In a perfect world I would not have to be writing this. In a perfect world my message would be understood without words. However, as my mother used to tell me, before she ran off with my teenage baby-sitter, Mary: “This is not a perfect world, shithead. Now eat your damn pancakes!”
People question the motives behind mine, and to a lesser extent, Toast Boy’s, use of “Kick Me” signs to send out our political message. To these small-minded, mouth-breathing troglodytes I say this: Fuck you, anyway. You wouldn’t understand the nuances of social commentary if it bit you on your collective hairy ass.
But brothers, there are those who are hearing the wordâ€”those who are heeding the word. And all the Sloptimuses, and whoever the hell else is trying vainly to silence us, are not going to be able to stop the revolution when we rise from the ashes and start putting our many boots where they so dearly need to be planted!
But I digress. For there are those who do so dearly want to hear the word, but who do not understand, yet, the word. Well, the word is freedomâ€”freedom to express ourselves in any manner that we see fit. Freedom from the fear of these so-called “super heroes” sweeping down from their lofty perches and blowing our hair off, because they’re just “trying to help.” Freedom from governmental regulation, telling us what we can and cannot do in the confines of a privately owned business establishment, while under an understandably high level of stress combined with the influence of a few too many drinks and one extremely belligerent simian.
Do you hear the call, my brothers! Let us cast off our shackles, bust out the scotch tape and felt-tip markers, and get to the business of writing those “Kick Me” signs until this sorry excuse for a country is so fucking plastered with them the combined skills of Superman AND Captain Monkey won’t be enough.
Hell, I plan to personally plant one on that Kryptonic Clod’s ass right now!