...Another night of too much cough syrup.

I'm awakened by the incessant ringing of a telephone.

I still have dreams caked in the corners of my eyes,

And my mouth is dry and tastes shitty.

Again,the ringing.

Slowly,I bustle out of bed,

The remnants of an erection

Still lingering in my shorts

Like a bothersome guest.

Again,the ringing.

Carefully,I abscond to the bathroom,

As to not display my manhood to others.

There, I make the perfunctory morning faces

Which always seem to preceed my daily contribution

To the once-blue toilet water

That I always enjoy making green.

Again,the ringing.

I shake twice like most others,

And I'm annoyed by the dribble

That always seems to remain,

Causing a small acreage of wetness

On the front of my briefs.

I slowly,languidly,lazily,crazily

Stumble into the den

Where my father smokes his guitars

...I mean,cigars...

In his easy chair.

I know ALL about easy chairs.

And then I sing a song for my friends:

"Jesus is my boyfriend!

Jesus is my boyfriend!

You can't have him,

Because Jesus is my boyfriend!"

Ringing,ringing,dang it!

Goddamn,mother fuckin' son of a bitchin' ringing!

I walk into the kitchen and I stare blankly

At that shrieking plastic bastard.

Since it keeps ringing, I know it's her.

And since it keeps ringing,she knows it's me.

"We are the world.

We are the children.

We are the ones who make a darker day,

So lets start killing.

There's a choice you're making,

We're sparing our own lives.

It's true we make a darker day,

Just you and me."