Our Masked Morons
The Kadiddlehoppers:
Abbottomy the bot,
dirty Dan,
and Perrywinkle,
planned four Guard brigades
of water boy warriors
to battle back
Obama’s invisible invading
legions, thirty already here.
Save us
from such morons.
Look both ways for details and the big picture.
Mind the gaps and trust none of them.
My Dear Brave
and Foolish souls
of towns and villas
near here and over there
and in the wilds
of states and nations,
And especially to the genius
members of clubs and churches
everywhere, where
the poor pussy cats, so tortured
by death-catcher face-hankies,
burdened by distance to spit;
fearful of immunology,
skeptical of fact and science,
with brains pushing intellects
matching your belt size, named
for nothing but yay-me,
or hooray our-side;
what the fuck were you thinking?
Your claim to care
is as selfish as your
shallow, meaningless,
false-patriotism, loyal
to the disgusting, proud
of abuse toward woman
and children. You went
from zero with no worries
to disaster (one you caused),
then you tried
to pray and lie
your way out of it.
Good job, Fester fake-brain!
You’ve succeeded
in making meaningless
moron magic
with your galactical
fucking stupidity.
Look both ways because sometimes
you just must say what’s on your mind.
Mind the gaps in these bizarre, crazy, and worrisome times.
From the Universe, I call down a pox upon them.
Dirae with Furiae shall tear their poisonous skin
to feed comrade vultures sitting in shadows of guilt.
Curators of dire curses upon innocents, dealers of death cards,
may shepherds of fools find woeful futures haunted
by those who paid the greatest price to dance with fantasy and lies.
Look both ways seeking answers, but beware
gaps of darkness are where truth is hard and lies come easy.
You know who you are,
driving fast and weaving past
in your European model automobile
costing four to ten times
the worth of my car. I am so
sorry to have used your
private interstate highway
And set my cruise control
a mere smidgen over
the legal speed limit of eighty
fucking statute miles an hour.
I was foolish indeed,
to humbly assume such speed
would suffice to get you
to your Sunday morning
emergency appointment.
Trucks once had their speed limits
for safety. But, no longer. Perhaps
you can have limits removed
for drivers of a Beamer, Audi,
Benz, or a Lex.
Maybe even
your own lane forbidden
to the minions who believe
their thirty-dollar Timex
is as good with time
as your uptown Rolex.
My foolish economy has jaded
my vision since I struggled
to see life your way.
And finally, begging your pardon
one last time.
Fuck you, asshole.
***
Look both ways, these wankers pass on both sides.
Mind the gaps, they’re filled by saps.
Who knew? A form a poetry I can closely relate to. Disclosure: I enjoyed writing this. I went a little overboard with the vernacular — worked for me.
No real person, living or not, is depicted in this piece (except pics) — it’s a joke. A rotter is a cruel, stingy, or unkind person.
Ain’t Seen the Like
Yer ugly and a stupid lout.
I heerd ya drink da bath water,
Af’n yer old lady warshed da diapers out.
But, cha’ ain’t never gettin’ old; yer too rotter.
Yee’d have one redeeming feature,
If’n ye was dead, bu’cher sorry-ass ain’t.
Too bad, so sad, yer a hor’bile slimy creature.
Nah sir, lil’ fart, bu-chew never make’n saint.
Yer jis’ so feckin’ rotten, yer feets be a stinkin’
Yer mudder too asham’ ta le’cha go out.
If’n Ah wuz yer pappy, I’d be a-thinkin’
‘bout given yer nasty ass a good clout.
So I bin-a-tinkin, ‘bout nex weekind,
And yer putrid discustin’ slothy fate,
If’n ya steel wanna, an’ she’s still-a-willin’
Yer free ta take meh daughter on a date.
***
See the humor in life, lighten up, and look both ways.
Mind the gaps on country roads.
Our Literary Journey 