Punching bags are for sissies. I want to kick ass!
With my words and with muscle of might I command
Anyone of you who thinks you can take me on.
I believe in commotion. Pleasantry begone!
The fine Art of the Bruise is what I understand
And my cruising for just that is par for my class.

When fueled up on conspiracy and the right news
All the hatred within me, like wildfires out west,
Uncontrollably burns. And with billowing smoke
I inflict irritation… enough to provoke
Armageddon or some homegrown fishing conquest.
I am easy for fascist dictators to use.

Intellect I have not, yet I’m sharp and direct
With sclerotic opinions, half-truths, and plain lies.
I’ll convince a few people that I have some wit
All with outrageous theories and heated bullshit.
I’ll admit not that my biggest fear are the wise.
My brute force doesn’t phase them. It has no effect.

To intimidate others I take the fine lead
Of the word’s perfect model. Stagnation of heart
In a cesspool of selfishness dictates to me
Through his high public office just what I must see.
In my humble opinion, the man is quite smart.
His suggestion to act out is all that I need.