In the coziness of sub zero weather, up close to the radiator,
on the wait for the news at 7, the networks make me thankful
I ain't in Cambodia, Cuba or Slowvakia. I have modern comforts,
I have Paris Hilton candy for my eyeballs.
Watching men in a cage beat themselves bloody,
I deal with my personal demons vicariously.
I then am sanctified by the likes of Jimmy Swaggart.
Why not you only live once!
I have a hankering for pornography?
Cable (believe me) has a hugh selection at bargain prices.
Bored by the above, I switch to educational TV,
to discover Jim Jones documentary.
Jim Jones is one wild and crazy preacher who convicts his parishioners
into accepting that mass suicide is preferable to being duped by Babylon.
Say I, why not play Babylon instead of letting Babylon play you.
Heck, you only die once.
I believe that if Jim Jonestown had had the internet;
had the parishioners been Facebook subscribers;
had they've been enthusiastic tweeters instead of stupidly listening
to the preacher, the collective suicide would not have transpired,
and I wouldn't be sitting here on my big, fat couch potato
watching this wacky documentary on Jim Jonestown.
Time to change stations. and sink my teeth into some real drama,
the likes of Alfred Hitchcock Presents.
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