Rest Areas Trip Me Out

Always an old creepy white guy loitering near the stalls, waiting for someone to take a shit, waiting to wave his wrinkled hand under the divider, hoping someone will wave back, suck him off or play with his old balls.

Why can’t old gay dudes just go to a gay bar, find someone there to fuck, find someone there to touch their taint?

Always a carni-worker, sweeping up trash, wearing a stale, brown outfit, looking sadly at the life that passed him by.  Putting up the chain on one of the two bathroom entrances, “this side closed for service“, so he can mop up the misguided piss, clean up the old man jizz, throw away the leftover shit stained scraps of toilet paper stuck to the cold concrete floors, flush the un-flushed toilets and then do the same to the other side.

Always a security guard with a heavy flashlight, stupid ass tight uniform pants, leaning like a slack-ass against a 1992 Subaru, using a dime to scratch off another $2 lottery ticket, almost a winner, just one more $ in the winning row and he can move to Florida and fish every day.  Another Marlboro Red to discard to the ground, squished by his Wal-Mart boots.  He’s not really securing anything, just shining his flashlight at the cars looking for some glimpse of tit.

Always me, paying $1.25 for a pack of M&M’s and $1.75 for a Mountain Dew.  Damn, I wonder if the old creepy white guy at least uses KY before fucking, these damn machines sure don’t.

Pretty Stupid Girls (by Misti Rainwater-Lites)

Misti-rainwater-lites-180(I’m a big fan of writer Misti Rainwater-Lites.  For me, this poem sums up Duh’Merica perfectly.)

This poem is timeless and one that can be read 100 years from now and still be applicable to American Society.

This poem is absolutely, fucking perfect.

I found this on: Poem of the Week September 19th 2005

Pretty Stupid Girls by Misti Rainwater-Lites

pretty stupid girls
chewing Dentyne Ice
and chatting on their cell phones
as Vietnamese ladies
polish their toenails
pretty stupid girls
showing off cleavage and fake tans
in bra tops from Victoria’s Secret
gossiping about Kevin and Britney
wanting to be Paris and Nicole
pretty stupid girls
getting sloshed in clubs
that blast stupid songs
going home with
pretty stupid boys
proving to the world
that Americans
pretty much
suck

 

Ready for the Asteroid (a poem)

(I wrote this a long time ago.  But, when I see Trump, Cruz, Rubio, Hillary and Bernie spinning their shit, I wish the asteroid would come NOW)

When the horrible day arrives

the clouds will blacken and melt

a searing, tumbling ball of rock

will head our way

We will finally all understand our smallness

I will crawl into my roach skin costume

and hide between the walls

Because roaches, I’m told, will survive

A Fear of Public Toilets

“I’ve always thought that the stereotype of the dirty old man is really the creation of a dirty young man who wants the field to himself.” Hugh Downs

When I was a little kid from about the ages of 6-10, my dad used to take me to Tampa Bay Bucs football games.

I loved football and it was great father/son bonding, but this is where my fear of public bathrooms originated.

I will never forget having to pee, I mean I was a little kid and probably pissed quite a bit.  My dad would walk with me into the bathroom and as I walked in the door a giant, aluminum trough was staring back at me.

There were no urinals on the wall with nice privacy dividers.  There was only the enormous trough up against the wall packed with several men standing shoulder to shoulder in various stages of alcoholic inebriation.  Continue reading

Dooky Jesus

I saw an image yesterday
and it was Jesus

I kid you not
I had eaten at Taco Bell again
my stomach was tangled in a billion groaning knots

I sat down
On my lush porcelain seat
With the calm water below

One King Kong push, I wiped the sweat from my brow
I looked down like I always do
And there he was,
Crown of thorns and all
Swimming peacefully underneath

I jumped to get my camera, forgetting to wipe
When I got back
He was gone,
just like that

So I flushed

He let me down again

tired (a poem)

220px-Street_gutter_in_Old_Town_Stockholmtired of the rhyming bull-shit, flowery, gentle hugs

of today’s poetry

tired of sunshine beams, rainbows with comfortable temps.

i want smelly hooker, dark alley cum-stained fingers

feeling up the innocents, making mouths gape, screaming for help and

thrown into the stank puddles reflecting the gutters of real life.

tired of feel good dreams, idealistic dreams, dreams that only enlighten 1%.

i want the dejected, the forgotten, the pushed aside, the foreheads with spit dripping down into an eye that’s been forced shut for too long.

i want welfare, bad cheese, half smoked cigs, Boones farm cheap-ass wine, i want 40 ounces of beer that smells like homeless ass

that makes the bowels remember who is on the bottom rung.

i want real pain, i want real emotion, i want a real experience from someone on this fucking planet.

tired of all the happy shit,

it’s ok not to smile.

deconstructed milf (a poem)

Marriage: Years 1-5

Each day, cotton candy fluffy marshmallow clouds

floating between comments of “I love you” and “You’re beautiful honey”

hubby home from work, healthy dinner served,

glass of $50 wine that is difficult to pronounce so it must be fucking great

Tongue down throat, barely make it to the bed, face in the pillow

deep, penetrating cock inside you like he “fucking means it” love making, so in love his sweat tastes like cupids own saliva

true, fucking, love

smile like a clown as you walk outside to get the mail,

waving stupidly at the neighbors with your “the world is mine” look

because your life is better, your BMW is newer, your skin is tighter

you still stay up past 11 each night

and don’t yet know about Lifetime movies

Years: 6-10

The cotton candy begins to stick to your fingers now,

damp from the low hanging clouds circling above

3 kids now and damn you are tired

Hubby still hasn’t responded to your “hope you had a good lunch” text

such a foolish ruse

when you really wanted to text “is she prettier than me, does she taste better than me?”

he sees directly through your less tanned, heavier hanging skin bull shit

it pisses you off, but you stay silent

Dinner, hit start on the microwave and watch the lasagna spin around like a good American,

but don’t get too close, the radiation may fuck with the botulism in your lips

“He used to kiss me all the time,” that voice whispers in your head as you stare at the cheese bubbling over the paper towel you placed on top

But then, a text!!!! Some excitement, a little clit tingle, just like old times

“Don’t forget to walk the dog, don’t want him pissing the rug again,” he typed

Crushed again

Hubby home, eats dinner on the couch watching Fox News and bitching about Mexicans, niggers and why Obama sucks giant donkey dicks

he takes his laptop in the bathroom for another 40 minute shit as you clean up behind him, you dive in to that box of Franzia wine the neighbor brought over for your birthday

you taste the plastic and cardboard grapes, but are indifferent

settle into the couch and watch “Cyber Seduction; His Secret Life”

cry yourself to sleep again

Years: 10-???

Kids don’t listen, hubby has more “meetings” than ever

random text from a 20-something hussy saying that your hubby’s cock tastes old and he’s a fucker, says he won’t leave your wrinkled ass like he keeps promising,

something about the kids or some other lame cheating excuse used a million times before by all the other pussy chasers

you hit “delete”, pretend the text was a mistake as you park your minivan and go in for you ass-bleaching appointment, no tears

next day, different doctor for mysterious soft tissue back injury to get that oxy prescription

at least the pills make the boxed wine taste better

two months since you’ve seen hubby’s dick,

Jesus the lawn guy is beginning to look like Erik Estrada now,

just like an old porno, ask him if he’s thirsty, invite him inside

bad carpet, bad music, face back in the pillow

it doesn’t count if you don’t kiss with tongue,

his sweaty hand on the back of your neck

“So this is what is used to be like,” that voice whispers “So this is what it used to be like.”