Prayer to "Bob" Before Sleep

It's not just the Stark Fist and the fear behind it...
It's not just the wars, and the awards that win them.
It's not just the dull and empty distaste for a smothered culture that expires
 all around me in pools of it's own waste.
It's not just the terminal folds of Nunu...
It's not just the child zombies that murder their mediocretin parents and then
 cruise the streets with bloody feet...
It's not just those starry old veks on the park benches with looks on their
 faces like those who shuffled out of the boxcars at Belsen and Aschwitz...
It's not just the anaesthesiologists for NHGH.
It's not just the heaving pink-meat masses that grope and clutch all around  me...
It's not just the dino-bones for Wotan...
It's not just the broken headlights, snapped antenna and human excrement on my
 car hood;
It's not just that the Old Ways were best.
It's not just the basterdization and perversion of every honest means of self
 expression...
It's not just the killer-shit Ganja from the dark side of the bush.
It's not just the peenoid snipers locking and loading on every highrise
 rooftop...
It's not just the widescreen technicolor corporate daisy chain that has defiled
 the entire planet...
It's not just the Mongo in the Congo with fauh-fauh-fauhs the size of
 basketballs...
It's not just the prophets crying lonely and alone in the wilderness...
It's not just the indignity of having to work for some bland nonentity son of a
 bitch who thinks that workers are property.
It's not just the blueness of the world that clenses away all the evil...
It's not just the babbling ecofreaks who want to go back to nature without
 realizing that nature is an open-ditch latrine in midsummer...
It's not just some asshole with a pipe and a shit-eating "I know more than you
 do" dog grin all over his homogenized face...
It's not just the feeling of being trapped inside a regimented devolving world
 that I CERTAINLY never made;
It's not just the Doorway to Doom.
It's not just wanting to know what the hell is REALLY going on.
It's not just the missing H's or the stolen alphabetamax...
         No, Bob, I know there IS more to it than that. You
         aint no nickel-dime bum-show; you're on the square, and
         a CORKING fine buisiness proposition! You're the grand-
         est thing yet, and don't you forget it! SHOUT SALVATION
         AND FIGHTIN' JESUS, that sinner there'll have have to
         rise precious early if he wants to diddle the almighty
         Bob!, Bob!, I hear you have a 'Frop mixture with a punch
         on it for me, in your back pocket ... and I WANNA try
         it!!!.