capital

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No-one ever said Charlie Capitalism was kind boy.

No sirree, he’s anything but.

Sure, Charlie would be if he could be boy, if only the niggers he paid good money to buy to plant and propagate the corn and grow it tall just toil quietly and comply with Charlie’s order without complaint, but the damn ingrates won’t, no matter how much pneumatic oil he applies to their apertures or the size of the serve of corn he puts on their plate.

They won’t, and so Charlie can’t, and it’s just a fact of life Joe.

The slaves always want more – more, more, more master, he hears ’em cry night and day – but they don’t want to take the risks that Charlie does, or to work hard like him. They just wanna bleat and moan and badmouth the whole Capitalist family as black.

We know who the blacks are boy, and Charlie Capitalism’s gonna keep those niggers in their place.

It’s up to us to stand together son. If those niggers unite nihilism’s gonna be knocking at our door, and next thing you know it’ll be you and I and Charlie getting crushed by concrete blocks crashin’ down from cranes or falling through faulty scaffolding fourteenth floors and flying with our arms flappin’ into the father, son and holy ghost’s ever-loving arms and the ever after.

And who’ll farm the corn then Joe?

Just tell me. Who?

You reap what you sow son. Charlie Capitalism learned us that.

Just make sure Joe that ya always own the seed.

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