The fault, dear Bruno, is not in our stars but in our ourselves.
(dys)function. Where f(x) = Cash, but x is broken.
Yet, is it not better to play a dull and lifeless piano than to have never played at all.
I, Bruno, do suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.
The pimps wanna blow my house down. Head underground go to the next town.
I do declare this call to arms,
Accordion players of the world unite, the only thing you have to lose is your chains...
And your mobile home and your colour TV.
as the rich will do anything to help you out, except get off your back.
The American Dream is a bitter disappointment for which no remedy exists.
And so Bruno beseeches, please bear witness to my Wisconsin Death Trip chicken dance.
And so it goes.