Tag Archives: Doom

Tony Bennett’s Ghost

1 Nov

 

Tony Bennett’s Ghost

 

She was drinking Mai Tais

in the Tonga Room

where she wrote me an email

that I didn’t get

 

because life: is like that

 

There was an email

and then there wasn’t an email

and I don’t understand almost everything

anyway, so

 

Where’d it go?

 

Did it get itself lost inside the haunted house of the internet?

Did it trust an honest faced porn site for directions?

Was it seduced by mermaids and dragged down beneath the waves

of a Philip K Dick envisioned sea?

 

How do I know?

 

It’s not in my inbox

and it’s not in her outbox

It’s in the just-vanished box

pre-ordering the next Taylor Swift album

drinking whiskey like a tired gladiator on its day off

 

It’s gone

 

Nobody knows where it is now

but when I’d first heard it was missing

I was immediately sure I knew what had happened to it

 

because I’m occasionally cocky like that

 

I had become convinced with the equivalent

of zero doubt that

The Ghost of Tony Bennett Stole it

 

Tony Bennett’s ghost stole our email!

I insisted to her almost immediately

across the internet

 

I could just see him, Tony Bennett’s ghost

morphing his way away from the bar

smoking a quick cigarette with a potted plant

Trading pizza jokes with Don Rickles

 

as he absentmindedly swiped our email

out of the internet air, somehow mistaking it

at the time for his the phone number of a 1960’s cocktail waitress

or his car keys

 

With me, screaming

 

Leave that cocktail waitress alone! and

You’re in no shape to drive!

It’s Halloween for juke-box-sake!

 

Give us our fucking email Tony Bennett!

I could feel myself screaming

 

I was rambling at this point, naturally

when she pointed out, quite correctly

It couldn’t have been Tony Bennett’s ghost

that stole our email, because

 

Tony Bennett’s not dead

and she was right

I knew that

 

Of course Tony Bennett’s alive

and we’ll always have Tom Petty

Only songs can save us now

 

So what the fuck stole our email?

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A Year Without Prince: Part 1

28 Apr

A Year Without Prince: Part 1

 

A year?

Sexy-seriously?

(stomp down on that delay pedal)

 

How has it already been a year?

(year year year)

 

Where the fuck

has everything gone?

(oh, right)

(you keep it in there)

(as long as the water’s warm enough/that’s hot)

 

Thirsty?

 

Our whole world’s been swallowed by ego

like it was sloppy joe sauce

or left over wine

 

(what’s this button do?)

(It’s either wired to take down the EPA

or inform the staff that President Parched Asshole

wants another Coke)

 

Things that have pride besides doves:

 

Fascists, fast cars, furiously bald actors,

Bon Jovi, bulldozers, heavy sleepers,

trampolines, outrageous synth solos,

 

winery-s and sandpaper

politicians and the occasional parade

stiff dinner rolls

and hard doom

 

(fast guitar solo)

(outsourced belly dance moment)

(We should continue this conversation over thongs)

 

How many days are there in a year again?!

(primordial scream)

I don’t know

52 seconds and our pants are still on?

(proud keyboard fart)

 

(Easy baby, that thing’s my weiner

not an ice pick)

(whisper) (Better like that

or not better like that?)

 

Things that are never satisfied

besides Prince’s mom:

 

Vampires and jazz licks

truth’s vibrator and pure love

John Mayer’s girlfriends

and overly planned picnics

natural disasters

and tone deaf billionaires

in a park

 

Wake up wide eyes!

(got ta got ta got ta)

 

Harry Styles is a pubic hair trend

not a pop star!

 

Lake Minnetonka isn’t a lake

it’s a goddamn state of mind!

 

Legend has it there was this one night

when Prince danced so hard

the universe cried dead light

and Prince pissed mozzarella and black olives

until the lady he’d hung his heart on screamed

 

Great!

Thanks!

Now I want Pizza!

 

and Prince was like, “Troy, I don’t serve ribs”

and Troy said “I’m not Troy, darling. I’m Prompelunia

and I said pizza big shot, not ribs”

 

And Prince was all, “Sorry. I thought

you were kinda quoting one of my albums. Shit, yeah

(bang down hard on the sus2 chord)

We should get pizza

 

So they did