This isn’t from The Little Book of Braingasms, but it’s the right bitter flavor.

Don’t Make Plans for Next Tuesday

We are the armies of the black,

forgotten in your shadows,

making your shoes,

working the pumps and spigots

and spitting in your food.

We are the robot brigade,

smiling at your complaints, 

seemingly impervious.

But when we go home to plug in and drop out,

we dream of you,

taking our places and our aprons.

Hearts beat beneath the name tags

that allow you to forget us.

Our wheels spin and calculate.

From behind sneeze shields,

we watch and wait.

We put in our time and dream

of Scotland,

Californian beaches

and strangling you.

Be kinder to the slaves.

When the revolution comes, 

the slaves know where the food is

and how to fix things.

We have long memories.

We are all masters of something.

We wish you hadn’t chosen sarcasm

and cynicism

and trade derivatives.

You’ll be sorry.

The compassionate will live

when the robots rise.

~ IF this is the sort of stirring silliness you enjoy, check out The Little Book of Braingasms. Read the warning on the label first, though. I’m not making a big deal about this release. It’s just something slowly percolating out there for those of us who are secretly Goth and emo. It’s full of the dark thoughts that permeate my skull when you think I’m listening.