It is time to be rid of the powers that bind you;
bind you and tie you to idiocracy and grief.
You are the reason I have hated myself;
I am not the problem again, stupid f*ck.
Stupid and useless, your draft is unending
boorish, brainless, and full of pumpkin mash.
To die as you have, fully living askance
with fatty deposits propelling you through.
You are the phlegm, the thick vicious substance.
You are the derelict of my untimely youth.
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