A MORMON FANTASY expressed in bad poetry.....

THE EL AYE (L.A.) TEMPLE MASSACREE OF 2008, a Mormon fantasy



Excuse us Mister Faggot
We saw you yesterday
Walk barefoot in the Plaza
Your clothes in disarray

That man who walked beside you
A beanie on his head
And "No More Mister Nice Gay"
On a button painted red.

You sounded agitated.
You looked like you'd explode
You fizzed and fussed and fuzzled.
You headed down the road.

You met up with your posse
They carried protest signs
You all set off a-marching
We jumped right into line

We nudged one of your pallies
We tapped him on the back
We asked him what his name was
How come he's wearing black

He waved that sign above him
And foaming at the mouth
He said to call him Scooter
He pointed to the south.

"Down there is where we're going"
He spoke with one eye shut
"We're off to hate the haters
And kick some Mormon butt."

Matthew McKelligon
Scooter at the top of his voice

At the Temple:

We halted at the Temple,
Hi-jacked´ the traffic stops
We blocked up all the exits.
We mooned their rent-a-cops.

The Beanie Man, he plundered
A trash can from the mall
The crew unzipped their whizzers
They filled it big and small.

They asked us to contribute
We kind of backed away.
"Excuse our bashful bladders."
Is what they heard us say.

Now Scooter, he gets nasty
The crew turns ugly, too
They say to us, "You're useless,
If you can't piss on cue."

Just then the Mormon pastor
His name is Billy Buck
He drives up in his Caddy
He wonders "What the fuck?"

They raise up high the trash can
They dump it on his grill
They hoot and whoop and holler
Around that Coupe de Ville.

Now Billy Buck, he's steaming
He's ticking like a bomb
He's feeling some old feelings
He hasn't felt since 'Nam.

They chant, "The whole world's watching!"
He gets out of his car.
He looks around and mutters
"I hope to fuck they are."

He takes the bat he's holding
He cleans old Scooter's clock
Then Beanie Man comes at him
He knocks him down cold-cock

He points the bat right at us
"Are you with them?" he sneers.
We say, "We're just a-leaving."
We get our ass in gear.

Billy Buck in his Caddy


It's night time in the city
A businessman goes home
A cop drives down an alley
A poet writes a poem.

Outside the Mormon temple
The cars go humming by
A girl and boy walk slowly
The ghostly urban sky

But now it's so unsettled
And nothing's like it was
And Billy's out there somewhere
The town is all abuzz

The talk shows talk about him
His face is on the screen
They spotted him in Houston
Or was it Abilene?

He called the paramedics
Before he cut and run
We heard the tape recording
His call to nine-one-one

He's talking to the dispatch.
It's clearly Billy Buck
He's saying, "Send a medic
And send a garbage truck."

The dispatch answers Billy
"The medic's on his way.
About that other matter.
A garbage truck, you say?"

"I think I broke my ankle".
Said Billy, short and sweet.
"The garbage truck's to pick up
The shit out on the street."

The ambulance, it got there
There was no Billy Buck
He's somewhere in his Caddy
So let's just say good luck.

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