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The F'Art of the Deal

by Genghis Cardigan

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1.
in the clearing a soapboxer drown in a tidal wave of conviction and faith he’s disguised as insidious behind a rank pantomime of love and affection the man on the corner just looks on in abandoned, statuesque form he leans on his broom refusing to sweep, all alone, saying nothing at all: soapboxer says it all, before he falls “won’t you help me please? I’m all alone here, above you, won’t you get down on your knees and listen to me speak my peace” the sweeper’s wife drunk on the torpor, she’s the dux of cultural débutantes, a pillaged despair left there to suffer such cruel, procreational doldrums is today the day she comes alive armed to the teeth with the tools of social inflection, will he burn, will he year, will he turn in the same direction, I don’t think so
2.
I drew you as a small boy who never thought a tree could smell so nice but you drew on an experience when I never got no advice ... while I never had sex and thought of jesus christ looking down on me: for you ..... did you die or did you lie or did you just escape? I don’t care what they think, I hope you didn’t leave it too late I’ve been dangerously close to the edge of learning but turned & found my way back home again asked a god for directions – didn’t exist? – couldn’t say? had to be satisfied with making it up along the way but I drew the line in my altruistic mind before your hidden tragedy could become clear to me
3.
met a man in a laundrette gift shop, he swore the things he said were true haunting tales of anal bleaching out in the suburbs see gangs of buck-toothed facebook freaks sporting signed Eddie Maguire masks stump fucking two-dollar shop King Kong piñatas and they say, and they say, and they say, I’m not racist, some of my best friends are, casually racist, some of my best friends in desperate times they fall for disparate pleasures a rising tide of prancing feaux-ties all vying for tax exempt status bears all the hallmarks of another inner city wife-swabbing craze where patrioticons emerge from man-caves with alarming levels of testicular anger seven degrees of separation from the king maker to king hitter and they say, and they say, and they say, I’m not racist, some of my best friends are; old school mates I haven’t seen in years, the pretty girls I used to fancy who have really let themselves go, home alone while hubbie’s out reading meters, the fucker sticking up lost-dog posters and everyone waiting in line at the rose tattoo revival staring daggers at the boutique bigots drinking ‘locally sourced’ almond milk with their cunting burgers; all circle-hating to photos of Andrew Bolt licking his own fair skinned balls

about

Donald Drumpf’s go to bed-time CD. Proven to cause the shart of the eel within 20 minutes for those in desperate need of sheeting (toilet-based tweeting).
Doesn’t include free guide to Colarado staring trails.
Guest appearance by Tofu - picture purrfect.

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released October 23, 2021

Recorded in asymptomatic surround sound by PJL & Besonders.

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about

Genghis Cardigan Adelaide, Australia

Incoherent mumblings, yahtzee and pennywart juice - the back, sack and crack of our times.
Save the regurgitated rice pudding that projectiles out of your mouth while listening and we’ll refund your body weight in ricen. Genghis Cardigan, semi-professionally easing lockdowns since 2004. ... more

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