American Radio by the Numbers is so fucking amazing...in the meantime though...
once upon a time before the American caste system took hold and classism became the new and emerging KING....
She had her own artists upon the American waves among free society, not to be confused with religious-military state antics, among freedom shirts and crosses as the new democratic veneer with an entirely new behavior...north Korean games and beyond...with Mickey's happy house of death camp fun down the road...of a budding design that would bring a tear to even the subtlest of totalitarian regime....HE IS....HE FUCKING IS...her artistry never to make the air waves again...fuck it all...grunge at a minimum...OutKast at a minimum...we might sell the T-Shirt, otherwise just be nice and buy our shit....Be Happy, be the subject of sentiment we so desire her to be...meeting of the mind....oh fuck no, but we are here to give you a cool nice courtesy call regardless...your gullible bitch ass will love that....at least after we talk that's how our bullshit smiling faces in the mirror will run the intelligence...go ahead...act like we are getting along...we are here to make that assist entirely...and as for what comes around...shhh...we'll just keep smiling and running the daggers in the back hustle...it's totally going to work....not build up to that evil bullshit playing it up as earth angel in the mirror...no come around whatsoever....Pretend...Let us Prey....At best, she'll sport his symbol...HE IS...the skyscrapers...the material...the electric grids...the portfolios...and as for emerging institution and the innovative afford...to carry on as we can fuck with her as we please and without fire and fury in relation...again though among this fine hour of colonial institution...look....devil talk...the snake devouring the disco ball...shadow show language, her existence...the path certain, and yet among dynamic medium...that play no longer even as HE IS pretends. Quick dial up the Big AppleBee...Rock-Y-Fellahs will protect you...as the light among the calico lovers delight is to fade straight to hell...no more matriarchical presenation on American Radio...the entire opposite of all of the 60s, 70s, and 80s artistry...she is to die...it is a new day for angelic living death running the dualistic killing machine...as long as it is over the pond and never to be acknowledged among American borders....surely the same group among a viet-controversy will never re-emerge...just play nice...that's what addressed it...just go along...no need to be proactive, to embrace innovation, to reassert anything other than that fake-ass HE IS measure. Total bullshit, but when it's the money game that is the trajectory for all...do you want an education for a career....I mean after all that's what education is entirely about...a career...we've come so far in the US, far removed from the WWII generation...and yet, we k(no)w....HE IS and she's a dirty bitch....erase her in every way. No more radio...No more Big Apple, just fake smiles and sedated lives as the trajectory of violence begins to return...a path of least resistance totally works out when it hasn't ever...but when it's time for the angels in the mirror to deliver all to this fine play of let helldom ring...your body made the cut...his image approves...it's so easy for you...fucking live it up to her death...it's going to be ALLLLL good....crosses to hypatia...christian social party to nazism...violent his-tories among her-steries....shhhhhh....just live it up...this is your time...smile earth angel....look like you give a fuck, 2 fucks...we got you entirely...
And this New New York...like a Bubblegum Dog Luvvbazaar. (double bubble POP)...because the suburbs having the rest of the country isn't enough...fuck her out of her existence...fuck her out of new york...sanitize...bring a night out with your grandma to times square...quick bring Alicia Keys and new york in the mirror to all... the kind of play that had all the club kids...the pulse of a once thriving area the fuck out and away...where, who knows...but the fuck out of that bullshit...but still the Big Apple (bees) shh, by the numbers....your favorite DNA simulacra, new york as veneer on the way, live, like sex in the city, which has to be the real sex in the city, like real housewives, like real world, that reads like....not real....but shhh...this is the real shit...this is the real fucking deal...this is POP top dogs, like stick sweet lips after the hot air finally releases....flat blue paint for the blue sky...painting the town rainbow sweet, like coke without the bubbles....America the fucked...new and improved...alive...like a limp dick blue pill special....she's swollen from death, but we'll call that a pulse...he can fill in, just give him the auto-tune and the by the numbers routine...this age of the North Korean games is IT. This US is fucking awesome, even if it reads like your grandma's panties from the 80s...I mean it looks like the 80s...we are totally as fucking cool, even if the simulacra nothing is our new dick master...so it's a blue pill....it worked for the matrix, it can work for us...fuck it, while we fuck it all...rigor mortis, safe and sound, love for all...when the culture is this fucking easy...surely no one will ever be caught with their dead dick in hand and pants around their ankles...it's always going to stay together, like Mickey Magic...even if we are fucked...we look the part...as for challenges emerging that we can't even keep up with...smile angels...pretend with us...we are weak bullshit but you can call us your masters...not need to consider, just feel the love in your heart purrr and mindlessly so....we can be the North Korea upon a hill of freedom...that's what the US has always been about...we promise....you can even drop by and visit your imperial court at the Big AppleBee....
And it's amazing how as you fucker her over, she begins to highlight all of these fine arrangements, and how it all goes down among these sheep-like humanitarian types...and it wasn't enough to fuck her over in general, now, the crew is to fuck her out of her own city, Nueva York...the new suburban design has arrived...the his image crew the new existence for a city once upon a time in-tune to those always on the run trying to find a fucking home...now the US can join in on the HE IS campaign...old world new world unite...the limelight...now the white light boutique zone of sanitized sugary coke without the bubbles affair...the clubs among the clubs...no longer around...it's safe and sound...it's oh captain, my captain for her...and New York at of all places, which means she'll have no place....just keep fucking running...
But again, this is simply etching a measure in relation to the newer institutional design emerging...something that records the interactive process...something that can demostrate even visually the rigors of process, rather than succumbing to lazy cosmetic horseshit playing with mirrors....on that winners quit and quitters win routine...with processes on record...that fine hour ends...but not without the existing smidgen of let's just keeping doing whatever the fuck for our sake routine as we know it today...It's your time. He is. Sure thing. Praise your angels, look the part, and fuck off with everything...we got it...we got you...no worries...do whatever you like.