[Please note: these were translated from angry phonecalls which were transcribed by some poor bastard in the deep bowels of an old sweatshop. I performed these translations for close to two years before the redundancy of the task made me question many of the choices I’ve made in life. The process itself has enlightened me to the inner feelings and an awareness of the decrepitation process. I fear that soon I too, much like the callers, will be yearning for a day when I have a lawn so that I may yell at children to get off of it. This will never again be an every day thing, but sometimes pain helps to remind us. Happy Holidays.]

Stop crying you losers.
Donny won and time moves on
Never heard us whine.

Results cause sadness.
But solace comes from one source:
Trump won’t be my fault.

Medals of Freedom.
Given out like cheap candy.
Dignity comes soon.

Governor Baker:
“I’ll fight for sanctuaries.”
Voters move along.

I’m Republican.
Electoral College must go.
My Mass vote should count.

Learn English you punks.
You were born in this country.
No more excuses.

Donny’s little swamp.
His friends think it’s a hottub.
He’ll never drain it.