Ty Cobb Salad Ballad (extra bacon please!)

.

Freedom fighters
Medium-sized helium lighters
Feeling brighter
Wield white flowing; sploosh! Seal delighter

Wheeling wider
Peel fast, steal beside her
Implosion hinder
Heist like ocean commotion rider

Erosion stopped
Beatle-meter hemo-globbed
Read-out reader
Be a snob, go sip some cider

Quill ink writer
Paper-faced, old Bealtime bider
Globularly held
Encompass rumpus, then imbibe her

Water rock roll
Deep dish sushi, windy stock pool
Ad-hoc Spock fool
Martian Spider spin that silky Glockenspööl



Sincerely,

>Peahchacho

This too shall pass

I don’t care. We don’t care. I don’t give a fuck. We don’t give a fuck. Let it go. Let them go. Let him go. Let her go. Fuck that shit. You don’t need it. I certainly don’t need it. Drop it like it’s hot. Not dancing. Just drop it. Back up off it. Evacuate. Quarantine. Surrender. But don’t give up. Don’t give a fuck.

They are wasting our time. He is wasting your time. She is wasting my time. It is my time. Fuck those people. We don’t need them. We don’t care. Should we care? Fuck that. I am me. Who am I? I am me. Fuck those people. They aren’t you. They certainly aren’t me. Drop them. Drop it. Stop it. Stop it. Now. Stop it.

Let it be. But don’t let them be. They won’t let you be. They are slowing you down. You want to go fast. Leave them, go fast. They are pushing you now. Not your pace; not your beat. Leave them. Push them off of you. You don’t need that. Weights and prods. That’s all she is. That’s all he is. That’s all they are. Not us though.

We get it. We got it. We go and get it. We had it, and have it, and don’t have to go get it. They have to go. They need to look like they are going. They aren’t going. We are going. We are getting gone. I am gone. I am getting gone. I am done with go. I will go to gone. Fuck if I know where that is.

Close your eyes. Stick out your tongue. Sing blah-blah-blah. Na-na-na. Close your eyes. Everything you have is yours. If it feels like they gave it to you, they didn’t. They didn’t give you anything. They want what you have. They want you to want what they have. You don’t. You want what you have. You want other things. You will have them. I want what you have. I have what you have. I have what I want. I have you. You have me.

They are obsolete. They want big. They are small. You are big. I am very big. Big is bigger than small. Small is obsolete. Small doesn’t exist. Not next to big. They aren’t there. Close your eyes! They really aren’t there. So don’t give a fuck. Don’t care. I don’t care. You don’t care. We don’t care.

I don’t care.

Ship-shape vs. Ship-shaped

Scalding hot water did more for me today than all the sex in my life ever has. I sat under the faucet, and the blinding heat and steam made me into a faucet too. My body shivered: it was rested but fatigued from the infection antagonizing it. Cold in my chest but millions of tiny cascading droplets that seared when they struck me if they hadn't already left for the world of vapor.

Sitting on the shower floor. Head bent, submitting to the dazzling onslaught of Hades spittle. My thick hair can't stop them from beating a frenzied beat on my scalp. Not to be outdone, however, my brain makes angry pulses that fly outward to meet the force of the incoming spray of heat. Thoughts and throbbing spears of headache are dispatched with speed, and fly like sparks from a welder's torch. My scalp and skull bones are like WW2 Poland, beset on either side by hostile forces: a battle fought with no regard to the battleground.

water water water water. drench me in some water water. it heals and destroys all, even Harry Potter.

Baby Beluga

Waddle to the Water

“Listen Lionel, this is Mexico; understand there are no rules out here, brother. If some ‘Dillo gets popped by an American-made, four-wheel drive, 300 horsepower hunk of steel trying to cross Calle Grande, so be it,” he declared. “More turf for us. You know what we always say, ‘WTTW: waddle to the water.’”

“Look, just because you were the first to hatch out of the whole clutch, that doesn’t mean you know more about the homeland than I do. I know our history front to back. How Mexico raised us. How our rivalry with those damn Armadillos has lasted for a millennium. A rivalry that sparks from shared predatory rights over the Mexican bean beetle, scientific name: Epilachna Varivestis. We only eat a few each on our way into the ocean, but there are so many of us laid in a nest at one time that we can compete with the Armadillos—curse their name! —­for food. And lately we’ve been pulling ahead in consumption because of the rising number of automobile-related ‘Dillo deaths thanks to our unobservant, close-minded foes!” Lionel exclaimed, rejoicing.

“Ok, ok, chill out Thucydides,” the elder creature replied. “What, would you liken us to Athens the sea power and them to Sparta, the land power? I’m glad you know our history, finally a youngster with the required appreciation for his predecessors.”

“Dude, I’m only 54 minutes younger than you. But anyway, back to the real debate. I’ll restate my point for the umpteenth time: the Asian-made sedans have a great kill rate in taking out all sizes of Armadillos. I’m not discounting the power of American muscle, I’m just saying, look out for Hondas,” concluded Lionel.

“Bullshit Lionel. I’m calling it, bullshit,” was the retort. “One of those pussy little Japanese hybrids wouldn’t get rid of a ‘Dillo for us. I think it would break on the rascal’s shell. American muscle rules the Yucatan.”

“Well agree to disagree,” said his companion. “At least I can say without pause that whichever make does the deed of eliminating the competition, it doesn’t matter, I’ll be happy either way. The part I really want to know though, is why the sudden spike in the Average Daily Crunch rate of our most despised neighbors? Could they possibly be getting more stupid? Or could those hideous shells be getting so heavy that they are even less agile than us sea turtles who spend less than one percent of our lives on land? WTTW, you know what I’m saying, waddle to the water.”

Ha, yes sir. ‘WTTW,’ the battle hymn of the republic. Oh look at you little guy, your flipper dexterity is too underdeveloped to throw up the WTTW gang sign. But don’t worry; no matter how small, we still are the educated, worldly ones. In truth, we’re fucking enlightened considering our lack of opposable thumbs. I heard the dolphins are next. Anyway, I’m getting off track. What I’m saying is we’re the cream of the beach and marine society. We understood Watership Down. We laughed and cried and laughed again at Lost in Translation. We drink enough Mouton Rothschild to distinguish between a ’45 and a ’48. We are Athens,” said he with great gusto.

“Ok, ssh. We’re coming up to that gap in the dunes where you can see Calle Grande. Let’s wait here and see if we can witness the end of one of those uncultured fools,” Lionel insisted.

“No dude, we really should be getting to the Realm of Poseidon before the gulls come out,” his brother warned.

“Oh please, you know your ass is too fat to get scooped up by one of those sacks of feathers. Come on and look,” he said by way of conclusion.

As the two brothers glued their popping eyes to that black river of heat, Calle Grande, they saw little Matilda the Armadillo lumbering towards the edge of safety. Lionel crept closer to the road and further away from the beach. His wet, beady eyes panoramically scanned the scene, as a Dark Blue Prius whipped through the desert from left to right. As Lionel waited, excitement brewing at the thought of carnage, he failed to see the massive seagull bearing down upon his position. The hum of the flashing rubber tires on the gritty strip drowned out his companion’s screams of warning. His fat, lucky companion.

Then several things happened at once. The car, alarmed and distracted by the swooping white bird, swerved off the road, crashing into a giant cactus as Matilda scurried back into the brush, scraping her whip-like tail on a rock. As Lionel was pulled away from the sanctuary of sand and water and into the thrusting breezes, he thought that maybe he had been too hard on those Armadillos. Actually no, on second thought, they were classless land-dwellers.

Matilda crawled to the shelter of the shadow her mother’s large body cast. Then she whispered to her guardian, sympathy in her voice, “That poor little sea turtle,” she said. “Are all of them really so stupid?”

---

The fish, what makes them squirm and wiggle?

The lovers, what makes them laugh and giggle?

To chuckle and writhe away from the normal,

Presentable but never formal.

-Monika Vesting:

Certainly not the first time

Circle a tree
With circuitry
I burgle a bee
A honeybee

She's lonely. Me?
I'm strung out, free
But I'll leap right down
To stomp on the ground

Wakes electric tree
From its reverie
It sparks then frowns
Look, see its sounds

Some sounds are round
Or sharp and loud
Like grinding, grinding
Coffee grounds

Mimes and clowns
And bees and hounds
You've missed the point
By leaps and bounds.



-Matan Cassirer (b. 1983)

Aren't we all just running around trying to figure out why we learn things?

I have perfected a very necessary skill. I am able to hock a loogie (large, yellow, ovoid, etc.), while brushing my teeth, without losing most of the toothpaste as collateral damage. This is important because if I need to hock one, let's be real, I'm going to do it. No one just leaves that slippery mucus oyster sitting in the back of one's throat. Completely unacceptable. So we can all agree that it's definitely comin on out. For a soul less talented than me, spitting out the just-hocked loogie means losing 50%-90% of the toothpaste. Now maaaaybe, if you're real far along in the teeth-brushing, just maaaybe, you could get by with only 50% of the original toothpaste, but even that's a stretch. And that's a best case scenario for you amateurs out there. Clearly once we get down to the 10%-30% range, we've reached an impasse, and we're gonna have to spit that shit out and reload the toothbrush up. And no one wants to do that. The subject and tense changes are all important here, so pay attention. (it's worth noting that I said "all important" rather than "all-important". pay attention fuck nugget). Aaaanyway--why do I always click text edit when im going for itunes? tittays!--that loss of a brush sesh is a real setback that neither you nor I have time for. Plus, if that happens, knowing you, you'll probably not even reload back up and finish, you'll just throw in the towel (mixing my bathroom metaphors like a shampoo chemist) and quit early. And that will make you look like Susan Boyle's grundle. Not good. SO? Get like me. Once you have perfected the art of hockin loogs whilst brushin, you won't have to worry about underperforming, or conversely, requiring hours to accomplish an infantile task. IT'S NOT REALLY INFANTILE DON'T LET THEM BRUSH BY THEMSELVES THEY MIGHT SWALLOW (always swallow, please) AND DIE. GIVE THEM A PEA-SIZED AMOUNT AND closely SUPERVISE!!! Notice, closely was in no caps, making it both emphasized and de-emphasized. and I had to put a hyphen in the most recent sentence-culminating word because it was an abutting E situation and we can't be havin none o' them rotten patata heads now can we? Very mature, Rondell.

Now I must away. If you'll excuse me, I have to run home and put some more water in Buck Nasty's Mama's dish.


Peace in Lil' Vietnam yawl.

Stay triller than a piston-like ring-finger rapidly making D sound even better with the juxtaposition with C sharp. NOT COMPUTERS.

commuters.

All praise be to challah. A RIVER THERE CHIEF. (say it fast, you Iroquoian shitbird).

With mild insincerity,

Dr. Drayton Jakisic, M.D.

Lather on the blather

This terse verse is dedicated to the memory of Ronald Flemons and all his lemons:

I wanna rock, rock, rock
To the downtown sector,
I wanna flock to the docks
Like a Cuban defector,
Yep, gonna drop, drop, drop
'Til I reach for the nectar;
Then I give you rocket shock
With my fuel injector.


Sincerely,

Mr. Selvish Capers