In a restroom by the highway,
lives a man named Rufus Meyers,
leering at the onramp driveway,
list'ning for the sound of tires.
When he hears a car approaching,
Rufus drools in pure elation,
once the car begins unloading,
he prepares for celebration.
"Need to use the bathroom, Sandy?"
asks a man while Rufus blushes,
"Yes, Lamar, I'm glad one's handy"
says his wife, then off she rushes.
Rufus flushes all the toilets,
plugs the sinks, then activates them,
heats some water as to boil it,
tea would be his ultimatum.
Sandy nears the restroom entrance,
stops, then jokes with trepidation,
"Sweetie, I beseech your presence,
this looks like a rapist station."
Rufus hides inside the shower,
overjoyed to have new callers,
he'd been counting down the hours
since his last: two Montrealers.
Rufus watches as they enter,
sheer confusion on their faces,
running water left and center,
toilets, sinks and stagnant spaces.
"Sandy, do you feel uneasy?"
speaks Lamar in apprehension,
"Yes, Lamar, my stomach's queasy"
utters Sandy, filled with tension.
As the couple starts escaping,
Rufus leaps out from the shower,
nostrils flared and mouth a'gaping,
he professes with a glower:
"HI, I'M RUFUS MEYERS, GOT IT?
WOULD YOU LIKE SOME TEA THIS EVENING?
CHLORINE PUFFS? A GIN AND TONIC?
YEA, BUT HARK! THE WATER'S STEAMING!"
Screaming both in stupefaction,
Sandy shocked, Lamar in panic,
have no time to give reaction,
Rufus starts to get more frantic:
"LOOK, YOU TWO, I'VE RUNNING WATER...
ISN'T THAT THE QUEEN'S PAJAMAS?
HERE'S A PICTURE OF MY DAUGHTER,
SHE'S GOT THIRTY BABY MAMAS!"
"Please don't kill us, Rufus Meyers!"
Sandy cries in desperation,
"We will do what you desire
to avoid an altercation!"
Rufus just ignores her, saying:
"DANCE WITH ME DECREPIT DANCES!
LOOK AT HOW MY HIPS ARE SWAYING...
YOU'RE AROUSED BY MY ADVANCES!"
Brave Lamar attempts to reason,
hoping he'll get through to Rufus,
though his social skills are seasoned,
all attempts are vain and useless.
"WELL, YOU TWO, IT'S BEEN A DOOZY!"
Rufus tells the two unsettled,
then, deranged as Gary Busey,
reaches for the boiling kettle.
Rufus chugs the scalding water,
laughing through his tortured screaming,
then he grabs a metal augur,
drills his cheeks with water seeping.
Sandy and Lamar, confounded,
flee the restroom in a hustle,
horrified and quite astounded
that there hadn't been a tussle.
Lying on the floor and wheezing,
covered now in burns and blisters,
Rufus says aloud while bleeding:
"GOSH, THOSE TWO WERE SWELL AND CHIPPER!"
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
"Sexual Surgery"
Scalpels, syringes, speculums, scissors,
sordid sexual sabres slice skin,
sawing sinews for subsequent sutures,
open wounds,
gaping gobs of glam'rous gore,
generate gooey genital gravy,
filthy flayed flesh follows fellatio,
while fondling fingers fuck fallopian fissures,
my blood-drenched penis,
plunging into plasma,
penetrates a pulsating pancreas...
carnal climax,
combines cum with coagulated crimson,
quelling chaos,
causing calmness...
...was it as good for you as it was for me?
sordid sexual sabres slice skin,
sawing sinews for subsequent sutures,
open wounds,
gaping gobs of glam'rous gore,
generate gooey genital gravy,
filthy flayed flesh follows fellatio,
while fondling fingers fuck fallopian fissures,
my blood-drenched penis,
plunging into plasma,
penetrates a pulsating pancreas...
carnal climax,
combines cum with coagulated crimson,
quelling chaos,
causing calmness...
...was it as good for you as it was for me?
"Tompkins & The Slug" (Iambic Pentameter)
Young Tompkins is a little boy of eight,
who sports a red and blue propellor cap,
a fair young sprout with skin akin to milk,
imagination active as can be.
He sits in peace upon his bedroom floor,
while playing with his marbles and toy trains,
enveloped in the wonder of his youth,
he listens to his Mum & Daddy scream.
"Don't make me fucking smack you, Eloise!"
yells Daddy from the kitchen in a rage,
"You call yourself a man, you flacid pig?"
retorts his mum as dishes fall and crash.
Now Little Tompkins starts to hum and sing,
a hymn from school that he could ne'er forget,
of Jesus and forgiveness in rebirth,
and happiness for every man on earth.
The volume of the yelling elevates,
and Tompkins puts his fingers in his ears,
he tries to halt the twitching of his eye,
then all a'sudden calls to mind the slug.
He saunters to his closet in a daze,
then opens up the door to fetch the box,
and once returned to sitting on the floor,
he carefully removes its wooden lid.
He gazes at the garden slug inside,
the which he found in Mummy's planter box,
they often nibble on her daffodils,
and Tompkins loves to catch them unaware.
He reaches underneath his tiny bed,
to seize the shaker filled with table salt,
and sprinkles then a palmful in his hand,
while tears of sim'lar salt form in his eyes.
"Alright, that's it, you've driven me to this!"
He sifts the salt and pours it on the slug,
"I'm sorry, Eloise, put down the gun!"
the slug emits a tortured, noiseless scream.
He smiles in wonder at the shriv'ling beast,
then giggles while he fights to hold back tears,
a gunshot echoes through the floor below,
and Tompkins, box in hand, departs his room.
He daintily descends the wooden stairs,
then walks into the kitchen with the box,
to show his bleeding Dad and frightened Mum:
"I salted this for both of you to see."
who sports a red and blue propellor cap,
a fair young sprout with skin akin to milk,
imagination active as can be.
He sits in peace upon his bedroom floor,
while playing with his marbles and toy trains,
enveloped in the wonder of his youth,
he listens to his Mum & Daddy scream.
"Don't make me fucking smack you, Eloise!"
yells Daddy from the kitchen in a rage,
"You call yourself a man, you flacid pig?"
retorts his mum as dishes fall and crash.
Now Little Tompkins starts to hum and sing,
a hymn from school that he could ne'er forget,
of Jesus and forgiveness in rebirth,
and happiness for every man on earth.
The volume of the yelling elevates,
and Tompkins puts his fingers in his ears,
he tries to halt the twitching of his eye,
then all a'sudden calls to mind the slug.
He saunters to his closet in a daze,
then opens up the door to fetch the box,
and once returned to sitting on the floor,
he carefully removes its wooden lid.
He gazes at the garden slug inside,
the which he found in Mummy's planter box,
they often nibble on her daffodils,
and Tompkins loves to catch them unaware.
He reaches underneath his tiny bed,
to seize the shaker filled with table salt,
and sprinkles then a palmful in his hand,
while tears of sim'lar salt form in his eyes.
"Alright, that's it, you've driven me to this!"
He sifts the salt and pours it on the slug,
"I'm sorry, Eloise, put down the gun!"
the slug emits a tortured, noiseless scream.
He smiles in wonder at the shriv'ling beast,
then giggles while he fights to hold back tears,
a gunshot echoes through the floor below,
and Tompkins, box in hand, departs his room.
He daintily descends the wooden stairs,
then walks into the kitchen with the box,
to show his bleeding Dad and frightened Mum:
"I salted this for both of you to see."
"Stop Talking About Your Cervix, Mrs. Worthington!"
Oh, Mrs. Worthington,
I do enjoy your company,
you are a delight to behold,
your wisdom is exceeded only
by your charm and grace,
and you wear the most enchanting frocks.
However,
there is something I must mention,
a habit in which you engage,
that turns my guests away from their scones,
causes the Duke to scowl,
and has you the talk of Fleet Street.
You see, Mrs. Worthington,
though it pains me to convey,
I daresay you address your cervix
more often than is necessary,
and at a word,
in the most public of places.
I profess,
that Lord Coddington cares not
of how cylindrical it may be,
Count Felbrigg feigns interest
at the consistency of its mucus,
and Lady Huddleston,
despite being of similar age,
wishes not to discuss upsuck theory.
Having declared this,
I meant not to offend,
or to belittle your feminist notions,
but as a gentleman to a lady,
I must say:
"Stop talking about your cervix, Mrs. Worthington!"
I do enjoy your company,
you are a delight to behold,
your wisdom is exceeded only
by your charm and grace,
and you wear the most enchanting frocks.
However,
there is something I must mention,
a habit in which you engage,
that turns my guests away from their scones,
causes the Duke to scowl,
and has you the talk of Fleet Street.
You see, Mrs. Worthington,
though it pains me to convey,
I daresay you address your cervix
more often than is necessary,
and at a word,
in the most public of places.
I profess,
that Lord Coddington cares not
of how cylindrical it may be,
Count Felbrigg feigns interest
at the consistency of its mucus,
and Lady Huddleston,
despite being of similar age,
wishes not to discuss upsuck theory.
Having declared this,
I meant not to offend,
or to belittle your feminist notions,
but as a gentleman to a lady,
I must say:
"Stop talking about your cervix, Mrs. Worthington!"
"Menstrual Mileage"
Expect ye an ocean, prepare for a flood,
I've gallons and GALLONS of period blood!
Extracted by siphon from menstruating bud,
consistency sim'lar to bubbling mud.
I mix it with vodka, i spread it on toast,
I use it as glaze while I'm cooking a roast,
I serve it at parties when playing the host,
its taste is divine as the Holiest Ghost!
My menstrual supplier is quite a fair catch,
with pubic shenanigans grand and unmatch'd
whene'er she's prompted to open the hatch,
elixer spews forth from her gurgling snatch!
And lest ye be wary of vaginal ooze,
or gynecological greases transfused,
remember its functions beyond how its used....
now grab a vagina and spread the good news!
I've gallons and GALLONS of period blood!
Extracted by siphon from menstruating bud,
consistency sim'lar to bubbling mud.
I mix it with vodka, i spread it on toast,
I use it as glaze while I'm cooking a roast,
I serve it at parties when playing the host,
its taste is divine as the Holiest Ghost!
My menstrual supplier is quite a fair catch,
with pubic shenanigans grand and unmatch'd
whene'er she's prompted to open the hatch,
elixer spews forth from her gurgling snatch!
And lest ye be wary of vaginal ooze,
or gynecological greases transfused,
remember its functions beyond how its used....
now grab a vagina and spread the good news!
"Childbirth"
The joy of childbirth,
the beauty of babies,
the innocence of the newborn.
Spurting out of sweaty, gaping vaginas like machine gun bullets,
come forth wretched abominations,
screaming and writhing in confusion and stupidity.
They chew on your swollen, lactating breasts,
sucking your tainted milk,
vomiting acid and blood.
Maternal instincts accentuate your inexplicable link with this THING,
your little bundle of joy,
for whom you would disembowel your best friend,
and tear the arms off of another's child.
Insolent Hellspawn,
stealing your sleep and sanity,
ensuring the death of catharsis,
commencing eternal depression.
When the world ends,
your irradiated offspring,
will shriek as the soft, milky flesh is torn from its face,
and you will scream.
the beauty of babies,
the innocence of the newborn.
Spurting out of sweaty, gaping vaginas like machine gun bullets,
come forth wretched abominations,
screaming and writhing in confusion and stupidity.
They chew on your swollen, lactating breasts,
sucking your tainted milk,
vomiting acid and blood.
Maternal instincts accentuate your inexplicable link with this THING,
your little bundle of joy,
for whom you would disembowel your best friend,
and tear the arms off of another's child.
Insolent Hellspawn,
stealing your sleep and sanity,
ensuring the death of catharsis,
commencing eternal depression.
When the world ends,
your irradiated offspring,
will shriek as the soft, milky flesh is torn from its face,
and you will scream.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
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