Herbicide
eat it!
eat the flower!
not nearly as tasty
to your mouth as it is your eyes
poison
Parlez Vous Français
fromage
fruit of the cow
old or fresh and nubile
the orange and white of fortéfragrant
Cinquaing
sinking
up-pulled under
psychologically?
up to your eyes in dirt and grime
covered
Cyber Pork
bacncomputer slang
when will it ever end?
"I want this mail but not right now"
come on
Instruction Manual
awake
eat, be merry
shut up during the film
turn off your signal, for fuck’s sake
asleep
Monday, August 27, 2007
An Acrostic Palindrome
Some have said, my dear
And you know this to be true
Thine nighty is quite clear
And utterly see-through
Now, I would suggest
Out of respect for you:
Strap in that ample chest
Conceal those ample boobs
I’ll hate myself near and far
Lord have mercy, I recant!
Libidos, being what they are
Attack me in my pants
Thine bodice of flesh rippling, see
Erects a standstill down below
Momentarily crippling me
Yonder ice-water for a fellow?
Miss, my dear, Mrs. Bosomly Booty
E’ermore you’ve stolen away my heart
Though I rush to consume your beauty
Amply, you’ve given me quite a head start
Let me see again, what I once had decried
Let me see again, what I saw but once before
I am...disappointed; yonder nighty has belied
C-cup bra-size and no measure of wishing more
So ends the mystery of how in your corset you fit
Oh, I wondered that above all else in the world
Noticeably, you look to have slimmed a bit
And that’s fine – you’re a beautiful girl!
Though now I must run along
Alas, my angel, be strong!
Seldom will I allow my telephone to ring long
And you know this to be true
Thine nighty is quite clear
And utterly see-through
Now, I would suggest
Out of respect for you:
Strap in that ample chest
Conceal those ample boobs
I’ll hate myself near and far
Lord have mercy, I recant!
Libidos, being what they are
Attack me in my pants
Thine bodice of flesh rippling, see
Erects a standstill down below
Momentarily crippling me
Yonder ice-water for a fellow?
Miss, my dear, Mrs. Bosomly Booty
E’ermore you’ve stolen away my heart
Though I rush to consume your beauty
Amply, you’ve given me quite a head start
Let me see again, what I once had decried
Let me see again, what I saw but once before
I am...disappointed; yonder nighty has belied
C-cup bra-size and no measure of wishing more
So ends the mystery of how in your corset you fit
Oh, I wondered that above all else in the world
Noticeably, you look to have slimmed a bit
And that’s fine – you’re a beautiful girl!
Though now I must run along
Alas, my angel, be strong!
Seldom will I allow my telephone to ring long
Go Haiku
Tattoo
i have been tattooed
the original gangster
Hervé Villechaize
Hairpiece (Alliteration for Spanish Accents)
filthy lip fungus
fundamentally loathsome
fun for one and all
Lousy
waking up angry
creased face from sleepy frowning
mad dreams are lousy
Malaiziness
lethargic llama
eats only what he can reach
skinny camelid
Profound Profanity/Profane Profundity
dirty cocksucker
cleanliness is ungodly
motherfucking right
i have been tattooed
the original gangster
Hervé Villechaize
Hairpiece (Alliteration for Spanish Accents)
filthy lip fungus
fundamentally loathsome
fun for one and all
Lousy
waking up angry
creased face from sleepy frowning
mad dreams are lousy
Malaiziness
lethargic llama
eats only what he can reach
skinny camelid
Profound Profanity/Profane Profundity
dirty cocksucker
cleanliness is ungodly
motherfucking right
Friday, August 24, 2007
Burning Joints & An Elicitous Ending
Yesterday, my girlfriend accidentally discovered that my fucking hamstring was multi-coloured: bruise-yellow with a few intensely-red snakes of burst capillaries; I say "accidentally" because she emerged from the bedroom to find me completely disrobed at the front door, laying face-down on the carpet, mumbling "razza-frazza" as though channeling Fred Flintstone after he dropped a bowling ball on his foot.
So, off to the doctor I went, and I told her this:
She said, "Well, you won’t be hitting any homeruns for a while."
I said, "You don’t know that! I’ll train, I’ll put in the effort, I’ll heal!"
I said, defiantly, "I’ll be the best again! You just watch me!"
She said, after a moment, "Didn’t you say that you hurt yourself during your YEAR-END tournament?"
I said, "Oh."
I followed that up with, "Right."
She said, "You’re bruising because you did everything but tear your hamstring; as long as you don’t try to aggravate it, you’ll be fine."
I said, "Oh."
I said, in a tiny voice, "Thank you."
She said, "That’s okay."
She said, smiling, "Now, will you please stop calling us?"
I said, "Never!"
So, off to the doctor I went, and I told her this:
She said, "Well, you won’t be hitting any homeruns for a while."
I said, "You don’t know that! I’ll train, I’ll put in the effort, I’ll heal!"
I said, defiantly, "I’ll be the best again! You just watch me!"
She said, after a moment, "Didn’t you say that you hurt yourself during your YEAR-END tournament?"
I said, "Oh."
I followed that up with, "Right."
She said, "You’re bruising because you did everything but tear your hamstring; as long as you don’t try to aggravate it, you’ll be fine."
I said, "Oh."
I said, in a tiny voice, "Thank you."
She said, "That’s okay."
She said, smiling, "Now, will you please stop calling us?"
I said, "Never!"
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Superfly
I left the apartment the other day with my pants’ zipper un-zipped.
This, for the record, was not intentional.
I realized my mistake as I approached the high school (on business, mind you), smiling with righteous embarrassment as I closed my barnyard door.
This, of course, is not how the janitor and his tweenage-daughter saw it.
Janitor:
[appalled]
Whaddya doin’?
Me:
What?
[I look down at my fly]
Oh...
[smile]
Janitor:
"Oh" nothin’.
[steps closer]
D’you think my daughter needs to see that?
Me:
Me awkwardly doing up my pants? Surely she’s seen that before.
[pause]
Well, maybe not me doing up my pants, but...
[awkward pause]
...y’know...
[the Janitor just lets me keep digging]
...well, I’m sure somebody’s done their pants up in her...
[he’s going to kill me]
...um...
[oh, fuck]
...general vicinity.
Janitor:
So, you just happened to have your pants undone in front of a high-school with my daughter standing there?
Me:Yeah.
[frowning]
It could just as well have been a nunnery, a nursery, or a narcotics convention...the point is that my fly was open, and now it isn’t.
[pause]
Who saw me zip up is irrelevant.
[I try to walk into the school, but the Janitor steps in front of me]
Janitor:
Don’t you take another step towards my daughter.
Me:She’s standing between me and the sch...
[I double-take the daughter – her fly is undone]
...erm...
[I look at the daughter again, then I stare at the Janitor until he, too, sees his daughter’s fly undone – there is a looooooooooooong pause, and then the girl, who has been standing and watching, looks down and quickly does up her pants]
Me:
[as I start my now-unobstructed walk into the school, trying to hold in my laughter]
I am OUTRAGED.
This, for the record, was not intentional.
I realized my mistake as I approached the high school (on business, mind you), smiling with righteous embarrassment as I closed my barnyard door.
This, of course, is not how the janitor and his tweenage-daughter saw it.
Janitor:
[appalled]
Whaddya doin’?
Me:
What?
[I look down at my fly]
Oh...
[smile]
Janitor:
"Oh" nothin’.
[steps closer]
D’you think my daughter needs to see that?
Me:
Me awkwardly doing up my pants? Surely she’s seen that before.
[pause]
Well, maybe not me doing up my pants, but...
[awkward pause]
...y’know...
[the Janitor just lets me keep digging]
...well, I’m sure somebody’s done their pants up in her...
[he’s going to kill me]
...um...
[oh, fuck]
...general vicinity.
Janitor:
So, you just happened to have your pants undone in front of a high-school with my daughter standing there?
Me:Yeah.
[frowning]
It could just as well have been a nunnery, a nursery, or a narcotics convention...the point is that my fly was open, and now it isn’t.
[pause]
Who saw me zip up is irrelevant.
[I try to walk into the school, but the Janitor steps in front of me]
Janitor:
Don’t you take another step towards my daughter.
Me:She’s standing between me and the sch...
[I double-take the daughter – her fly is undone]
...erm...
[I look at the daughter again, then I stare at the Janitor until he, too, sees his daughter’s fly undone – there is a looooooooooooong pause, and then the girl, who has been standing and watching, looks down and quickly does up her pants]
Me:
[as I start my now-unobstructed walk into the school, trying to hold in my laughter]
I am OUTRAGED.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Burning Joints & A Spectacular Spank
I sit here a crumpled mess, repositioning myself every five-to-eight seconds because nothing is comfortable. I’m smoking my girlfriend’s cigarettes and I’m in a tremendous amount of pain...not just because said smokes are ultra-light, but because I hurt myself in our year-end softball tournament this past weekend. There is a mysterious and excruciating pain in my left, non-throwing shoulder, and then there is the hamstring, the muscle in back of my right thigh that feels as though someone is cramming a ball-peen hammer into my tender, though hairy, flesh.
I’m completely befuddled as to the former, but an incident from a couple of weeks back explains away the latter: I managed to spank myself in the ass with the bat on the tail-end of a particularly hellacious swing, dropping me like a stone to the delight of one & all...and while I caught the brunt of the bludgeoning on the fleshy part of my right ass-cheek, there was a little twinge, just a pittance of pain, down in the hamstring muscle. Like an earthquake cracking the concrete of a metropolitan community, this "little twinge" gave my hamstring the perfect opportunity to yank itself into a knot during my first at-bat on Saturday, causing all physiological, right-leg-traffic to stop at approximately 8:40am.
Still, adding to my lifelong ledger of legendary performances, I mashed 5 homeruns in 4 games, 80% of which were one-legged...this should come as no surprise because, as most of you know at this point, I am a hero; it’s just too bad that my decrepit, 31-year-old muscles aren’t nearly as heroic.
Also too bad is the unfathomably un-heroic bitching & moaning that my friends & family will have to endure for the next week or so, sighing in deep irritation as I laud myself further for my incredible on-field exploits and courageousatory heroicitude.
Pity them.
An Elicitous Ending
I’m completely befuddled as to the former, but an incident from a couple of weeks back explains away the latter: I managed to spank myself in the ass with the bat on the tail-end of a particularly hellacious swing, dropping me like a stone to the delight of one & all...and while I caught the brunt of the bludgeoning on the fleshy part of my right ass-cheek, there was a little twinge, just a pittance of pain, down in the hamstring muscle. Like an earthquake cracking the concrete of a metropolitan community, this "little twinge" gave my hamstring the perfect opportunity to yank itself into a knot during my first at-bat on Saturday, causing all physiological, right-leg-traffic to stop at approximately 8:40am.
Still, adding to my lifelong ledger of legendary performances, I mashed 5 homeruns in 4 games, 80% of which were one-legged...this should come as no surprise because, as most of you know at this point, I am a hero; it’s just too bad that my decrepit, 31-year-old muscles aren’t nearly as heroic.
Also too bad is the unfathomably un-heroic bitching & moaning that my friends & family will have to endure for the next week or so, sighing in deep irritation as I laud myself further for my incredible on-field exploits and courageousatory heroicitude.
Pity them.
An Elicitous Ending
Compulsively Commensurate Consumption
I finished James Frey’s A Million Little Pieces right before all the Oprah-induced hoopla last year, just before the cries of "liar" rained down on the disgraced author...and so what? Good storytelling has an awful lot to do with exaggeration, and though Frey embellished his stint in rehab and his own heroism, his courage, to an embarrassing degree, well, this much was obvious from a chapter or so into the book.
(Even if you haven’t read the book, you must read the respective parodies written by David Cross & H. Jon Benjamin...fabulous.)
Regardless of the rea$on why Frey fictionalized his own life, I fully identify with his out-and-out NEED to consume, the feeling of over-powering ravenousness...
I, too, need to be over-stimulated, to ingest, but my vices are in the "socially-acceptable" vein, so to speak: caffeine, cigarette-smoke, drama, criticism, adoration...something, y’know, palpable.
Oh, I devour adoration as though it was food; I chew through the supple-though-varied meats of applause, drink in the thirst-quenching lemonade of adulation, suck in the pungent fragrance of affection...
But this need for consumption leads me to the logical conclusion of why meditation is frequently used in addiction-recovery – if you’re a veritable vacuum-cleaner in need of something, why not suck in air?
Oooooooohhhhhhhhhmmmmmmm.
This would be great but for fact that I sit still about as well as an assless man on a bed of nails; I need sedatives to watch a two-hour movie; hell, I get cranky at a red light...but I’m working on it. I’m drinking an unequivocally MASSIVE bottle of water right now, deep breathing like a hippie at an incense-fair, sitting still like a coyote strapped to a chair, legs and back cramping all around me...
Oooooooohhhhhhhhhmmmmmmm.
Self-improvement is a nasty bit of torture, yes...but like many other day-to-day tortures, however, this is necessary if I’m to be around long enough to let my age catch up to my over-ripened curmudgeonly-crankiness.
I’ll let you know if "oooooooohhhhhhhhhmmmmmmm" and smoking in the bath are mutually exclusive.
(Even if you haven’t read the book, you must read the respective parodies written by David Cross & H. Jon Benjamin...fabulous.)
Regardless of the rea$on why Frey fictionalized his own life, I fully identify with his out-and-out NEED to consume, the feeling of over-powering ravenousness...
I, too, need to be over-stimulated, to ingest, but my vices are in the "socially-acceptable" vein, so to speak: caffeine, cigarette-smoke, drama, criticism, adoration...something, y’know, palpable.
Oh, I devour adoration as though it was food; I chew through the supple-though-varied meats of applause, drink in the thirst-quenching lemonade of adulation, suck in the pungent fragrance of affection...
But this need for consumption leads me to the logical conclusion of why meditation is frequently used in addiction-recovery – if you’re a veritable vacuum-cleaner in need of something, why not suck in air?
Oooooooohhhhhhhhhmmmmmmm.
This would be great but for fact that I sit still about as well as an assless man on a bed of nails; I need sedatives to watch a two-hour movie; hell, I get cranky at a red light...but I’m working on it. I’m drinking an unequivocally MASSIVE bottle of water right now, deep breathing like a hippie at an incense-fair, sitting still like a coyote strapped to a chair, legs and back cramping all around me...
Oooooooohhhhhhhhhmmmmmmm.
Self-improvement is a nasty bit of torture, yes...but like many other day-to-day tortures, however, this is necessary if I’m to be around long enough to let my age catch up to my over-ripened curmudgeonly-crankiness.
I’ll let you know if "oooooooohhhhhhhhhmmmmmmm" and smoking in the bath are mutually exclusive.
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