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

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My Grandfather & My “Party Suicide”

(I’m reposting this because I recently went to a family party and was thinking about him.  It was one of the first parties after he died)

I went to visit my 88 year-old grandfather today.  He has Alzheimer’s, lacerated ulcers and gastric lymphoma.  He’s dying quickly now.  He took a turn for the worse the other day and it’s probably just a matter of days now.

He never had any health problems until the Alzheimer’s got him last year.

A Brief History: He was a great man.  He graduated high school when he was 16 and later graduated from college and attained a master’s degree.

He was a farmer, a lobster fisherman and was vice president of a large chemical company before retiring.

His first wife was an alcoholic and treated him, my father and my aunt like pieces of shit.  She’s dead now and I never cared.  No one shed a tear for her.

He had a second wife and she was an evil bitch.  She nearly killed him and stole everything he cared about when they divorced.

After fucking my grandfather over, she had a stroke, was paralyzed for a time and then died.  Fuck her too, I never shed a tear.

He was a great husband, father, grandfather and never hurt a soul.  He was a gentle man.

I speak of him in the past tense because he is no longer here.  His body is on earth, but his mind is gone.

His Room: I walked in to his room and there he was, under his covers with his mouth agape like he was catching flies.  His skin has become almost translucent now and he’s starting to resemble a skeleton.  Continue reading

Dear Miley (a letter from Billy Ray)

Billy-Ray-CyrusDear Miley,

Ever since I caught your mom fucking Brett Michaels, things have been a little rough around the house.  I mean shit, imagine watching the love of your life getting banged by a washed up, no talent hack wearing a bandana underneath a cowboy hat.

Oh shit, that’s kind of how you were made.  Anyway……

I saw your new video Wrecking Ball last night and I hate to admit it, but I got kind of hard.  Actually, I was harder than a piece of Texas toast left on the hood of a pickup truck for 3 days in the summer heat.

When I saw you walking towards the camera with my old wife-beeter on, my nuts sizzled like spam in a frying pan after a long night of drinking.  Damn baby, you look so fuckin’ hot.

Baby, I want to be your sledgehammer so bad….. so freakin’ bad my balls hurt.  My balls hurt like that time we went skinny dippin’ last summer during our vacation at the KOA.  Remember I had to run into the community shower and “finish” myself in the corner stall???  It was a blue moon that night. Continue reading