Bimini Twist

or, "Crescent Moon Rising"

 

Your brunchtime meal is transcendental;

and your night owl talons,

pancontinental.

My favorite code is our shared patois;

and love how your dick belongs

(only to moi.)

We the internat'l school surrounded by Jews;

we eat the same curry and we

wear the same shoes.

Our madness is shared, and so is our sickness;

and love how you make me come

hard with a quickness.

Your face in my chest and your hands up my ass;

your head made of stone and

your brain made of glass.

My only known place is the warmth of your lap;

and adore how you make me to squirt

(and to nap.)

We the Mouth and its riptide, the bluff and its bugs;

we live for each other but we stay for
the floods.

Our happy needs no one, just only to smother;

and I never would ever trade you

for another.

The Solution To All Human Problems

If you encounter this:

 

You just need:

 

All you gotta do is put your booms out and chop away at the little sharp parts, trust me, everyone will be your friend, so long as you don't use your teeth.

Swine flu's a fine brew and look, I'm rill tired so I'm just going to make a list, OK?  Deal.  Now let's shake on it:

• ComWarner just gave satan a boner; and Philly Morris is jelly.

• Jeter jerks off to his ATM slips and he don't give an asterisk about your Eastern seaboard Pax negotiations.

• Tom Perkins, I hope your mattress full of money catches fire while you are fast asleep on it and Sochi, I just hope you get some mattresses

• I'm not sure if I'm overly sensitive to the radio airplayed-out machismo because of it or if it always makes me want to slit some throats.  Could be a pending secondary infection just heightening my senses;

•  'Cause that makes sense in a world where a lost mind can be found again, just go look in the Good Samaritan box, someone probably turned it in.  Because who, in their right mind, would keep it?  Mittens are of more use.

• But an advantageous ear infection seems unlikely since earlier I couldn't be sure if your phone alarm was chirping for our attention that whole time or if it was just penetration-snooze-spray-hear.

• But maybe hearing loss is just part of coming like a king, pin(ned.)

And now, for farm animal play:

Of course I'll nurse you, my little suckling pig, if you're ever sick or dying or horny, and restore you to a state of health and/or happiness; because the milk of human kindness is so much more nutritious than whatever fermented milk product you usually gulp.  And you're not a cow, except in congress, so give me some milk or go home.  Because something is happening but you don't know what it is.  Do you, Mr. Farmer Jones?

Edit: I published the draft and he read it, quickly and silently, like usually.  And then, like Santa Claus does, he turned without saying a word and flew back up the chimney.  I said, "Did you like it?"  He made a rotten walnuts face and said, "It'll just seem dated soon."  Fuck the shackles of words.  I fucking hate them.  Maybe pulling my tits out of my bra would be a better icebreaker.*

*I guess I should go put on a bra.

Organic Glitz

And all of the other techniques of applied mathematics I'm not learning while I'm out here in my car, working up the nerve to face the people, one who, when I sat in front of one last time, he stage whispered to his math nerd friend "MILF" which made me think, "holy shit, my age is showing" and, "he was in footed pajamas when that acronym was made American Pie 1 famous."  Then I thought: son, I'm about take my man on a trip around the world this afternoon and he doesn't even have to pay and I'd even do it if i were on my period, that is how dirty i am, and you cant hang cause my kink would choke you, but ill spare you the suspense: you will never need CPR 'cause, while it may involve asphyxiation, it doesn't involve indulging indulgent adolescents nor infidelity.  But enough with this fucking incense.

I shout for fun to all your aging daddies and their want of know; and you can wait for me to whisper but I save those for daily baptisms by fire.

Pennsylvania Overdoses on Heroines

And little Clovis in the middle of Tumbleweedpocalypse.  Climate change deniers say(, ")what? It's normal, topsoil gonna do whatever topsoil wanna do, and we did not do it, and, moreover, there is not a thing we can do, so we're just going to keep fucking it up a little more, since it seems nobody has any objections to voice that will convince us we are wrong in our belief that money for us now is better than earth for you later."  And Reno, TX, those earthquakes are totally normal, completely and nothing to worry about, just consult the scientific body of no ledge accumulated by the frack's hack scientists, coming straight to your rural mailbox via the railroad commission (and you know those regulators are here to protect YOUR interests!), for you and your no-legal-team-having selves to review, if you happen to have any concerns, any concerns at all, about your kitchen sink's faucet dripping fire."

Man, those climate change deniers sure do like to speak in run-on sentences, giving you only commas on which to aspirate.

My kid texed me the eye-of-all-seeing-Illuminati-patterns jpg up above.  All she wrote was, "my father's logic."  And all her DNA come from me.  If I had to get someone to argue logically and convincingly and flawlessly on my behalf, I would pick her.  Plus, she's up on all the kids shit, "Uh, yeah, sure.  That's a great song, Royals.  I mean, I liked it, I thought it was great at first but then they played it literally all year long on the radio, you sure you never heard it before? how is that even possible, oh yeah, I guess if you only ever listen to your playlisted electronica and old Pavement and whatever the hell else.  But yeah, good job, mom.  You like the same song everyone else did last year.  I think some ice skaters are using it in olympics."

Here a meme, there a meme, every where a celebrity overdose funeral coverage.  Just like you, to die on a day you can be certain your death will receive least press.  How Caden Cotard of you.

And can't you see how badly we needed some good high production value coverage of the whites' white epidemic?  When white people die from addictive poisons, we say oh my this growing health concern, hurry someone throw money at publicly traded companies who pretend to give a fuck.  When browns die from it, we say oh my this growing social ill, hurry someone throw money at privately run prisons who lie about giving a fuck.  Oh, but that privatization is sososo good, so less waste, so less cost, plus make jobs for the white and mentally deficient to do, keep their trouble out of the public space and confined to the private cells, more than less greater abuses and capital crimes against a population no one ever gives a fuck about.

But I do live on the white side of town so are you going to send me an email link to a sign-up genius so that I can volunteer for a drive of some kind, something with a clever name and geared toward addressing the underfunding of this public health crisis, or what?  I'll check it on my iGalaxyDroid and reply from my JellyBerryQuadCore, and does anyone else in here think syringe addictions are totally gross?  Or maybe I'll just opt in and text out my vote to #PoleCatsNow on this grey, gray Superbowl Day.

Another great drunk driving holiday!  YOLO, so: keep your low beams and your bluetooth on for safety, drive into the skid and away from oncoming head-on headlights, and remember that you gave implied consent to get your license and that your generous government offers free chemical tests at various checkpoints in your local viewing area.