The Joke That Broke Its Teeth
Hollow Shells, Little Tools of Little men

I thought about a humorous story
Then I searched for humor
In today’s dystopian Nazi world of their glory.
It Failed to give humor or kindness,
To anything that creates laughter
I chipped a tooth while eating a taquito.

So,
That was funny for a minute.
Of time
Then I realized a dentist visit
Was to be.
For me
Then I thought about
2026 of losing benefits.
Education system says certain degrees,
Are nothing to Nazis!
The realm of evil is omnipotent.
But so are peace and love.
Omnipotent
So, let us look around.
Our environment is being poisoned by,
White patriarchy of demons
The funny world of their glory
This is nothing but demonic and no glory,
Is seen.

No funnies
Just violence and putting down.
Anything that is not white patriarchy male.
It is stale.
They are predators that rape young women and boys.
Their toys
Are death, war, famine, and glutinousness behavior.
Of hate, and emotional trauma to put on anyone that is not like them.
They are spineless liars, rapists, child molesters, and crime is their God they worship.

The golden calf is what they celebrate,
With filet mignon and wine
While the single mom struggles
To put food on the table.

The white patriarchy blames it on
The women, LBGTQ, homeless, and the poor.
What humor is there in watching a fat Nazi glorify his existence by?
Hurting children, women, or people of color to make themselves appear glorified in gold.
They are weak little men.
With little tools
Of fools
Thinking about 2025
We do not see their own facade of hate.
They have a dark aura around their own bodies,
Black goo pours from their veins.

As they are insane
Psychopaths
Child molesters
Narcissistic
Sociopaths
Ugly
No souls
Empty shells
Worms eat their brains.

As they spread lies and hate
As they create more ways to murder us all
Are we going to allow this to happen?
No
Narcissistic
Sociopaths
Ugly
No souls

Empty shells
Worms eat their brains.
As they spread lies and hate
As they create more ways to murder us all
Are we going to allow this to happen?
No one should accept this behavior.
Greed, crime, rape, child trafficking, thievery, liars,
Death, destruction, and violence. They are obnoxious, rude, ugly white men with tiny tools.
I want to laugh again.
I want to dance again.
I want to smile again.

When you walk out the door with a smile and grin to say hi to a passerby. Then that person stares at you. They say, “I saw you not pick that dog poop up, so, here is the photo for management to punish you.” You tell the lady with nothing better to do than concentrate on poop that you do not know what she is talking about. She yells at you, “that is okay I will turn you into management for dog poop on the property. That is the expression of a society of poop. I do not like it.

The Joke That Broke Its Teeth
Hollow Shells, Little Tools of Little men
I thought about a humorous story.
I searched for laughter,
but in today’s dystopian world of their glory,
humor failed to arrive.
Kindness failed to arrive.
Nothing rose to give us laughter.
I chipped a tooth while eating a taquito.
For a minute, the event was funny.
Then the dentist visits loomed,
and the joke collapsed into bureaucracy.
I thought about 2026,
about losing benefits,
about an education system that declares
certain degrees are nothing.
Nothing to Nazis.
Nothing to the realm of evil.
But peace and love are omnipotent too.
So I look around.
The environment poisoned,
the patriarchy of demons laughing at their own glory.
But there is no glory.

No funnies.
Just violence.
Just the crushing of anyone who is not them.
Predators.
Rapists.
Molesters.
Their toys are death, war, famine,
and grotesque behavior.
They worship crime as God.
They celebrate the golden calf
with filet mignon and wine
while the single mom struggles
to put food on the table.
They blame women,
the LGBTQ,
the homeless,
the poor.
What humor is there
in watching a fat tyrant glorify himself
by torturing children, women,
people of color?
They are weak little men
with little tools,
thinking their façade of hate
is invisible.
They point their fingers at the women.
At the different,
At the broken.
At the poor.
Where is the joke?
Watching a bloated king
get high on cruelty?
Torturing the children to polish his gold?
They are small men.
With tiny tools.
Thinking about their glass house
is a fortress of stone.
But we see right through it.
They feed the women to the wolves.
They scapegoat the outcasts.
and the ones sleeping on concrete.
Tell me, where is the humor?
In a fat tyrant gorging on pain?
Building a monument to himself
out of the bones of children?
They are weak.
Hollow shells.
Waving little tools of destruction.
They think their mask of hate hides the rot.
But the rot is all we see.
The blame falls,
On the mother, the lover, the beggar, the lost.
Is this the comedy they promised?
A gluttonous idol,
glorifying his own reflection
in the tears of the innocent.
They are such little men.
Wielding the smallest of tools.
Believing their façade is a shield.
But it is only a veil.
And it is thin.
But we see it.
We see the dark aura.
We see the black goo pouring from their veins.

We see the empty shells,
brains eaten by worms,
spreading lies and hate,
inventing new ways to murder us all.
And I ask:
Are we going to allow this to happen?
No.
The Feathered Producer Speaks
Before the movie even begins, my executive Feathered producer swoops in with her ceremonial tweet stamped at the opening like a sovereign seal. She insisted her version of the song take the front stage, but I held cadence: mine first, her second, and the rock cut trimmed into a mythic encore.
The clash was comic, feathers flying, but the archive absorbed it. By the end, her tweet returned like a refrain, stamped several times as closing credits. Balance restored. Seeds eaten. Silence achieved.
This vignette logged as proof: even the smallest producer can demand mythic authority, but sovereign cadence always holds.
Saved and love my Sweetie Bird.
written, created, edited by
Vicki Lawana Trusselli
Trusselli Art
Outstages Cafe Production
California
copyright 2025

About the Creator
Vicki Lawana Trusselli
Welcome to My Portal
I am a storyteller. This is where memory meets mysticism, music, multi-media, video, paranormal, rebellion, art, and life.
I nursing, business, & journalism in college. I worked in the film & music industry in LA, CA.




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