Friday, December 05, 2003
two poets walk into a bar,
the bartender rings a bell, two poison darts whistle across the room over the pool table under the Bud light and into their "hearts".
they gasp, cover their chests and then faint.
now ive seen a lot of things in my day
i mean just the other day i walked into my roommate dans room
everything i say is true
and there were these three horny
i wouldnt waste my lies on
and ive seen good
the thuds of the two bloating poet-bodies makes the wolf dog raise his head from his paws.
he gets up from under a table and walks casually over to the scene. he sniffs and looks over at the bartender who's searching for a hand ax
like for example just the other day me and rene were at this Tawainese Hot Pot where all you can eat you go and get your meat raw from the back get your veggies bring em to your booth toss em into this hot pot thats boiling at your table make your soup while "barbeque-ing" on the aluminum foil that surrounds the pot
wolf dog sniffs the crotch of the larger poet who's mumbling something uncomprehensible but in perfect meter i think he was saying help help help
dog positions himself in such a way i mean his hind legs are on this poets chest and his furry red sick looking is in almost entirely and he's humping and he's choking tails wagging and he's looking at the bartender with mouth closed and then back up at the ceiling mouth open and then back at his repositioning front paws
and his buddy cant move and his buddy gets a woody its moving and wolf dog sees this
stops what hes doing tail stops wagging dis mounts cuz he thinks somethings alive in there but theres nothing alive in nothing these poets have ever done. maybe an automatic reaction. like getting a boner while your buddy gets mouth raped by a dog. maybe an automatic reaction. like writing a load of negative crap when youve got nothing to say no new stories to tell no new ways to tell em no new rhymes to bust out no new secrets to let out meat eater bottom feeder stealer of lies you even bore the poor youre a landing strip for flies.
from the upcoming secret chapter of Blook II called Juvenalia, the early poems which will skyrocket to $42 unless you act now.
Previously on busblog...