Rotating head, friends in high places
No need to guess what he’s got in that briefcase
A mind like a gin-trap, one swollen ankle
Sunday Comics try to look on the bright side of things
The styling is raw jamon, Comix from the Commons can be replicated, but not decepticated. I got brothers under Jughead, Johnny’s on the Quest; Dead departed Crankshaft, in pea porridge may he rest. Know you’ve read the others, phonies to the lovers, but then of course, the choice is yours.
She’s reading Sunday Comics, “oh, Basho’s cute.” She’s reading Sunday Comics when they shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot.
In the mornin’ you go gunnin’ for the man who stole your Comics
And you fire till he is done in but they catch you last Sunday
And the mourners are all singin’ as they drag you by your feet
But the hangman isn’t hangin’ and they put you on the street
You, the people of the United States, did you form a perfect union?/Establish justice, ensure tranquility, secure the blessings of Liberty to yourselves and your posterity?/How blind can you get for your country, right or wrong? — “America,” Laibach
An XL entry connoting the 200th edition of the Sunday Comics, our weekly collection of art and humor from Around the World and the Creative Commons market.