Caring Tan
The sun clung to her skin
like a marching band in soft slippers
and when she walked by
the whole world turned into headphones
because she was playing my favorite song
it was a marching band version
so it had that tone, and too many trumpets
staring into their cell phones as
the trombones utterly butchered the verses
Shit! It’s still a great song though,
no matter how you play it
I counted all the big drums
until she was gone
Sink
aka Where were they supposed to go after this?
Their love
was like a sink
or crusted bowls of overtly-andante sadness
burnt toast
and jacked up forks
Their love was a graffiti torn sink
built to hold history and spoons,
a partially consumed sponge
and to once in a while, occasionally, piss in
when it’s late and the world’s too heavy to walk on
and the bathroom is all the way up the stairs
don’t judge me!
there is a beach in my pocket
where time drinks alone
and the bladder gets circled by sharks
so I sink
because up the stairs is a long way to travel
when you’re this alone
and the moon insists on poking
and you’ve really gotta pee
Grass Bat
Her hair was the color of yesterday’s favorite chew toy
and his eyes reminded her of a blue crayon
left to die in the mud
their love held on like a bat made out of grass
they lived in a cave surrounded by lawnmowers
but they had a defensive arsenal of dvds
and compensable sex parts
and for a while the lawnmowers couldn’t get them
until eventually even the cave turned against them
because nothing lasts forever except war
and that goddamn Celine Dion song
I mean, fuck, it just goes on forever
unlike the grass bats
a grass bat has the shelf life of a sensitive mammal
made out of uprooted plant clippings
(fuck) all these goddamn every day-by-day extinctions
(historic note: that’s how watching
For Your Eyes Only alone was invented)
the grass bats are gone
Bank Butt
Hey, Bank Butt
Is that where you keep your cautiously-horded investments these days?
Because I’m in need of some saving
and I wouldn’t have thought of keeping it there
I’d like to apply for a debit card
What exactly would be the process………….Wait!
I mean, if I ain’t thought of something like that already
(ergo: stashing such things in the butt)
What other things have I forgot to think about?
(insert alternate curse-type word for ‘shit and/or fuck: there)
What if sharks love Rice Crispy Treats more than people?
My penis is not bigger than that cake pan, damn it
How long has it been again exactly, that I’ve been this
alone?
Bank Butts,
A new term made to represent a robot’s interpretation of color
but (not butt)
what are robots supposed to know about finance and anaL?
Finance: Shit, most likely a bunch, actually
(Historical Note: as soon as the robots learn greed
like the robots have already learned greed: we’re fucked)
Anal: either,
Pretty much everything there is to be known about all of it
(I miss you)
or …………. nothing at all
This New Internet Troll Who Keeps Threatening To Kill Me Is Kind Of A Prick
I suppose I should be flattered, maybe
or disappointed in humanity
or equally outraged
or sitting in a quiet bar somewhere listening to Steve Perry
and re-reading Dune
but I’ve got my very own literary Internet Troll stalker now
He’s read a bunch of my books
and in his initial internet introduction there was the implication
that he liked them, that they’d made a connection
and he even apologized for intruding but he was wondering if I could share
a little insight into a few of the broken hearted ones
that I’ve put out there over the years
and his tone was gentle, almost tender
like how I imagine a self-involved prick would speak to a stern cop
writing him a ticket for making love to an Arbys roast beef sandwich in public
or the way John Hinkley Jr. tried to come across
when he was writing Jodie Foster about how great it must be,
just being Jodie Foster
and even more so when it rains
but I’m not Jodie Foster
ass hole (learn how to separate words you stunted prick)
so when he started ranting like a fist full of stolen lunch money
bunkered down in the 39 year old sweaty pocket
of a spoiled 8 year old
about a particular person who I will always care for
and wish only the best things that are still possible to obtain
in this bullshit Trump inspired hate filled version of new America
I skipped straight to the end
because I’ve got better things to do
(finish reading this importantly great book about tyranny,
and I’ve got a novel to finish, and also on the TV right now
they’re playing back to back episodes of The Incredible Hulk)
then trudge through an unsolicited manifesto like that
and I replied like they replied in the 1930’s
honestly, respectfully, while snorting something they used to call Rum
I replied with a simple response, super-simply
“Fuck off, Carl.”
while also maybe thinking, whoever said it was always nice meeting a fan
had a warped definition of ‘nice’ while also part-way figuring
that was that
which it wasn’t, my brand new stalker who’s favorite hobbies
seem to be tough guy talking on the internet, sloppily referencing
long sections from the Mad Max movies, and reiterating the cliché-fact
that he’s secret named himself after a 1970’s Charlie Bronson vigilante
who’s superpower is squinting like he hasn’t taken a bowl movement
since the 1960’s and shooting stunt guys in the head
(Ha! not so long story (it’s only been a week now maybe) short
Mister Smoochbritches has spent his recent days doing that thing that he does,
sticking his dick in and out of an old Easy Bake Oven while screaming “Oh Bethany!”
and threatening to kill me
Well, Sir!
(if that is your dick’s real name)
I am no stunt double
There is only one of me
And you’re gonna have a hard time sneaking up on me
while I’m at work at Chuck E. Cheese
when I don’t actually work at Chuck E. Cheese!
That’s just false info I’ve floated out into internetspace
because 1. I love Chuck E. Cheese
and also 2. I thought it was funny
and now that that’s where you’ve promised I’ll meet my own doom
Funny little man
with his multi-paragraph stutter
(Historical note: You don’t need to send every draft version threat
about how you’re going to kill me. Just send the one you like best.)
MTN Dew: DEW.S.A
Part 1
I left the house today because I needed pajama shorts, tortilla chips, and a box of purple hair dye. While I was at the store I found a discount rack t-shirt for $2 with a picture of two sentient sausages hugging on it. They were smiling and had arms and legs and happy sausage mouths. They looked like they were in love, so I bought that too.
While walking towards the robot assimilated check out booths I was almost feeling pretty good about stuff for a change. Those sausages had given me optimism. Sausages are pretty gross when you stop to think about it. Sausages are blatant tubes of meat. Just like a human being. Human beings are tube shaped meat too, but a human being’s meaty-ness is a little more subtle. There are differences. When you meet somebody new you generally don’t want to put a bunch of mustard on them and when you meet a new sausage your first instinct isn’t ‘I wonder if it wants to go to the movies with me.’. You don’t feel like asking it out on a date.
Right? These things are different, and also similar. (Shit, now I want to put mustard on you) Point being: If sausages can find love, then maybe there’s hope for all the rest of us. Maybe I’ll find love again too.
So I was almost feeling pretty good and then I stumbled past a new soda display and all that recently found optimism hit the ground and splashed out. A new flavor had been unleashed into the world, like liquid rabies or a brand new sex disease that makes your dick hurt. The kind of flavor marketed towards modern day fact-haters. A flavor designed for the gullible electorate who say things like “He’s a business man! We need somebody who’s gonna run this country like a business man!” and who defend the Confederate Flag like it was a 4 minute old puppy. The sort of flavor that knows all the words to Kid Rock songs. The kind of flavor specifically engineered for people who think science is for jerks.
And just like that, I was in a bad mood again. Sausage love is just a dream. Fuck. The modern world is made up of last straws. Soulless corporations run everything. That war has been lost. We’re living in occupied territory. “John Doe has the upper hand now!”. Why do I care what the everyday collaborators are drinking? If they want to drink their Freedom Juice and pretend the grass is still green, so be it. “Hi Ho”, as Vonnegut used to say. I abandoned the brand new soda display, paid the robot for my shit, and drove super-fast back to the house.
Part 2
Mountain Dew S A is the perfect drink for the new Trump era. Take a big sip. You can taste America dying in your mouth.
It’s literally 3 flavors in one! The Human Centipede of modern beverages! The recipe is basically this:
Step 1 Bloat an already bloated Donald Trump full of high-fructose corn syrup, brominated vegetable oil, and generic flame retardant. Simmer while the crooked bastard tweets for 20 minutes.
Step 2: Trump shits in Sean Spicer’s mouth, throw in a bunch of cinnamon, and then get Spicer to shit in Kellyanne Conway’s mouth. Conway shits in a test tube shaped like a medium sized bucket. Replicate the results on a massive scale, carbonate the hell out of it, bottle, and serve.
Fun Fact: If you run out of gas because you were busy denying climate change and forgot to swing by the local Gulp and Go, just drink a couple of MTN Dew S.A.s, wait 5 minutes, and then piss in the gas tank of your bullshit monster truck. MTN Dew S.A double-jobs it as automotive fuel.
Fun Fact 2: If you drink 4 bottles of Mountain Dew S A in a row your urine will smell like your insides have diverged themselves of empathetic freedoms and basic human rights. Your toilet will hold it against you.
Coming Soon: Diet Pledge of Allegiance and Jazzberry Bible Dew.
Everything is fucking something
Where’d you learn to fight?
From watching Good Will Hunting?
It shows
