Tuesday, June 27, 2006

Tuesday's Poetry Corner

It's Called "Dignity"

Dignity is wearing me down.
This stupid world offers no
Solace for people who comport
Themselves with dignity.
I’m a prisoner of my dignity.
I wish I wasn’t so full of it.

Being dignified don’t pay diddley.
I kind of like the song, “Bo Diddley”.

There was no dignity in that last line...


Monday, June 26, 2006



It's good to have ambition. But too much ambition can make you lose your perspective. You can develop a one track mind. And that's when you're vulnerable. You've planned for every contigency. Except one. One that you'd never think of in a million years. Example: You're at a high powered working dinner at a posh Mexican restaurant. In attendance is your immediate supervisor and several other subordinate executives. Your actions thus far have marked you as an individual possessed with relentless drive. You're gunning for your boss' job and the scutllebutt is that you'll soon get it. Everyone in attendance knows it - including your boss. Let's call him, "Mr. Bossinstein". But he's a shrewd man, ol' man Bossinstein. Indeed, Mr. B's craftiness saw him arrive at his lofty position. Steiney knows what you're all about. But your blind ambition has shaped you into a self-absorbed automoton. And B-Stein knows your weakness. The one thing you'd never think to plan for. BB McSteinypants finishes his fried ice-cream and gets up, excusing himself to go talk to some company clients he's just spotted at a table across the room. As he passes you, he cracks a LOUD fart in your face! You're stunned! You have no planned recourse. How could you? Your boss stops in his tracks and says "My, my. I could understand puerile behavior like this from one of our junior executives, but you?" Some of the other executives at your table shake their heads; others stifle a snicker. You're dumbfounded. This whole thing was engineered to look like it was you who'd cast the gas. Engineered by the very man whose job you'd have. You'd underestimated him. You try to stammer out an excuse. And B-Ware just walks away, exclaiming "Don't try to talk your way out of this. Just apologize". You're undone. You can never lead these people now. You've lost their respect. You are not the alpha dog. If only you'd responded to his fart with a scathing retort, like, "The guy who smelt it, dealt it". But you froze. And in that moment, all your efforts were undone. You received a fart in your face.
And that's the danger of ambition.



You're a middle-aged senior executive. Hot on your heels is a hungry young executive. Scuttlebutt has it that your job is next on his menu. Odds are he'll get. He's a rising star and he knows it. But you're not completely through yet. You're a crafty veteran of office politics. You decide to invite your executive staff to a high-end Mexican restaurant. You eat more refried beans than usual and have a couple of extra Corona's. It's all part of your strategy. You've decided that if you're going out, then you're going out with a bang. After you finish your fried ice-cream, you excuse yourself in order to go over and say a few words to some company clients you've just spotted across the room. You knew they'd be here tonight. That's why you're here. And now: End Game. As you pass by that young executive who's after your job, you crack a LOUD, righteous fart in his smug face! And then you turn the table on him by accusing him of cracking that selfsame fart! He flounders in his own flop-sweat. But it's a phyrric victory. He may be humbled, but that will only embolden one of the other young upstarts to take a run at your title. And it's only a matter of time until one of them succeeds. After all, moments like this and farts like that are few and far between.



You know what's justice? Those two corporate douches are leaving the restaurant and both of them spot a shiny $5 bill on the ground. They both go for it and while bending over, a homeless man farts in their faces! Then he says "Ha! Ha! There_s nothing you can do to me! Money means nothing to me! I'm untouchable! And that $5 bill is just a photocopy!" And then for good measure, the homeless man adds: "Hey, take a look in the mirror!" And he pulls down his trousers and moons them. And farts again. A wet one.



I was in a bar and I overheard two guys talking about love. One said that to him, true love would be willing to eat the corn out of his lover's poo. The other guy said that to him, love would be willing to let his lover fart in his face, but he admitted that he's generally not as passionate as the other fellow. What was I doing in the bar? Well you see, I had this shiny $5 photocopy sitting on the floor and...

Tuesday, June 13, 2006

Here's some more stupid shit I've made up.

My 6th grade teacher once told me that I was one in million – because of all the disruptions I caused. I replied that if I was one in a million, then given the global population, you could fill a football stadium with people just like me. She didn't appreciate that, so after school, for punishment, she gave me an enema in her apartment.
This was back when teachers were still allowed to do this.

I used to tease her A LOT!

Years later, we were married.


I once took a train. We went through a lot of tunnels. I wondered if there were bats in the tunnels. I guess I had bats on the brain, because later in the dining car, I ordered a bat sandwich. I meant to say ham sandwich. The waiter eyed me suspiciously. Later, in Turkey, I was arrested. Not for the bat mix-up, but for carrying 12 kilos of hash in my suitcase.


I bet if Davy Jones' last name was Carpiss, he wouldn't have got the gig on "The Monkee's", no matter how cute or talented he was.


It's said that in a trying situation, one should rise above it all.
I agree.
Because if you can rise above it adversaries, then you fly over their heads and urinate on them.


They say that dirty talk and making eye contact can enhance the sexual experience, but I felt really stupid cursing myself in front of the mirror, masturbating.

Friday, June 09, 2006

I'm working on band names for Taylor Hicks. He should form a band, comprised of him and four, older, greyer, palsied guys.
So that way, he looks better.
And I think his band name should have some edge.

Here's what I've got so far.

Victory Anus
Dick Wolf
Horatio Cornholer
Dolly the Penis
Christmas Cocksucker
Neither Cock nor Ass
Vulva Rocket + Cock
Testical Territory
Of the principals in “The Wizard of Oz”, who do you think would be most likely to have sex with Dorothy?
Answer: No one.
Why? Well, look at the Tin Man – no genitals, though fisting is a slim possibility.
The Scarecrow? Assuming he was constructed with a penis, a straw filled piece of burlap would be extremely rough and also not firm enough for satisfactory intercourse.
That leaves the Cowardly Lion, who was obviously a homosexual.

Monday, June 05, 2006

I've decided to write a song in the vein of "What's New Pussycat?", the classic Tom Jones song. I want to borrow some equity from the original, so I'm going to call it, "What's New Peniscat?"

Thursday, June 01, 2006

An Introduction...

What can I say? "The Frankenstein Madrigals" literally changed my life. I remember it as if it was yesterday, when actually it was two days ago. I was on a routine flight from Denver to Regina, Sask.
I recall making a joke to our navigator as to how our destination rhymed with a certain part of the female anatomy.
I mean, just say it - Saskatchewan! Unfortunately, our reverie was interrupted by news from flight control that an ice storm was fast approaching. Despite my year of experience flying, I'd never helmed an aircraft in an ice storm. Figuring that this was as good a time as any, I asked my navigator if he'd give me a blow-job. Instead he handed me a copy of "The Frankenstein Madrigals". We landed without incident and while waiting for our next flight, I started to read "The Frankenstein Madrigals", a few of which are reproduced below. I'm still reading it, by the way. I don't read very fast. I'm what they used to call "slow". They also used to call me "That Retarded Bastard Who Always Wants Blow-Jobs". But now they call me:
- Ludivico Tata, Mayor of Spokane, WA

The Frankenstein Madrigals

A Simple Life

Frankenstein is confused and frightened
by new technology. A steam locomotive
is terrifying and foul. A mirror is a tease
and a liar.
All Frankenstein needs is a shiny spoon,
a wheel and an American Flag.
A shiny spoon to stare at for hours on end.
A wheel to hurl through the air for exercise.

And an American Flag to wipe his ass with.
Because he's bitter and lashing out.
Y'know, 'cause of the whole reanimated,
bunch of body bits, thing.

C’est La Vie

Cobbled together from many different parts,
Frankenstein is rueful that his creator didn't go out on a limb
and endow him with say, the penis of a horse.
But on the other hand, what good is having a gigantic cock if you live alone in the woods?

The Best 6 Months of His Life

One winter, Frankenstein lived in a cave
and fornicated daily with a hibernating bear.

A Soupçon

Once, consumed by hunger, Frankenstein made soup.
There's no market in the woods, so he had to improvise.
He made the soup from some grass, twigs, dirt, rocks and a
bible he'd found. It was the most disgusting thing he'd ever eaten.
In frustration, he tore apart some chickens that lived on a
farm over the hill and threw their eggs at the farmer's window.


Sometimes, Frankenstein would lie on a grassy knoll
and look at the clouds and try to see shapes in the clouds.
But the clouds always looked the same –
like puffy, roundish, white things.
Unbeknownst to Frankenstein,
his brain had once belonged to a middle manager.

Fleetwood Mac Sucks

Oh, lost, lonely Frankenstein!
Hazy, random thoughts drift in and out of his consciousness.
The woods are his home.
A puppy brings happiness.

And solves his hunger for the day.

What a Wacky World!

One day, an advertising executive wandered into the woods.
He chanced upon Frankenstein, who was sleeping peacefully
under the warm afternoon sun.
Inspired, he began taking pictures and jotting down ideas
in his notebook for an advertising campaign.
This went on for awhile until Frankenstein was suddenly
awakened by a nightmare. He'd been dreaming that one day,
an ivy-league candy-ass, posing as a tough-talkin' he-man,
would bring ruination to the greatest country in the world.
And no, it's NOT Canada, you self-satisfied, toque-wearing,
socialized medicine, pot smoking, gay-marryin' hockey-hair heads.

Anyway, now awake and very angry, Frankenstein snapped
the neck of that advertising executive as though it were but a twig.
He kept the fancy camera though.
Years later, Frankenstein's great-grandson, Leonard Cohen,
sold that very camera to an antique dealer in upstate New York.

Sporting Wood

After a long day spent yelling at trees,
There’s nothing Frankenstein likes more
Than to spend the night howling at trees.

Why Does Frankenstein Soldier On?


Well, more accurately, the hope that he’ll find another hibernating bear.