Duh’Merica (a poem)

DUH’merica, what have you done?

While you parade the streets in gas guzzling suburbans, there are soldiers dying around the world trying to kill dark-skinned people after taking orders from fat, pasty-white politicians who only care about their offshore bank accounts.

DUH’merica, why don’t you care?

That our children have difficulty finding China on a map, but they can update their Facebook status perfectly while crossing a busy city street without getting splattered in traffic.

DUH’merica, why can’t you turn it off?

The Kardashians, TMZ, The Bachelor, American Idol, America’s Got Talent sift through the minds of our youth like a slow, neurotoxin eating them from the inside out. Continue reading

Did Tony Fuck Angela?

(A while ago I had a gmail blogger account and posted this.  One of my favorite poets,Misti Rainwater-Lites posted a nice comment about it.  Sure it could have been a Misti imposter, but I like to tell myself it was really her.)

I keep asking myself the question………… Did Tony ever fuck Angela? I want to know, I want to know badly. If he did, I think it would have gone  something like this:

Tony approached her right after he finished vacuuming the drapes. She had probably just returned home from a hard day of work at her advertising agency. She was standing by the door teasing her Grayish-streaked hair, almost inviting him to taste her middle-aged grapes.

“Hey Angela, you are looking pretty hot standing there by the door. Why don’t you come a little closer so I can fuck you up the ass,” Tony would quip.

“Oh Tony, you are so boorish, so Italian, so ruggedly…………….. what time is dinner,” Angela would blush and retreat to the kitchen.

Then Mona would enter the room, arm entwined with a an old drunk who resembled Bukowski. Tony and Angela could both smell the sex on her breath as she paraded around the room with the misguided confidence only shared by Blanche from the Golden Girls. Continue reading

God and the Gay Dude

A gay dude walked into a bar and God was sitting at a corner booth looking all cool and shit while stroking his white beard.  The conversation went something like this:

Gay Dude– Hey there, is that really you?  Are you God?

  God– Yes my son, behold, for it is me, the Almighty.

Gay Dude(clapping gingerly) Finally, I’ve been looking for you for like years.  I have a really, really important question for you.

  God– Anything my son, what’s on your mind?

Gay Dude– Well, I’m afraid you don’t love me.

  God– Why would you think that?  I am God, I love everyone.  I created you in my image.

Gay Dude– But I like other dudes.

  God-Well so do I, what’s wrong with that???

Gay Dude– No, I mean I realllllllllllllllly like other dudes.  I like penises.  I like to touch them, lick them and put them in my ass.

  God– Holy Shit, I get it now.  You are a fag, hmmmmm.  Yeah, I don’t really like fags that much.  You know, I’m still pissed about all that Sodom and Gomorrah shit that went down a while back.

Gay Dude– But do you love me?  I was born this way, does that mean you are gay too, since you created me in your image and all???

  God– Look buddy, I love pussy.  We had a security breach in heaven years ago and Beelzebub snuck in and started creating fags just to fuck with me.  I so didn’t create fags.  But now lesbians, I love me some lesbians.  I take full credit for them. (winking)

Gay Dude– This is bullshit.

  God– Get used to it and be thankful, at least you aren’t a black fag.

1-976 HIPSTER

Subcultures fascinate me and nothing fascinates me more than Hipsters.  They are fucking everywhere, literally and figuratively and I enjoy poking fun at them.  (probably a poor word choice there)

There is a fetish out there for everyone so I’m sure there is a Hipster Phone Sex Line and here’s how I think it would go down:

Caller: (after dialing 1-976-HIPSTER and giving her his credit card number) Hi there, I’m a little nervous, I’ve never done this before.

     Hipster: Don’t be nervous, I’m here to ease your stress and a ease a few other things….if you know what I mean.

Caller:  Oh well, that sounds nice.  Can you call me Clementine?

Hipster: Sure thing, but how about Clemmy?

Caller:  (giggling) Oh yeah, that’s nice.  I’m already getting wet, tell me about your vintage records.

Hipster: Glad you asked, I have quite the vinyl collection.  Original Sgt. Peppers, Hendrix Isle of Wight,  Johnny Cash, Salt N Peppa………

Caller: (gently moaning) I was so close until Salt N Peppa.  Let me hear about your ironic beard and wardrobe  (hands in panties) Continue reading

John Travolta and the Creepy Van

(I wrote this years ago before any of this “gay” rumor shit was in the news.  And by the way, who gives a fuck if Travolta likes to give rim jobs to hot, male masseurs?)

Am I the only person around who thinks John Travolta is just a bit too creepy and might be that guy you see driving a weird, old van in your neighborhood right after school lets out?

I’m not even talking about the whole Scientology aspect either.  His smile is just a little bit “off” for me.

When I see him on television doing an interview he kind of looks like that guy who drives the old, decrepit van with the tinted bubble window on the back offering kids in your neighborhood candy.

You know the van I’m talking about, the one with the airbrushed wizard mural on the side.  It was the type of van your mother told you to stay away from.

The van that was always circling the elementary school playground, the van with the mini air conditioner unit in the back window speeding away from playgrounds like a convict was driving.

Then, on the rare occasion that the van actually parked somewhere, the guy getting out had bad, green prison tattoos and that crazy Travolta-like smile.

That smile that someone only has when they have one hand down their pants and are alone on their couch watching a neighbor sunbathing.   That smile. Continue reading

The Best Dream Ever

It starts with me walking down a poorly lit hallway with several doors on each side, some cracked open and some closed.  I want to look in each door, but something is making me nervous to look.  But I look anyway.

The first door is numbered 666 and I open it.  There is a huge bed in the middle of the room and I see Rush Limbaugh dressed like a catholic school girl and he has black mascara dripping down his bulbous cheeks like he’s been crying.  He looks at me with his God-Fearing eyes and points to the corner.

In the corner there are two Filipino adult midgets tied together with ball-gags in their mouths, smiling and sitting on top of a very worn out Twister board.

Then out of the closet, Justin Beiber runs out dressed in a lederhosen t-back carrying a crystal magic wand.  He flips his hair, points the wand at Rush and says, “Lady-Boy Alive.”  Immediately Rush grows HHH titties and starts giggling like he’s on laughing gas.

He gets down on all fours on the edge of the bed and Justin mounts him and starts riding him like a donkey.  Rush squeals and Justin just keeps flipping his hair.  Then Usher appears with a video camera and starts taping the whole thing and tells me he’s going to put it on You Tube.

I’m starting to feel a little weird about everything so I try to help the Filipino midgets get untied.

They start blowing me kisses, so I run out of the room and slam the door shut.  At the end of the hallway I see my 5th grade teacher standing next to a urinal and she says, “I told you that you wouldn’t amount to anything.”  I wake up and realized I pissed myself, again.

Jude the Hipster Buys Condoms

Well, I enjoy poking fun at hipsters so I decided to start a series of hipster posts about Jude the Hipster and his adventures in every day life.

In this episode, Jude the Hipster buys some condoms.

Characters:

Jude– the Hipster, no description necessary

Sara– the Drug Store Clerk, about 22 years old and very, very average looking.

Fade In:  A typical Walgreens drug store in a slightly urban, but not too urban area.  Jude, wearing corduroys, a super tight shirt that says OBAMA ROCKS and a sporty purple fedora, walks into the store and heads directly to the pharmacy in the back to buy some condoms, but he has several questions for Sara the clerk.

Jude- (with confidence) Hi there.  I was wondering if could answer a couple questions for me about your prophylactic products.

Sara- (a little embarrassed) Sure, I guess.  I will do the best I can.

Jude- (stroking his ironic mustache) Great.  Well, I like to hang out downtown and I drink a lot of craft beer.

Just last night I tried a wonderful Belgian IPA that tasted like hops that only Bavarian Monks could produce.  Anyway, I digress.

Drinking a lot, coupled with my fancy mustache, I always tend to, you know, attract the ladies.  Do you get my drift???

Sara- (feeling uncomfortable)  I guess, what exactly is your question? Continue reading