Peetie and the Jets

Hey kids, we've got to work together,
Shit has hit the fan 

So grab the tar and feathers,

We'll kill the fatted pigs tonight,

So stick around.

You're gonna hear electric music,

Solid walls of sound.

chorus...  
Say,  Stevie and Juli have you seen them yet,

ooo...But they're so spaced out, Peetie and the jets. 

Oh but they're weird and they're powerful 

Oh Peetie, he's really keen

He's got army boots and a new flight suit,

You know I read it in a magazine.

Peetie and the jets.

Hey kid, unplug from all the madness,

Maybe you are blind,

But Pete there will be sadness

We will survive, if we find a way to get along

Fight for our rights 

Instead of selling out for just a song.

with apologies to Bernie Taupin and Elton John.

Letter to Pat Davidson Sarnia federal MP

Pat Davidson MP Sarnia.

I have asked you on more than one occasion to stop sending mail to my house. Yet you persist.  

Today I received your so called "tax guide".

 

Not an official govt of Canada tax guide BUT instead a "tax guide"  designed to look like a govt of Canada booklet but promoting the Conservative party of Canada.    I do not care about low tax bribes when in fact you are ruining this country. 

I care about removing fraudulent fascist sell outs from government.  People should not be prison profit bait. People should not be less important than CEO bonuses.  People should not be a commodity in the case of health care or punishment.

If you do not stop sending me mail of any kind, I will have to start considering it harassment.  

Harassment is illegal.   So is election fraud.

Again PLEASE stop sending me mail. I will never vote for right wing extremists.

Kim May...Sarnia.

Elite

So you're elite,
You've got more money,
You've got more cars, homes, stuff.
Power over subordinates.
Does it make you feel good,
Are you better than  me,
Better than the penniless, the homeless.
Do you look down on the little people,
See the destitute as cattle,
As worthless pariahs suckling your hind teat,
Poor you, the elevated, the ego swollen,
Your bank account a crutch against
The wind chill that is poverty, that is greed.
Are you untouchable, is your head dodging clouds,
How does elite feel, naked in the woods,
Making plans of conquest over those
Worth less than your perception of self.
Does elite feel immortal,
Does it feel superior,
Does it make you orgasm 24/7
All over the huddling masses.
Elite, on high, ivory tower crumbling
From pathetic immoral erosion of heart,
For your information,
Earth is down here, among the bedbugs,
The cockroaches, the hungry mice.
The socialist menace.
Your high horse will soon
Carry your collective elite asses out to pasture,
The people have spoken,
The giant, no longer sleeping.