Political Correctness is Latin for NO VASELINE!

Slapping you and me is PC's project!
Captain Mutiny eats you fobs quick!
Sparing scrutiny to deceit is the object!
Allow me to point to this:

Carelessly heeding topics anointed.
To me? THAT's the point of PC!
Heresy never disappoints a wary revolutionary.
Heresy. Look it up. I'll spare you a beat or 3.

Beyond compare the feat of a firespree.
Bombing dares, full and complete, tirelessly!
On it and aware “full and complete” is redundant.

FUCK IT! Just run with it!
I'm not done, being redundant!
(Why do I always have to bust iambic polysyllabic rhyme IMMEDIATELY following “FUCK!” as an opening?)

Fly true and flay just oddly? Silly to mob it? Mind meets itty bitty callings to buck? And get to scoping?
My! I AM due to play dodgy! Really, I'm robbed by these fits. Time eats literally ALL OF ME! It sucks. Span of blitz? I'm roped to this thing!

No, really. Why over-rhyme after opening with “FUCK!”?
Flow fills me. I spy and a bolder divine rapture is close! Quick luck!
So an ill spree is in my hands. Colder and blind, I'm CAPTURED by prose. I'm sick? It sucks!

FUCK, Loki! Fecedia, why the compulsion?
Cluck and stroke me! Ahead of ya', I die and re-pulse again!
Knuckles poke free. Undead, break the mulch and re-begin!

Maybe Orange County boys who grew up to become L.A. men are used to proving it.
Fuck, maybe everyone from Southside is used to being tested.
Bad luck! Slay free. Clever to run over the mouths and prides of prudes seeing us to step on.

Back to the joining beat. It's been at least 3.
You've had time enough to look up HERESY.
And the agility to spill acrobatic jests
Ran my ability, still graphic on every test.

The span of soliloquys ill to last.
Whether I'm here or at final rest.
Whether you can hear or are deaf.
I'll spear every verse of me.
To reach personally and bless.

Jests I share are purloined.
Heresy never disappoints.
I'll snare this on one joint!

I share collected visions.
Blaring esoteric wisdom.
Slay with no blanks in my wrath!
Each day I put the sacrosanct on blast!

As if each were my last. Play my hand exact!
I'm past bereft! Preen clever sprays.
I see my death scene every day.

So I'll smoothen odds shitty on the brink!
Groove to prod. With no pity, but over-think!
Set a righteous blur. Gritty and distinct.
Like the Psychedelic Furs, “Pretty in Pink”!

Okay, that wasn't gritty, that was sensitive exposition.
Whatever. What's dealt in every curve of the Psychedelic Furs is juxtaposition.
I bust the same condition!

Like flim and flam from yin and yang,
I spin my span and jig my hands to rig a slam
That'll reconfigure the Big Bang!
Don't stop me man.....