Mindless Self Indulgence (Fuck Off)

To Hell Times Two

I could throw this cup of coffee over somebody's head and then watch as the leftover coffee burns their heads. That would be nice. Maybe it'd wake them up from their long, long sleep.

They all keep thinking they're gonna get better jobs, better lives, so they keep taking the pills. They shove it down their throats like me with my coffee. And if you don't shove it down your throat you get stuck in a rundown warehouse with an experimented on British psycho.

Welcome to Hell.

A gust of wind blows my paper away. I'm on the roof. It's gone. Now I just have a marker and no paper.

Welcome to Hell - take two.

"If you think shit sucks now," I start singing quietly, "you ain't seen nothing yet."

I start writing on my hands out of boredom.

"Because it doesn't get better," I keep singing. "Unless you're pretty..."

This would make a good song, actually. Just add speed and stir.

"It doesn't get better, unless you've got money," I shout.

I let out a yell like a warrior going into battle. I think a few people may have looked up but I don't fucking care anymore. I want to destroy this city. I want to burn it all down with fireworks.

I want to melt the sun.

"Harghhhhh!!!" I shout.

The door to the rooftop opens suddenly. It's Brody. She gives me an odd look.

"I thought somebody was stepping on a crow or something," she tells me.

"Nah, it's just me yelling...at stuff."

"I haven't been up here yet," she says walking over to the edge. She takes a step back, stepping into me, her hair all in my face.

I spit out the strands that had managed to get into my mouth.

"What are you doing up here?" she asks.

"Writing songs. A song," I tell her staring over the edge.

"What are you calling it?"

"Your ass plus my ass equals death."

"Come on!" She whines.

"Nah. I don't know what I'm calling this motherfucker."

"You better come up with something."

"God, I fucking will you can't expect me to write an entire song in a day Brody! Why don't you try it?"

"Maybe I will," she takes a step back. Then she lets out a scream like something out of a video of Satan having explosive diarrhea.

"Oh fuck," I look over the edge of the roof not wanting to find Brody on the ground like a bone and meat salad.

She's not there.

"Brody?" I call out. Then I notice the balcony below me. Brody's there on top of some broken pots. "Oh fuck you're alive!"

She picks herself up from the ground and picks some shards of pottery from her elbow. "Fuck you!" she yells.

I roll over on the roof and give out a sigh of relief.