We do not want to go and sit
for three long hours of this shit.
We do not think it well-spent time
to learn to walk the judging line
or show your beauty, just skin deep
to leeches, dilettantes and creeps.
Revealing if our wallets reach
quite deep enough, that's what they teach.
But we will drive, in monkey suits
and gag ourselves on their false fruits,
suppress our thoughts, lest they betray
the fact that we despise the way
these things are run, and come about,
attempting to smooth out the doubt
that if you have good looks and poise
(at least as deemed by vapid boys)
you don't need brains, or self, or sense
just ego and experience.
Alas, the time is drawing near -
hair washed, clothes pressed, complexion clear.
So off to some great hotel, we
advance to meet sad destiny.
In my back pocket rests a check
which writ, will debit self-respect
and add more funding to the cause
of empty, self-indulged applause.
There is no up-side to this thing.
There are no praises I would sing
to lift up pageants as some good.
I'd pull the plug, if I but could.
08 AUG 2004
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