and there are men, And there are people I’ll never be again. And there are ways and there are means, And there are visions that are only dreams. And there are roads that are full of holes, That I must travel to fulfill my goals. But through it all I try to bear and grin, And just keep walking down the wind.   So, I just keep on walking down the wind, Faltering, falling, getting up again. Uphi

  Asking   Her slender form crosses the fading tiles, That floor the lunchroom at the plant. Will she fall prey to my masculine wiles, And still maintain her elegance?   Cascading hair under fluorescent lights, I long to see ‘neath the suns pure gleams, But for now, I’ll see her most often at night, As we run laughing through my dreams.   Has she found me? Does she know me? Will she show me the place where love begins? Will she hear me? Will she see me? Will she have me? Will she heal me? Will she feel me leave the door open?   A gentle smile that lingers long, In the deepness of her eyes. A smile that whispers like a sylvan note, To the depths of me where love lies.   Has she found me? Does she know me? Will she show me the place where love begins? Will she hear me? Will she see me? Will she have me? Will she heal me? Will she feel me leave the door open?     Cliff Lake 3/22/1994 Copyright © Clifford Lake 1994

  Apocalypsing Along   I met a man today with hair as gray as was his skin. He stopped me with his sharks eye and cancers sickly grin. He told me of a story that he did not begin, He told me of a story that I was already in.   He said that he remembered when the planet was still new. When none of the sky ever turned brown – it was the brightest blue. But in the Province of Unsatisfied they mixed a strange new brew, And sold it to others of like mind, “Our brand is far more true!”   Out into the world they go, poisons and promises to share, To come to any lands that have not got their very own dead air. To sell to any with emptiness inside that happen to live there, And praise themselves not for what they wrought, but for the courage not to care.   “And so,” he said, “The Unsatisfied, they age the earth, their poison is their art. They only feel most satisfied when they’ve made it fall apart. Their talent is only just enough that it’s destruction th

  Again & Again   Closing all the doors again. Putting up the walls again. Retreating from the wars again. Ignoring all the calls again.   Feeling like a wraith again. Feeling out of place again. Losing all my faith again. The tears on my face again. And it’s again and again, And I don’t know when, It’s ever gonna stop and then, It starts all over again.   Descending into dark again. Losing all my sleep again. The world is looking stark again. Falling into deep again.   And it’s again and again, And I don’t know when, It’s ever gonna stop and then, It starts all over again. Can I take it all in stride again? Do I abandon all my pride again? Can you tell I’ve cried again? When will it ever end? And it’s again and again, And I don’t know when, It’s ever gonna stop and then, It starts all over again.   Cliff Lake 6/22&23/1996 Copyright © Clifford Lake 1996  

  A Thousand Hours   Wandering through this town like some gray untouching ghost, Reaching out and feeling nothing where I reach out most. Working too many extra hours when I am already through, Failure a constant companion because I failed to hold you.   Trying to teach myself how to forget your name. Trying to teach myself how others play the game. Trying to keep myself from going completely mad, Trying to retrieve something I know I never had.   The days are filled with a thousand hours,   And there’s nothing I can do. The nights are filled with a thousand faces, But not a one of them is you. The city has a thousand streets, Leading no longer to your door, I talk to a thousand people, ‘Cause you don’t listen any more.   I’m an aimless wanderer in this trackless waste, I am a gourmand of food that hasn’t any taste. Watching a television that I will never see, Nothing will ever penetrate this cloying misery.   The days are filled wit

  Help Yourself   The cigarettes were just beyond arms reach. His back was turned. She did not need them. She would have to lean. She told herself they were a gift from God. God helps those that help themselves… That’s what the preacher says.   The bills got a little more burdensome every month. She took a part time job. The cash register was convenient. God helps those that help themselves. That’s what the preacher said.   Her new boyfriend admired her ability to adapt. He showed her how to sell cocaine. She made a lot of money. Cocaine soon sells itself.   Her children had everything they could want. Everything except a mother. She O.D.’d last Tuesday.   Her oldest has the most wonderful ability to adapt. He takes care of his little sisters. He steals cars for a living. The cops are waiting for him to turn 18.   God helps those that help themselves. That’s what the preachers say. Go ahead, help yourself. What could go

  A Second’s Sight   Somewhere on a hillside, Overlooking a valley of peace, Stands a young shepherd.   On a hillside, Overlooking a valley absent from the noise of industry, Trills a bird, First to herald this day’s end.   Above a quiet valley, Overlooked by a hillside, Stands a youth with ears of innocence, Who hears the first note of a small chorus.   Standing apart from his sheep, The boy turns.   Above some mountains, Higher than a hillside, Lowers the sun. Done it is with warming this place, It yields to moon and stars and wide places without light. As they in their turns will yield, In other places, In other times.   Aloft, Over the hillside,   Above the valley, The sun must say goodnight, But as promise of tomorrow’s return, It sends one last great ray to the hillside.   Apart from sheep, Away from shepherd, Near a bird, Stands a rock. It has shaded many shepherds.   Above the valley, Across fro

  Disney Wisdom (As suggested by my brother-in-law, Don Seward)   Not long ago in a California town, Johnny and his sister were the newest kids around. Their mom had to work; by themselves all day, Their dad had somehow, sometime gone away.   Usin’ that ol’ Disney wisdom (Through my rose-colored glasses) Maybe they can still get through the night. Some of that ol’ Disney wisdom, (With a couple of happy flash-backses) You know it always turns out all right…   The other kids led John into some kind of a jam, It soon seemed that the whole world just didn’t give a damn. But theirs, like any story, finally came to its end, You just need optimism; Disney wisdom wins again.   Usin’ that ol’ Disney wisdom (Through my rose-colored glasses) Maybe they can still get through the night. Some of that ol’ Disney wisdom, (With a couple of happy flash-backses) You know it always turns out all right…   Bridge: Have you got trouble within your life?

  The Price   Having once again had to face the gritty end of empty promise I feel… What? Nothing? Not that. Everything? Not at once. I feel there is a price. Hers? I’ll not collect. Mine? I’ll pay myself.   To have held and hoped has its inherent beauty; I know, I’ve bought that light. I’ve paid in pain and pride, I’ve paid in lust and laughter. I’ve paid in insult and innuendo, curses, cries, sex, sweat, sorrow… What of it? My complaints profit nothing.   The price? Wisdom? I’ll do it again. Avoidance breeds a dusty spirit. I’ll not die inside my own existence, I’ll not keep my tears until they dry my soul.   The price? Myself. I am my own coin. I’ll pay me.   Cliff Lake 1/29/1992 Copyright © Clifford Lake 1992

  Dances of Deception   Hanging on to your job with the mightiest retention, Forking your tongue since your employment’s inception. Struggling against the process of natural selection, You began your dances of deception.   Fact and rumor you gather to your collection, For later use to salve imagined rejection. Feeding on growing feelings of dejection, Turning tightly in your dances of deception.   DANCE! Maybe we won’t notice as you change your stance. DANCE! We’ll clap harder at your savvy prance. DANCE! Go ahead and ignore those ethics cramps. This may just be your last chance, So dance, damn you, dance!   Working ever harder against your self-perception, Loving and hating any increase in attention. Wondering and worrying at every vocal inflection, Twisting faster in your dances of deception.   DANCE! Maybe we won’t notice as you change your stance. DANCE! We’ll clap harder at your savvy prance. DANCE! Go ahead and ignore

  Remembrances   Remember that one time, When it used to own a beauty pageant,   And it would wander through the dressing rooms, Like the hulking creep it is?   Remember that one time, When it got fined 25 million dollars, For laundering money through its casinos, And then bankrupted them?   Remember that one time, When it mocked a disabled person, Exposing it as the playground bully it is, And then it somehow got even worse?   Remember that one time, When it stole money from children with cancer, Had to dissolve its own charity, And three of its kids can’t do charities anymore either.   Remember that one time, It held rallies in town after town after town, And it didn’t pay anybody, And now it holds rallies in cow pastures?   Remember that one time, It tried to overthrow an election, But it failed miserably because it can’t plan for shit, And it can’t do anything for itself?   Remember that one time, That it stole docum

  Nothing, Everything   To the liar a word is nothing. He may speak, but air is free, His word is air. He means nothing.   To the liar an oath is nothing. An oath is words, but words are free His words are air. His oath means nothing.   To the liar his post means nothing. He is sworn to his post, but he has sworn an oath, His oath is air. His post means nothing.   To the liar his duty is nothing. He will speak the words, but words are air, He has sworn but air. His duty is nothing.   To the liar his loyalty is nothing. He will speak of duty, but his oath is air, His word is air. His loyalty is nothing.   To the liar his service is nothing. He will speak of loyalty, but his speech is air, His commitment is nothing. His service is nothing.   To the liar, he is everything. He wants your loyalty, that is your duty, You will be of service; he will be everything.   To the liar you are nothing. He has no loyalty, his oath is air, H

                                  "But What If They Lied About the Warrant?"  Let's look at what you are presupposing by positing that the search warrant was actioned on a whim, a guess, a hope, or worst, as you say, a lie:     1) That the investigating body, the agents involved with determining whether or not they had enough corroborated evidence to move forward didn't have such evidence OR corroboration of said evidence to present to:    2)  Director Christopher Wray of the FBI who would have HAD to have viewed both the evidence and corroboration of same in a matter of this significance and failed to understand that there wasn't enough supported fact before he chose to bring that evidence and corroboration to:     3) Attorney General Merrick Garland who also would have had to have reviewed the evidence and it's corroboration and then also failed to be mindful that fact and it's support were either missing, misrepresented or invented before he in turn wou

  Declarations and Duplicity   What is the color of your hypocrisy? Why do you abandon the blue? Once you celebrated the veteran, Someone has surely bought you.   For people that claim to be righteous, You slather yourselves in such shame, It angers me that you might just, Commit violence in the unholy don’s name.   Secrets that he got his hands on, Did they remain secure in Palm Beach? Or were there plans that he planned on, Were the documents placed within reach?   But there you dance ever harder, Your sin pervading all through. While you constantly refill his larder, While he constantly sells out me and you.   There’s blood on your hands, don’t you see it? There are deep holes that are burned in your soul. Your hearts turned stone I guarantee it, And hate has swallowed you whole.   You were once the party of Lincoln, We once followed you to be free. But now in baseness you’re sinking, You’d see all of us down on our knees.

  Bed of Nailed   You bought into this, didn’t ya? You kept buying into this didn’t ya? You wanted this. You made this. And now you have to sleep in it.   You chose to sleep with the snake. You chose to try to breathe the rising smoke. You chose to follow the fake. Now on your own lies you choke.   You chose the obvious wrongs. You chose to look the other way. You chose to dive in headlong, Never thinking that you would pay.   You bought into this, didn’t ya? You kept buying into this didn’t ya? You wanted this. You made this. And now you have to sleep in it.   You voted the impeachments down. You shouted about derangement syndrome. Your noses have never looked so brown, The chickens will be soon roosting at home.   You bought into this, didn’t ya? You kept buying into this didn’t ya? You wanted this. You made this. And now you have to sleep in it.   It was always going to end up this way. Truth will out as they sa

  SAD!     On the 8 th of August in good ol’ sunny Palm Beach. The Federales came with a lesson plan that they meant to teach. “No one is above the law!” Merrick had on occasion preached. And warrants in hand, in resort grand the strongbox was soon breached.   Now in New York Land, the orange man was heard to grumble and groan. “How can a man, his actions bland be so accosted at home?” “Besieged I say! And how dare they? A symptom of the Left Syndrome!” But at the end of the day, we heard Hannity say, “Hey look, the guy is on his own.”   Where you gonna go when they yank the land out beneath your feet? Where you gonna go with your name erased from the tower on the street? How you gonna run and hide with the friends you never had? You’ve burned all your bridges, Surrounded by snitches, There’s a word for this and it’s: SAD!   Now all of you minions that had backed his opinions, is it time to cut a deal? Better make a decision because I hear pri

  Such Is   Life is the blind alley. We stumble through it willingly, Fearing the fall into the trash we thought we had left behind.   Life is the searing lights of knowledge ungained. We grasp at what we think we understand, Hoping that the truth will not burn.   Life is the fog of unknown promise. The carrot and the stick and the hope, Believing that our desire will truly be a gain.   Life is the cacophony of involvement. The constant inrush of what we are told, Too often at odds with experience.   Life is the smothering memory of mistake. We attempt to leave behind the guilt, Yet cannot learn without pain.   Life is the endurance race of existence. We wonder what good can come of it all, Would we be missed had we never taken breath?   Life is what we have at this moment. Do we ignore that we can be more, Or do we plod along in the grayness, hoping that no one will notice? Life is the opportunity given. Are the noise and the

  Futility/Utility - Phase 3 Important-ish   What did you do today? Did you make a kitten purr? What did you do today? Did you clip the coupon perfectly? What was the great accomplishment? Is a puppy’s belly full? What was the pinnacle? Do the hubcaps gleam again? What was the shining moment? Did a baby laugh with you? What has made you proudest? Did you pick exactly the right font? What has warmed your heart? Did you pay for a poor man’s coffee? What has swelled your head? Did you get a new title placard? What did you do today? Were you kind? Were you gentle? Did you help? What did you do today?   Cliff Lake 8/5/2022 Copyright © 2022 Clifford Lake

  Futility/Utility - Phase 1 Way Station   The old man stopped me running, Racing for the train. His eyes looked at me blearily, But with wisdom unexplained.   He said, “I’ve got a story for you, From not so long ago. Something that will carry you, Something you won’t outgrow.”   And he sat me down beside him, As his eyes they filled with tears, And he told me of futility, And the wasting of his years.   He told of his chasing wealth, What happened when he cashed in, He told me of his failing health, And what he didn’t win.   Tales of serving just oneself, How that leaves you all alone. Tales of walled-off heart, put on the shelf, Of a soul frozen to stone.   He said’ “I see you freezing there, You slowly turn to ice.” He said, “You’d better have a care, Look at me, I am the price.”   He told me until the sun went down, But when I looked up, he was gone. And all I have is dimming memory, But his tales still seem so s

  Futility/Utility - Phase 2 Horror in the Business Park   I did not fill in the spreadsheet today. I did not feel like it. I did not plug the values in. This is what happened: Eddie in Accounting stripped naked to the waist. He threw coffee everywhere. The printers on floors 7 and 9 spewed all their paper from the spare drawers. The entire staff in Human Resources began swearing in French and piled their footwear in the middle of the lunchroom. Floor 4 declared war on floor 5. Floor 5 escaped to the street and hailed individual taxis. “Follow that car!” they said. All the policemen quit and immediately became street vendors. All the street vendors elected themselves to Congress. Congress quit and became nature trail guides. Traffic on 7 th street suddenly turned around and went the other way. Minneapolis disbanded. Dallas decided to become homeless and is asking for spare change. Mexico won’t let them in. South America changed it’s name to Alice and