Archive | March, 2016

This Story Has Been Formatted To Fit Your Screen and Edited To Run In the Time Allotted

26 Mar

chalk outline


This Story Has Been Formatted To Fit Your Screen

and Edited To Run In the Time Allotted

“Late night watching TV, used to be you here beside me.”

–Chris Martin to Gweneth Paltrow

Love is a Chalk Outline regaining consciousness 40 minutes after the crime scene party’s over, stumbling down the hallway like a partially erased tether ball, unable to recall what he’d done with his pants.

(Commercial Interruption #1: 3 women, post-menopausal, dancing without worry because they’re wearing Gerbers brand extra-super absorbent adult diapers. Available in pink, blue, and new ‘nothing-to-see-here-because-they’re-always-this-color’ yellow. Only 28.50 plus shipping and handling. Incontinent? Gerbers’ got you covered. End Commercial)

The Chalk Outline was unable to find his pants, but that was the least of his problems. Apparently the smart ass who’d traced him had a sense of humor. Or perhaps it’d been a simple matter of incompetence or evil intent. Either way, whoever’d been in charge of tracing the Chalk Outline had neglected to trace the very reason for wearing pants in the first place. For: we live in a world in which it is illegal to expose one’s weiner in public. This law no longer applied to the Chalk Outline. He’d been traced without a dick.

(Commercial Interruption #2: Lysol does not eliminate odors. It just makes everything in the room smell like Lysol. Lysol is an odor. In order to do what its own label purports it can do it would have to eliminate itself. Avoid the madness. Stop shitting in the Employee Only restroom at work! Message brought to you by Scented Candles and Americans Organized Towards The Reelection Again Maybe Someday of Eric Cantor. End Commercial)

Having been reawakened to walk the Earth without his penis, the Chalk Outline felt betrayed and being that his 3 favorite movies were Braveheart, Rob Roy, and The Crow, he set out on the arduous journey of seeking revenge against the thing which had traced him.

“I will end you like the Internet has ended the noble history of reading spine bounded books in print!” the Outline screamed at the sky while pretending that it was raining and also the middle of the night.

The Chalk Outline’s thinly veiled metaphor for god did not answer. But that was ok. The Outline had been chalked recently. The son of a bitch who’d done the chalking couldn’t have gone far.

(Story interrupted by 20 minutes of local news emergency weather coverage. Thunderstorm Watch until 2 a.m. The weatherman, though fully aware it’s only water, has chosen to report upon such things as if anyone caught outside with or without a raincoat has been pre-selected to die a nasty death. Please ride out the storm whilst cowering in the proper amount of fear. If your family owns a gun, I suggest you load it. Channel 9 News Team. 9 Cares. We now return you to this story, already in progress.)

The Chalk Outline stood upon the veranda covered in blood. He’d gone into the battle well aware that taking out his own creator would not be easy. Especially without a penis. (note: the previous sentence is in no way sexist. The phrase ‘dick move’, often applied to someone who’s being an asshole, can also be defined as a real self-defense tactic invented by The Chalk Outline before he’d been murdered and brought back to life as a chalk outline. The move being invented shortly after the Outline flunked out of Karate School and when used correctly rendered one’s opponents bruised, sexually distant or confused. )

Anyway, the battle’d been harsher than the Outline’d predicted, mostly due to the fact that his opponent turned out to be plural. Opponents. Sort of. The man/men who had traced him at the original crime scene were Siamese Twins.

The Outline had no idea what he was expecting, but he hadn’t been expecting that.

(Commercial Interruption #3: A trailer for a new movie in which Hollywood remakes the story of The Three Little Pigs. In this hip, super modernized version the pigs are the ones trotting around blowing down all the houses and it’s the misunderstood wolf who stands inside, haunted by bricks and past mistakes made out of straw, waiting for the walls to fall. Directed by that guy who had the balls to bang Kristen Stewart behind Rob Pattinson’s back after having cast his own real life wife as Kristen Stewart’s mom. End Commercial)

The Chalk Outline thought about outlining the body of the Siamese Twins he’d just defeated but then thought better of it. The Twin’s outline might pop back to life like his own outline had done, and then they’d probably just start fighting again, and the Chalk Outline was done with that.

He went to the dead Siamese Twin’s refrigerator and ate some leftover shrimp instead.

(Story interrupted by the 9 News Weather Team again. Thunderstorm Watch has been escalated to a Warning in the following counties: Broomfield. Please prepare for the apocalypse accordingly. We now return to…wait shit. No. That story’s over. We now return you to the Channel 9 movie of the week, The Poseidon Adventure starring Steve Guttenberg, C. Thomas Howell, The original Robocop, Doug ‘Coughlin’s Law’ Coughlin from Cocktails, Jane (aka The Hero of Canton) and Rutger Hauer, already in progress….)


(written for whatever FBomb it was that took place directly after Coldplay released that album about how sad Chris Martin was because Gwyneth Paltrow broke his heart)


Your Love Is Like The Goo Goo Dolls

25 Mar

goo goo

Your Love Is Like The Goo Goo Dolls


Your love is like the Goo Goo Dolls


Yet occasionally catchy



23 Mar




I was reading a book the other day and came across this one bit that said ‘She smelled like oranges ought to smell’ as they jumped into the sex scene but it didn’t really say oranges what it really said was ‘She smelled like angels ought to smell’ but at the time, when I’d still thought it’d said oranges, I found myself nodding my head in agreement it made perfect sense to me sex should smell like oranges not angels in my opinion angels should totally smell like something else she smelled like oranges the last time we made oranges and now that she’s left me I can no longer swallow specifically colored Tic Tacs and the last guy I came across who smelled like oranges I ended up punching in the throat because I was under the impression at the time that he’d recently made oranges with her and I was already angry but it turned out that he just works at Orange Julius I didn’t notice his fucking uniform until later and by then it was too late you can’t take a punch in the throat back just like I still have no idea why she left me or what the fuck I was doing that day at the mall

Porta Potty (a cautionary tale of love and the illusion of plumbing)

1 Mar

porta potty

Porta Potty (a cautionary tale of love and the illusion of plumbing)



The Porta-Potty stood there

in the corner of the park

smelling like a dead shark

made out of bent hubcaps

and loose stool


reeking out its insides

wondering how the hell it

had all gone wrong


What’s that?


It hadn’t always been a porta-potty

Once upon a time it had possessed

what the non-bowel receptacle’d population

would call: potential


but the Porta had decided

to flush all that

the Potty had decided

to give up the best thing

that had happened to it

in exchange for a transient life


of fluffed ear hair

and margarita stained trousers

and temporary plumbing tattoos


and you know, the shit of it is


the Porta-Potty didn’t have to be

a porta-potty

I mean, fuck!

the fates weren’t holding some sort of shit stained gun

to its ‘Occupied’ stenciled mid section


there was no evil shaped super villain hiding out

on a dark balcony somewhere demanding that if Porta didn’t

spend the rest of its life letting strangers take urgent shits inside it





it was just something it had decided to do

all by itself and on its own

like a bored dog decides to spend an entire winter smelling its own asshole

and humping chew toys

or Donald Trump decides to yelp like a bloated turtle

and collect the hatred of others like a manic prick


(Historical Note: I’m pretty sure Donald Trump has an old time’y

butterfly net instead of a dick)


(I mean) Fuck!


the Porta-Potty could’ve been

a scientist or a hairy butt model

or the assistant goddamn manager at Sears!


the Potty could have evolved past

the lazy mediocrity of average height polyethylene walls

whose sole purpose being: to shield

a partially civilized world from the sight of a plastic urinal

resembling a nightmarish sink and a hole

filled with partially digested corn dog

and chili fries that have forgone the former shape of fries

while disturbingly maintaining

the consistency of chili

and what appears to be the end bits

of the bun


Porta-Potty didn’t have to end up like this


DJ Porta P could’ve spent its life

sleeping on real pillows

that smelled like the coolest goddamn girl

to have ever inspired snowboards

and eat caramels like a champ


but the Porta Potty was stupid

and had lost all of that in a rash moment

of overinflated guacamole

mixed with a lousy day of shitty tips


life is choices and old movies

and with its choices already chosen

the Potty, it perched there, thinking about

the adult ed class it never signed up for

and counting the minutes that lapped

between and endless puddles of little kids

and fully bowel-grown adults

that just endlessly stood there

waiting their turn

to dive inside its insides

(like love)

and start shitting

and stop shitting

and start shitting again


“It’s a living.” said the Porta-Potty

and also it was a late Saturday afternoon

because in the Potty’s world it was always

late Saturday afternoon

and the Pot was surrounded by human beings

compacted with excrement

treading sand in dead grass


Today Porta was being shit in by a bunch of strangers

attending a little league t-ball tournament


Last week it collected the waist of overweight

loud noise enthusiasts at a Monster Truck rally


Next week it’s going to hang out beside

one of those inflatable castles filled with bouncy balls

for the grand opening of another goddamn mall


she deserves better

than a modern day manifestation of outdoor plumbing

she’s too goddamn pretty for all of that

she deserves more

than a lidless toilet hole

that’s in one place waiting to be shit in one day

and in a completely different place waiting

to be shit in the day after that


and whose biggest ambition in this life

is to maybe pick up and spend a summer

renting himself out in the UK

because over there they call porta-pottys


and it thought it made his job sound cooler

like that


“No I’m not a fucking porta-potty. I’m a Portaloo!”

the Porta envisioned himself saying eventually

“So you’d best better show some respect!”




she deserves more than a portable toilet shed that can be

so easily tipped over in the wind


she deserves something permanent

she deserves a real goddamn bathroom!


a goddamn bathroom that will always be there for her


the sort of room with one of those recline-abe

movie theater chairs where the toilet seat usually lives

and a huge picture window that looks

out across the most interesting bits of the cosmos

and toilet paper woven humanely from free range unicorn hair

and instead of the towel racks holding towels

they hold pizza!

she deserves a bathroom with a great big view of the planets

and that you can eat pizza in

and when the toilet’s flushed

it plays her favorite Gary Clark Jr songs


and like Prince doesn’t let anyone

else do their Prince stuff in his bathroom

except Prince


this bathroom is off limits to other people’s bottoms

this bathroom is monogamously devoted


the kind of bathroom that has a big sign

carved above the door in her favorite gummy bear color

that says:


“Gosh, you look beautiful today.

Try not to worry about this year’s elections.

This bathroom is for you”