artć + societate / arts + society #38, 2011 20 lei / 11 €, 14 USD - idea

conduc pe banda rezervatæ bicicliøtilor.
Cu cît sînt mai eficace la lucru, cu atît mai mult mi se dæ de muncit.
Mæ înec în credite pentru studenfli.
Øi gingiile mi se retrag.
Minflile cele mai creative lucreazæ în industria publicitaræ.
Veverifle urbane mutante øi obeze îmi decimeazæ roøiile din spatele casei.
Bærbaflii se încolæcesc în jurul barelor din metrou ca dansatoarele
de striptease.
Chelnerii întreabæ: „mai muncifli la felul acela?“
Toatæ America aratæ ca un acelaøi minimall.
O mare de gunoaie de dimensiunea Texasului pluteøte în Atlantic.
Ræzboiul sæ fie singurul nostru bun de export?
N-am ce sæ port.
N-am nimic de mîncare în casæ.
Îmi uræsc asociaflia de locatari.
Femeile cer prea multæ atenflie.
Porfliile sînt prea mari.
Mi-e-ntotdeauna foame.
Pîinea præjitæ e rece.
Încetafli sæ mai ræspîndifli viruøi! Luafli autobuzul!
Prea mulfli cred în rai pentru a face ceva împotriva încælzirii globale.
De ce nu cîntæ membrii trupelor de bæiefli la niciun instrument?
Avem un cowboy drept preøedinte.
Sînt mult prea deøteaptæ pentru bærbaflii cu care ies.
Bucætæria mea ultramodernæ face præjituri disproporflionate.
Hainele pe care mi le pot permite sînt fæcute în ateliere care
îøi exploateazæ angajaflii.
Nu vrem ca Olimpiada sæ se organizeze aici.
Corul de plîngeri din Hamburg
Cea mai nætîngæ pistæ pentru bicicliøti din oraø
Duce direct în Wilhelmsburg,
Prin tunele întunecoase, o mie de gropi,
Øi cîteva scæri la Argentinienbrücke.
Rimelul curge mereu,
Declarafliile de impozit sînt prea complicate!
Colegul meu de apartament se culcæ cu fosta mea prietenæ,
Niciun om politic nu-øi fline promisiunile.
Maicæ-mea îøi face prea multe griji,
Ole von Beust nu se gîndeøte decît la proiectul Halfencity.
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Even cops don’t stop at stop signs.
I hate drunken Cardinal fans more.
My boss prints his spam and hands it to me.
People are so mean on the Internet.
A high-pitched whistler is sitting next to me on the ball game.
Nobody ever throws the ball to me.
I live in the city and I can’t see the stars.
I was born and remain a Cubs fan.
School makes me want to yawn.
The Amateur Jethro Tull cover band
practicing around the block will never rock.
People text, eat and do their make up while driving in the bike lane.
The more efficient I am the more work they pile on me.
I am drowning in student loans.
And my gums are receding.
The most creative minds work for the advertising industry.
Obese urban monster squirrels decimate my backyard tomato crop.
Men wrap around the pole on the L-train like strippers.
Restaurant servers ask “are you still working on that”?
All of America looks like the same strip mall.
Garbage the size of Texas is floating in the Atlantic.
Is war our only export?
I have nothing to wear.
I am out of food.
I hate my condo association.
Women need too much attention.
Portions are too big.
I am always hungry.
The toast is cold.
Quit spreading germs! Take the bus!
Too many people believe in the rapture to do anything about global warming.
Why don’t boy bands play any instruments?
We have a cowboy for president.
I am too smart for the men I date.
My side-ways kitchen bakes lopsided cakes.
Clothes I can afford are made in sweatshops.
We don’t want the Olympics here.
Complaints Choir of Hamburg
The most absurd bicycle road of the town
Leads directly into Wilhelmsburg
Through dark tunnels, 1,000 road holes,
And across some stairs at the Argentinienbrücke.
The mascara gets always smudgy,
The tax declaration is too complicated!
My flatemate sleeps with my ex-girlfriend,
Not a single Politician keeps his promises.
My mother always worries too much,
Ole von Beust just has the Halfencity project in his mind.
My favorite underpants are out of stock – unfortunately,