Archive | June, 2017

Get out of the car, Donald: Covfefe

30 Jun

 

Get out of the car, Donald: Covfefe

 

The old man spit almonds at the liquor store clerk for coming

around to the other side of the counter in order to feed

the thin Doberman a health food store treat

(Sprouts was right next door)

 

“He shouldn’t have that!” the old man said, spit “I don’t mean to yell, but last night

he had hideous diarrhea. (Hideous) (I was standing behind him. Great word choice.

I was impressed)

 

I’ve scrubbed so much shit out of my living room carpet

that the pain in my wrists is the only thing I’ve got left,

as far as proof that I’m alive.”

 

The old man thought about death a lot and looked hollow

The dog’s asshole was sensitive and he looked dehydrated and sad

The liquor store clerk said she was sorry, she should’ve first asked

 

Covfefe stepped around me like a John Wick fight scene

his eyes grinning like the wrong kind of condiments

“Hey mister,” Covfefe said, “I’ll give you 47 hundred dollars for the dog.

 

But only if this place sells beef jerky. Do you sell beef jerky?”

The lady who worked there said that they did.

 

“Sold. The dog, and all the beef jerky. I pay you for the dog

and her for the beef jerky. 47 hundred. Do we have a deal?”

 

The old man quivered, fully aware that he was only 3 or 4 more dog shits

away from ending his own life. He didn’t want to die that way.

On top a shit stained carpet. Dog. Shit. Stained.

 

Fuck that, the old man said in his head.

They had a deal.

 

On the ride home I asked Covfefe why he’d bought the dog

“Why do you think?!” Donald said, because he was sitting in the back seat

like he’s always sitting in the back seat. That’s what he does now.

He lives in the back seat. He pays people large bucks to provide him with

an unlimited amount of shit he orders from the Info Wars website and Kentucky Fried Chicken.

He won’t get out of the car.

 

He runs everything from back there

He’s the real thing #prick

so why would he?

 

“He bought the dog because they had beef jerky and the dog has diarrhea and we’re taking it

back to your place. Covfefe! Keep the dog away from my chicken! Can you comprehend what

I’m doing to you right now? I’d fucking think so.

aka Win/Win/Win.”

 

I tried to ignore Donald but it’s impossible.

He’s a big dickish mess.

And I told him that

 

“The only thing I regret,” Donald said “is that I never played golf

with Evel Knievel.”

 

and for the first time, I believed him

and I drove home

embalmed with that and all these memories

we’ll never see again

 

All these times that are now dead for us

Shit

The times that are dead

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Covfefe

29 Jun

Covfefe

 

As the ashtrays pop like a steady invasion of phone-cams

and cream cheese

We all scream into the same bucket of water

We can all feel our own tanks slowly chipping away, under fire

Until the only thing left are the treds………….

 

Are you watching Fury again?. Covfefe asked the question like a statement

because I was always watching Fury again these days

I was always praising Brad Pitt’s performance

as a broken souled tank driver or sketching Hitler mustaches

just below the crotches of shitty modern day billionaires

or reading about Winston Churchill out loud

 

Since the election of this new goddamn reality show president

I’d become significantly obsessed with masturbation and not sleeping well

and learning lots of things about World War 2

 

Leave me alone, Covfefe. I said

Which made Covfefe laugh

Which was horrible, because a Covfefe laugh

sounds like the cross between Tom Cruise farting during a meter reading

and Ricardo Montalban waking from death screaming

because he’s spent the past chunk of years

dreaming about how he accidentally killed Tattoo  

 

Leader gets two scoops of ice cream

when everyone else in the room gets only one

Covfefe gloated

One scoop because America is so gullible

and one scoop because it’s arrogant about its ignorance

and  still pretty fucking racist

so: shit

 

That makes 2.

 

One + One……..I mean, I don’t know

where you learned math but where I learned math

we always said the pledge of allegiance before pooping

and didn’t eat our bologna sandwiches like afraid-of-mayonnaise pussies

I can tell you, with complete straight bullshit honesty,

that where I come from one + one: makes two

 

Covfefe! I found myself screaming voluntarily, Knock it off

Your shitty math hole

can’t tell algebra and a shark’s asshole

apart, how the fuck do you expect…….

 

Covfefe’s response was immediate

and misdirected

 

Love is for people.

I think my sister really likes you

Knock it off

Caring Tan

13 Jun

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

9 Jun

Sink

aka Where were they supposed to go after this?

 

Their love

was like a sink

  1. another color named by robots
  2. something assholes threw unfinished plates of spaghetti in

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

5 Jun

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

3 Jun

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

1 Jun

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

  1. Because now it makes you funny

 

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.)