Saturday, September 30, 2006

quit spinnin my world round

Quit spinnin my world round
It makes me nauseous
So nauseous
I'd like to get off
Any time soon

I wasn't tall enough for this ride
My under wear rides
My boss is riding my back
I wish things would go back
To how they were before

When Atlas shrugged his shoulders
And read me the Ayn Rand Cliff's Notes
It made me spin to sleep
As he spun lies

Solid gold lies
On the back of a taper
A three toed sloth
A three mile island
And a man with a gridiron invisible stomach

A waffle iron turned to stone
I turned my attention
And directed it at the TV
It turns out it wasn't a bomb after all

Just a friendly prank
Perpetrated against me
By my evil twin
He has no shadow

Yet I am constantly moved to return his gifts
He is an incosiderate idiot
Yet I cannot remember his address
I directed my attention out the window

And took a lovely jump
It changed the air in my lungs
Exchanged it for seasonal allergies
What a dandy gift

So when I caught up with my whimsy
I had my instincts in a paper sack
Hoisted over my shoulder
And affected the coriolis
It didn't belong to me
But everyone appreciated the change all the same

Still the barber pole bisected the globe spun on and on
Prompting me to ask once again

Quit spinnin my world round
It makes my head spin
It turns my logic turvy
Topsy hair cut and all

These are my demands
Decipher them and send them across the sea
To my dear friends who have the decency to
Speak a language I cannot understand

And they don't seem to mind the graffiti birth mark
It wasn't my fault
I was born that way
It wasn't my fault I was born

Still the C-Section borne
It made my umbilical lasso spin
And I wrangled myself a real beaut
I moved to Texas
Got married
Had three kids
And lived happily until I realized
The damn world was spinning again

So I rambled on...

Toothache in a toothpaste form?

Friday, September 29, 2006

Sunday, September 24, 2006

The Alpha Mummy

The Alpha Mummy charms me
He charms me with his snake dance
His arms akimbo and perpendicular
I do his bidding for no reason in particular

In fact, when I closer examine my actions
They more resemble the acts of a mad man

I cut my own hair
I circle the drain
I alphabetize my fingernails
I listen closely to anyone who could be thinking for me

They steal my ideas
But I took them off the back of a mashed potato box
The brand with the spuds on the front
They looked so delicious
I simply had to murder that woman

When I awoke I was up to my eye lids
In bug elbows
They were akimbo
In my eye sockets
I was crying electric sauce
It tempted me
Yet all I could do was look away

As scarabs circled my grave
Tabasco curses
The accidental curse
The dental hearse
I rode away in the mummy's mouth

He debugged my program
And now I make total sense

He leads the pack
And cuts the crops
With pestilence and plague

No more potatoes for sleepy dreams
I turned to vapor

His order is my command
I'm not in his pack, I don't understand
But now it makes total sense


#776: B&M Barton Tiny Teeth

Here B&M is for Bitchin' and Moanin'. He does not like can openers at all.
(Submitted for the project -- ##776: B&M Barton Tiny Teeth)

Friday, September 22, 2006

Wednesday, September 20, 2006

My DNA Is A Liar

The Six Million Dollar Flabby Man

We have the technology to make him really dumpy.

It's Solid Mold! A Comedy of Terrors!

Picking scabs to be captain of my football team. I slowly decided who the winner should be.

Process of elimination was out. I didn't know anyone's name. And nobody looked like any celebrities I've seen. And I'm bad with names. They were all lost in a fire.

A later date ocurred and I aged sufficiently. Then I lost my place.

I was just there to do to Superbowl Shuffle. I was out of cereal. Caveat emptor. Empty boxes. Caveman goes hungry. Stupid, stupid caveman.

Monday, September 18, 2006

give me one taste then put a muzzle on it

door bell spies: i'm onto you

paranoia's cleaning my house

i'm moving out

hang nails playing hang man

truth be told

this painting is staring at me

vines climbing the walls

putting coins in the well

a well placed name dropped in the bucket

good luck

Sunday, September 17, 2006

Saturday, September 16, 2006

Thursday, September 14, 2006

turtleneck rage

Nobody gets me harder than Medusa
Icarus flew by on his ridiculous tricycle
And in a way, it was perfect

His wings melted
And I had to just laugh
And laugh
And laugh
And laugh

I got light headed
And the sun melted

Everything was fine for a while
Exactly a while

And I took some ice cream Tylenol
It took care of my ice cream Head ache

But nothing was harder than getting over Medusa
She broke my heart
Into shards; several
They were innumerable
My feelings were indescribable

This is the pain that only soft tap dancing can decimate
It felt like a zombie let loose in my brain

The wings of my house
In my brain
It grew dusty and old
Alone, cold, trusty
And full of soul

My heart worked out
Worked out fine
Fine and dandy
Like solid candy

My heart can bench press my soul
But nothing is more taxing
Than getting over Medusa
My, how she broke my heart
And charmed it first

With her many-snaked head
Her siren song had the cops chasing me
As I sped along the empty highway
To meet her arms
Her poisonous embrace

I could not get the Mad Libs out of my head
It was funny
So funny I laughed

It was no laughing matter
Then I lost my place
That doesn't matter
No matter
No brain

Mind over matter
Then I ran her over
Her blood and guts
They went splatter
It brought a tear to my eye

And I just had to cry
And cry
And cry
And cry
And cry

But in a way
It was really funny

I know, somewhere up there
Some fucker is laughing at me

For I am the Mad Libs in their heart
And that makes everything alright
In the end
The End.

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

if sasquatch was my baby

If Sasquatch was my baby
I would get tail non-stop
And though he doesn't have one
It would be the quintessential American tale
Without fail, we would drink Sarsaparilla*
We would grow old together
And I would watch his body rot

And he would not understand the legal documents
Which I made him sign on his death bed
And although it was not a bad in the traditional sense
He was laying down
Upon a pile of rocks
Twixt a cake of mud
Beneath the blistering sun
And the wind itself blew so harshly
That his flesh tore from his skin
And we loved each other very much

He made me a friendship bracelet
And it was the foundation
Of a solid relation
The ship had sailed
And our trust was comprised of the following minerals, not in the following order:

  1. Aluminum-Copper
  2. Batman Haircuts Octane
  3. Bisectium Bicycle, the compound which cannot be named
  4. Complex simplex, the simple compound
  5. Long Division 13X, a top secret element which should not be mentioned
  6. Some random strings found on a bus station bench
Later on our reflections in a pool of water sent chills down our spines
We skipped along, merrily
And played hide or seek
I can't remember which

It was a fun day
A pleasant, indeed
Our love was true

And he signed on the dotted line
I know his love was truly mine
I only dreamt of shoving the decrepit old Sasquatch
Off a rocky hill
In his wheel chair
But it was still a dream come true

And that is the way I choose to remember him


*Not SARS-SODATM, the beverage that caused quite a stir in recent years due to all those health complications by being in the general vincinity of a can opening. Though it was refreshing.

Sunday, September 10, 2006

#737: Library Bird Maurice Backissues

Horse and Beef Magazines especially.
(Submitted for the project -- #737: Library Bird Maurice Backissues)
Part of the 100 new Hobo names

well, i stopped taking the medicine my dog prescibed for me

and i appeared in my own dreams. i was paranoid.

Saturday, September 09, 2006

772. Acid-Blood-and-Spit Lionel Stander, the Spitter

3 miles is his record. Pictured here without his customary headband.
(Submitted for the project -- #772. Acid-Blood-and-Spit Lionel Stander, the Spitter)
Part of the 100 new Hobo names

Friday, September 08, 2006

Thursday, September 07, 2006

790. Voweltooth Jenkins, the Man with the Scrabble Tile Dentures

The blank tiles on the jaw are "H" and "B." 7 points! (Submitted for the project -- #790: Voweltooth Jenkins, the Man with the Scrabble Tile Dentures)
Part of the 100 new Hobo names

filling my cough quota for the year

It used to be cloak and dagger. Now I'm naked and defenseless.

Topping the shitlist today:

1) Plastic rakes. They do nothing but scrape the asphalt, significantly reducing property value and ear drum resilency. Also, people in the near proximity will be unable to eavsedrop on conversations, especially if they are whispered. They will also be inaudible even if the contents of the discourse is later revealed to be: "Peas and carrots. Peas and carrots." Etc.

Wednesday, September 06, 2006

you spoonfed me reality

now i'm full fat and tired

Sunday, September 03, 2006

Saturday, September 02, 2006

Friday, September 01, 2006

nothing is getting through, they just got sick of you

His "bark" is worse than his "bite." He does not bite, that is a "typo."
(Submitted for the project -- #403: Eldred Splinters)

the place to have been

He has much to teach us.
(Submitted for the project -- #767: Dr. Know)
Part of the 100 new Hobo names