Shutdown Rant

For 35 days you held us hostage and jacked my check twice,
you motherfucker.
And, for what? You caved and didn’t even get a
single strand of fence to keep out those
imaginary Mongolians that came to you in a
fever dream.

Meanwhile, my Shylocks want their
pound of flesh
and my cupboard looks like Mother Hubbard’s because
the Shitty Kitty won’t let me buy groceries with my good looks.
Meanwhile, your pet turtle is working overtime to line his pockets
with yet another tax break instead of making sure guy’s
like me get even a little backpay. How the hell am I
going to get out of this hole you threw me in?

You claimed you were the supreme negotiator.
That no one made deals like you do.
But, you got owned by a septuagenarian
grandmother from Pacific Heights.
Some fucking deal maker you are, you
bugged-out
bilious
ballbag.