Another Nonsensical Moment in Time

Do you have your codebook?
Do you want to see something cool?
Crap, I'll call her tomorrow.
Check it out, I got the internet to do that for me.
Wow, that is impressive.
T-test?
Yes, t-test.
I learned that last semester and I never want to see that again.
Thanks for that.
C'mon, dude.
It's been seventeen minutes and thirty-seven seconds.
I'm hungry.
Okay.
I'll be running around alot.
When does he go?
Where?
Colorado.
He lives there.
A week from today.
When do you come back?
When are you going to be in Mazatlan?
Apparently, this weekend my roommates threw a party.
Nice.
No.
No?
No.
Okay, let's go.
You have a pizza-making party?
He roasted an entire pig!
Good Lord.
I'm done, I'm done, I'm done.
Let's go.
DUDE.

I'm about to bite your head off.

We Versus Yours

you are the oblation nation
we juggle cheese
and jam econo
we do one-handed push-ups on the moon
and pose downward-dog
on your face
we are inspired now, god damn it
your sluice-box of eyeliner
leather pants and sarcasm
the debris and detritus
which wafts when you speak
we light it on fire with ideas
with vengeful farce
with angelic anger
it will be given back one day and that will suck for you
that will be some heavy shit, man
a palimpsest woven from wrung hands
twitchy hands pumped
full of benthos
your neolithic pageantry is so small
way up here
from our canoe in the sky
we sing thunderclouds and ring
excellent fucking sonic gongs
that reverberate your skull to pieces
glittering shards soaked in
a phosphorescent sheen
of oops.

Looking For Love

Scalene badgers are rooting around
Under my covers
Under cover of night.

Snuffling, chortling,
Seeking out truffles,
Looking for love
In all the wrong places.

Go away, you beast!
Git outside with your rabid friends,
With giant squirrel, and
Feral panda.

Leave me in peace.

You may breathe radiation
Exhaled by anchormen,
Revel in the exhaust of oil tankers
But I do not.

We jumped ship and sang
Nursery rhymes
That warned of your coming.

Then the bombs fell
And the badgers came trudging,
Plodding along and plotting our doom.

They took our women
Under cover of night.
We must fight back.
We must.

I can still smell their musk.

Walked Into A Tree

In the dark
In search of car
That was parked
In the dark
Face full of tree
A eye full of bark
A mouth full of leaves
A tree in the dark

Non Sequitur Lyrics to X-mas Carols (part 2)

The Moist Slackening Tine of the Beer

It's the moist slackening tine of the beer. [chorus of midgets: 'ping-pong, ping-pong']
With the peeps oyster-shucking,
And Jell-O shot-sucking,
I'll get drunk I fear!
It's the moist slackening tine of the beer. [chorus of midgets: 'ping-pong, ping-pong']

It's the slap-happy chum-buddy fest. [chorus of bros: 'don't fret, don't fret']
With all that harsh bleating,
And crack-head yard-weeding,
Let's rip shirt from chest!
It's the slap-happy chum-buddy fest. [chorus of bros: 'don't fret, don't fret']

There'll be Ajax for snorting,
Carcasses for hoarding,
And screaming while on fire yet. [chorus of grannies: 'oh, my!']
There'll be razor-filled apples,
And exploding chapels,
It's going to rain stained glass, you bet! [chorus of grannies: 'you bet']

It's the moist slackening tine of the beer. [chorus of rednecks: 'hee-haw, hee-haw']
There'll be much donkey riding,
And dead honky hiding,
So be off good cheer!
It's a hoisted weasel-faced shrine [chorus of midgets: 'god damn!']
It's a foisted hackneyed crime [chorus of bros: 'ah, man!']
It's the moist slackening tine...(rolling timpani)...of the beer! [rednecks, grannies, bros & midgets: 'hee-haw!']

Non Sequitur Lyrics to X-mas Carols (part 1)

Elegant Balls

Deck my balls with fuzz from Swiffers
Fa-la-la-la-lah La-la-la-lah
Drunken cop wears naught but slippers
Fa-la-la-la-lah La-la-la-lah
Please take off that gay-ass sweater
Fa-la-la=LA-LA-LAH LAH-la-la
Homeless guy makes me feel better
FAH-LA-LA=LA-LAH LAH-LA-la-la

Broken kneecap from praying hard
Fa-la-la-la-lah La-la-la-lah
Orphan snoring in the backyard
Fa-la-la-la-lah La-la-la-lah
Your decorations make me ill, bro
Fa-la-la=LA-LA-LAH LAH-la-la
That menorah's not a dildo!
FAH-LA-LA=LA-LAH LAH-LA-la-la

Three Cheers For The Thanks Womb!

With The-Day-We-Eat-Lots-And-Rub-Our-Bellies fast approaching, I thought it high time to give a little perspective on the things for which I am truly thankful. All that boring shit like friends and family is being left out. I hope to find the root of the matter, that special place from which my thanks originates.

Welcome to The Thanks Womb.

The other day, something wicked wafted my way.
Through the front door, up to the counter.
It was a hot, bright, sun-shiny day.
Some kind soul had dumped an enormous pile of dog shit
in the trash can right by the front door.
An even kinder soul had dumped Lysol in to cover the smell.
The resulting elixir was an affront on decency, let me tell you.
So, whoever you are, who neglected to properly bag
your canine waste, your doggie-present, your pooch-parcel,
I had forgotten that I do not have to hold the steaming feces
of another species on a regular basis, a fact that I find to
be simply awesome.
So, thanks.
No, really, thank you!

A few days ago, on a crisp autumn afternoon,
One of the Rockridge Poverty All-stars sat
cole chillin' on the grass of the church.
He usually screams out socio-political prophecies
that would still not be relevant even if he somehow understood
that it is not 1967, but this day was different.
He lay on his back, hands behind his head,
nappy lice-nest afro holding hands with the grass,
humming along and singing with a tune that blasted
from the jukebox by his knee.
What, you ask, was the song?
'Crazy,' by Aerosmith. You know,
the one where Steven Tyler's daughter is for some reason
humping a stripper's pole?
I kid not.
So, you smelly bastard, for making me smile
with your schizophrenic irony,
I give thanks!

I am an arachnophobe.
The other morning, I attempted to wrestle with some of my fear,
by trapping and releasing a disgusting, wretched, twitchy
spider instead of the usual Kleenex-flush method to which
I am strongly attached. He crawled onto the paper towel and I boxed him in.
To the window with you, said I!
I shook him out and watched him fall.
But, persistent fucker that he was, he liked my apartment.
I can't say that I blame him, but
mere minutes later, he had crawled up the side of the building
and back into my abode.
I resorted to what I know best, and squashed that commie flat.
So, for reminding me that stick-to-it-iveness is not always the
best option, and that sometimes changing your game plan mid-stride
is the way to go, you nasty little eight-legged bitch, I give a hearty
round of thanks!

Okay, folks, I'm overflowing with gratitude and it's getting my carpet
moist. Be sure to check back, as I am sure
the Thanks Womb will need some more blood-letting
quite soon.

Mazel Tov