Mandatory Sterilization (Yep, I said it)

I am a proponent of mandatory sterilization and here is why: (my true feelings mixed with some humor)

I believe that some people should not be allowed to breed.  For example, a while ago a mother left her two infant children alone in a bath tub while she was outside on her patio surfing the web.

Solution easy– tie her tubes, she shouldn’t be allowed to have any more children and take the one surviving child away from her.

Any time a mother or father does something this stupid, they should lose their breeding privileges and they should be sterilized.  Why should they be allowed the potential to harm any more children?  Makes no sense to me.

I mean when someone gets a few DUI’s or speeding tickets, the government takes your license away.  Why not sterilize then?  If a parent makes 2 idiotic life threatening mistakes in respect to their children, bring out the scalpel.

“But I didn’t think little Skeeter would get hurt if I locked him inside the house with my 3 pit bulls while I was out buying lotto tickets and getting another case of Natural Lite Ice, he is 3 years old now.”

Sorry dip-shit, put your feet in the stirrups, it’s time to get neutered.

I know what you are thinking…….“but surely there will be opposition from the people you are wanting to sterilize.”

Of course there will be opposition, but that’s an easy fix.  All you have to do is offer them cases of Mountain Dew, Benson & Hedges cigs, barrels of ranch dressing, gift certificates to Dollar General, or free tanning coupons.  That should do the trick.

“I didn’t know that if I left Betty Lou locked in the car while I ran into Cato looking for stirrup pants that she could get injured.  I mean I even turned the car off and rolled up the windows so as to make sure the engine didn’t make her hot.  It was only 95 degrees out.  I really needed them stirrup pants anyhow, I had to try on 4 pairs, I was only gone 45 minutes.”

Sorry miss, put your feet in the stirrups, it’s time to harvest your uterus.

Seriously, there are plenty of people who shouldn’t be allowed to breed.  Sterilization seems like a great idea to me.  Any thoughts??

Dancing Al Roker (the lost milf)

Pain-pill-addiction-Top-10-signs-and-symptoms2her main job for the day is to take the kids to and from school.  They are older now so the task has become considerably easier. Their Iphones have the alarm clocks now and they no longer care for breakfast.

“The bus leaves in 10 minutes,” she warns them each morning.

her bus is an extended Chevy Suburban with those cute stickers on the back window that helps everyone understand exactly how many kids and pets she has now.  The windows are tinted as dark black as legally possible so no one can see her face absent of make up that earlier in the morning.  The crows feet are deeper now and the dark circles widen with each year.

after dropping them off, kisses blown and back to the house.  Once inside, time for the magical breakfast 5-4-3 cocktail……..5 grapes followed by 4 crushed and snorted Oxy’s followed by a glass of water with 3 lemon slices………….ah, let the numb morning begin.

so much easier to watch the Today show with that “sink into the couch” feeling, damn, Al Roker looks like a little, black, talking prune……..pointing at colorful maps of clouds, rain, snow and bright, smiling suns……….easy, the maps move so fast, so colorful, so fast.

she thinks Al’s dancing again just like he does every morning, “Now here’s what’s happening in your neck of the woods.”  She tries to imagine what her neck and the woods have in common.  “That phrase is so strange,” she thinks as she continually scratches that same place under her chin that she paws at each morning as Al continues to dance.  Thankfully, plenty of turtlenecks in the drawer by the bed.

the couch feels so good, so good that it’s already lunchtime.  Al danced off the screen hours ago, but she doesn’t remember and she doesn’t care.

finding the energy, she pulls her body into the kitchen knowing that she should probably eat something, she opens the fridge and stares, returns to the couch, sinking like an anchor all the way to the bottom

an odd sound grips her ears, slow pulsing guitar chords bend back and forth, back and forth, she realizes it’s her cell phone again and not Al’s dancing music…………

a message, she amazingly finds the voice mail button……

“Hello Mrs. So and So, we were wondering why you didn’t show up at your son’s teacher conference this morning. He said you promised to make it this time. We hope everything is alright,” says the message voice.

No worries, everything is wonderful.  Time for the 5-4-3 lunch.

Rinse and repeat

Scenes from a Waiting Room

Act I. (the elderly)
Old, musty ass wrinkled seniors wearing bad track suits, their lifeless, aged skin scarred with purple gum colored splotches hanging from their bones like loose sleeves,
a cell phone rings deep inside a purse underneath the dentures and coupons, by the time the old lady realized it was ringing, silence

Act II. (the soccer mom)
Frost dyed hair, way too tight Hollister shirt, tight faded jeans with pocket designs, elastic fake tits shaped into perfect round globes, husband at work banging his secretary who has even faker tits, but younger body
wife doesn’t care as long as she gets Starbucks 3 times daily,the phat mommy suburban with the cutesy family stickers on the back window showing how many people are in the family, the glowing quarter sized diamond earrings and the trips to Vail, easy to have no soul than to deal with reality

Act III. (the salesmen)
Bad cuff links that even gay dudes wouldn’t wear, fake ass smile accompanied by even faker greetings, slick gelled guido-like hair stuck to their scalps with paste, belts crushed by doughnut stomachs,
calling names like cattle and branding the innocents with fees

Act IV. (me)
Three freaking hours waiting for tires, brought a Bukowski book, could only imagine what he would have thought
I couldn’t stop staring, couldn’t finish reading, couldn’t play games on my cell phone, I just kept watching the train wreck evolve with every new person who came into the waiting room, no blood or body parts, crap.

Red, White and Boo (a poem)

I see your Katie Perry

And I raise you Beyonce.

What ever happened to real art, like the Fat Boys?

Now, just splendid drivel cascading from the youthful mouth

Texting, sexting, pursed lips and Jersey Shore dreams.

Find China on a map? Fuck You, I’m getting my nails done at 3.

Be careful young ones, the noodles and puppy nuggets are coming to a store near you.

I see your E Hollywood News

And raise you Dancing With the Stars.

Posting every mundane bit of your daily shit for all to see

Facebook, Twitter, MySpace your freaking life away

My eyes, dried and burnt from your “Do you like me?” poll.

Keep your pom poms clean and your cell phone charged.

I see your De-evolution

And go all in with your soul

Shouldn’t be difficult to call my bet

You are another failed demographic, another vapid target market.

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

Plastic Parade (a poem)

duck-face-mom-yearA-typical Rolex submariner sits on the dad’s wrist like a beacon of arrival,
his too-tight Ed Hardy tee sticks to his cross fit chest like an extra layer of skin.
those hours in the gym, the broccoli, the grilled chicken, the spinach salads……
Eyes scanning the crowd looking for that 25 year-old who hasn’t yet sunk the botox into her forehead

Wifey to his left, flipping her platinum dyed hair again and again and again
She, looking for someone to make fun of, looking for someone to help her feel better about her collagen duck-faced lips,

her third tit job, her fourth anal bleaching, her fifth affair with a new trainer,Tattoo reads “MILF” along the panty line that only a select 50 or so willing erections get to see.

She, peering at the younger women while licking her lips with the misguided confidence of an American Idol contestant

Continue reading

Email #10 (a poem)

Hi, it’s me again

I know, another email

Can I

be your friend?

just click “accept friend request”

it’s online, safe like your gated community

no realness, no weekend barbecues

no disjointed, clumsy

bar stool meet n greet

where you flip

your bleached hair

5, 10, 15 times

and pretend to look into my eyes

between Miller Lites and Jameson shots

thoughts dusted with cigarette ash

no excited stumbling

back to my place

where soiled sheets don’t matter

your hooker skirt doesn’t matter

but your unbathed, glowing cunt

breathes freedom onto my cock

just click “accept friend request”

email #10