Bastards and Bullshit
The flaws were evident the last time you’d laid out the blue-prints; your numbers won’t change, no matter your rage, your infrastructure had no structure at all, it was crumbling over everyone, showers of proverbial concrete. It was the whipping pole of the meek when the metal meets the meat, and these bricks won’t fucking eat themselves.
The ravens watched as the systems fell apart, talon scratches where they were perched. People were feeling cheated and ass-fucked; nobody wants the goddamn continental breakfast anymore, they want frittatas and they’re willing to kill for the taste of parmesan. Your gears were misaligned and the bolts holding them were cheap, third rate, and cost effective. The whole clusterfuck of bad decisions eventually came to its fruition and took half the city with it; the ravens glided overhead blinded by the shock wave of dust and industry that burst out of your war machine as it imploded on itself.
How do you expect to keep the people subdued; there’s pitch-forks and shovels rising in a dense mist of words like revolution, insurrection and revenge. You’re exposed and weakened; we’ve got the angry masses ready to butcher whoever winds up on the business end of their tomahawks. The ravens watch the macabre massacre; unable to tell the story of the world and how it cleaned itself of all the bastards and their bullshit.
Horror Sleaze Trash 