Good Ol’ Southern Fried Intergalactic War

ba0f0cfcfcd52ff3aec53134f5d1c276
I’m a Lazer Warrior
Doing battle
at the edge of the Universe
Fighting for the future
One light beam at a time
Blazing beyond the sky
Tearing infinity a new one
The enemy may be eternal
but they ain’t nuthin’
when compared to the power
of our accurate lazer blasting
That’s how we get things done
In Kentucky USA

Advertisements

Moisture Flesh:The Dance, a poem by fartbutt6378

download
Toe tip down
Twirl around
Rub it in
The cream that is
Shrug and shudder
To the rhythm
Of the cream
Essential oils
Body butter arabesque
Jazz walk schasse
And Milky plasm
Pretend there’s a puddle
Don’t get wet
Now you’re chocolate
Blood nougat
Flail like canola
In the wind
Now it’s broken
Wind that is
Fingers eyes knees
Get weak
Drop to the floor
You are the reek
Achettè
Kumbaya
Temps levè
Demulcent
Body’s a fridge
Contains emotions
Chill the feelings
Rub in the lotion
Penchè nastè
Do the balogna
Do the spam
Do the salami
Now the canned ham
You are the moon
Lenitive on high
You are the dance
Unction Swish split
Eternal
Infinity
Tonight.

Justice is a dish best served all-you-can-eat

10710906-24764067-thumbnail

The light flashed across the sky. Like an uncooked noodle slicing through black sauce. A sick and twisted yet delicious metaphor whose message was clear: NO REST FOR JUSTICE, JUSTICE NEEDED NOW. She looked up, saw it, her mouth watered in acknowledgement. How could she not? It was as if the Food Court of Justice was calling out to her like she was on her lunch break from selling swimwear at the Wet Banana in Downtown City Mall and she couldn’t decide on souvlaki or chow mein. But that only spurned her on, drove her forward, lifted her up because she wasn’t no freakin’ hobbiest, not when it came to to stocking the justice buffet and serving it up all you can eat to every dirtbag and skidwad and jerkfart this side of the wrong side of the bad side of town. No, she was all-pro, a working woman, on the clock, 24/7, bustin’ that justice hard like a greasy sausage in a sourdough bun with all the trimmings: ketchup, mustard, mayonnaise, relish, hot peppers, jalapenos, sauerkraut, nacho cheese, diced onions, sauteed peppers, bacon bits, pickled beets, chopped kale, chopped iceberg, chopped green leaf, ham steak, fried egg, capers, sun-dried tomatoes, salsa verde, queso fresco, sauteed mushrooms, pickled mushrooms, sliced pickles, horseradish, dijon mustard, grainy mustard, sliced black olives, sliced green olives, spaghetti, meatballs, linguini, clam sauce, shreddies, cheerios, ground beef, grilled chicken breast, salt fish, ackee, salt, pepper, lemon pepper, seasoning salt, cajun spice, taco seasoning, red curry, yellow curry, green curry, chipotle peppers in adobo sauce, escargots, quail eggs, duck eggs, ricotta, mascarpone, halloumi, lasagna, eggrolls, and parsley for colour. She took a bite of the metaphor. Puked hard. Them’s the breaks.

Sgt. Lady Grin and her Happy Commandos

emmet_frost_20160702-175-1024x895As we all are and as we all must, I am thinking deep thoughts and sending hard prayers out to the spiritual warrior using her passions and integrity and real awesome power and sick skillz and ferocious friendliness to win the war. What war, you say. Well, let me tell you. This is the war on magic, the war on smoke and mirrors, the war on wonder, the war on delight, the war on whimsy, the war on potato salad and waterslides and fresh flowers. Yeah that war. The one they waged without mercy nor quarter on jocularity and hilarity. And these Lady Warriors are out there on the front lines, the freaking tip of the freaking spear, taking down the haters of the soul, the enemies of glee, the usurpers of blitheness. Goddamn those sons of dung. I mean if it wasn’t for these women out there doing freaking battle to the freaking death with the forces of anti-buffoonery and the agents of anti-mirth then, well, what the freak do think is going to happen? Shit is gonna get sad. And all us simple folk are gonna go to the big frown in the sky. So they fight. They’re taking it back. One chuckle at a time. The Females Fighters For Fun And Freedom. And they are gonna burn down the sprightliness-less horde with stank verve beams from their funky fun lazers and restore the universe to giggling glory. And in a millennia hence, the children of the children of the children of the children of the children of the mothers of the fighters will hoist their mugs into the sky, yell: hooray, and chug those cold brewskis down. Just like Mama woulda wanted. LONG LIVE BEGUILEMENT! LONG LIVE THE FIGHTERS! YOU GO GIRL!

Jobbers Jobbing, Global Importance-style

zielscheibechinese
It’s hard out there for a fella like me, I gotta tell ya. See, when yer in my line, which I can’t get into in so many details for reasons I can’t elaborate, but suffice to say that what I do is OF GLOBAL IMPORTANCE, so it’s like that right? You know what I’m sayin’? Sure you do. Who don’t, right? ‘Cause it’s just that when yer line is, as I said, OF GLOBAL IMPORTANCE, things start to take on a different hue, if you get my meaning, by meaning of course I mean that even the little things in yer life take on a significance of GLOBAL IMPORTANCE. Like if you have a burrito and it don’t sit well and you gotta take a shit and now that shit, those minutes spent on the can, that gastric distress is now OF GLOBAL IMPORTANCE. Yer loose stool, however greasy it is, and ill-timed, and all them brown and stinky details take on a real heavy weight because the fate of world hangs in the balance, right? And that can really lend one to take pause and ponder ’cause like I’m sayin’ here hypothetical or real-wise just takin’ a shit and dealing with the gripes and grumbles and lamenting the fact I paid good money for a cruddy lunch that has now taken on serious heavy geopolitical cum military industrial relevance where the fate of the planet is hanging in the balance and yes, I know how bad I gotta get off the can but I can’t ’cause of the aforementioned gastric distress. So these are the things, you know these kinda situations and such, that keep you up at night when yer line is of GLOBAL IMPORTANCE. ‘Cause you just wanna get in there and do yer job and all that but you’ve got the trots, or whatever, maybe it’s something else of a personal nature, so no you don’t wanna talk about it, no one does, and no one wants to hear about it, yer runs I mean, of course, ’cause that’s gross, but damned if yer loose stool hasn’t become of GLOBAL IMPORTANCE. Makes you think. But you’ve gotta do what you gotta do. That’s just the way of the put your pants on workaday nine-to-five clock-in clock-out world of GLOBAL IMPORTANCE.

Beef McGee: Ascension of a God

http://aornightdrive.blogspot.com/Snakeskin sweatpants, coiled around my loins, coating my flesh in fashion, and I ooze my way into the salons and saloons of America, letting the unbelievers see just what it is they’re missing. And their tears are proof that my leggings are important, that they contain the potential to change the world, that within the confines of my reptilian tear-aways I am the most powerful entity in the known universe. I see the looks on the faces of the elders, those who fought in the wars, to bring freedom and glee to the world and to wrest control of the portal of fashion from the forces of banality and evil and to prop it open and let out the glory and energy of gorgeous trousers. Pull up your pants and sing:
BALLOON!
BABOON!
FLOAT BEAST!
BEYOND THE THRESHOLD!
LIGHT AND SKY!
DARK MATTER!
SPIRIT WARRIOR!
TRANS-DIMENSIONAL!
HAIRLESS CELESTIAL BODIES!
SHAVED SMOOTH!
GLISTENING NIGHT!
LOTIONS OF ETERNITY!
RUBBED INTO THE COSMOS!
OOOOOOH!
And as the melody lifts me up, I rise above the masses to assume my place upon the iron throne of virtue, the benevolent leader of the sweltering many, the Lord of all absorbable fabrics who is the one and true inspiration for humanity for infinity!
I AM SWEAT!
I AM SKIN!
I AM PANTS!
I AM SNAKE!
I AM BEEF MCGEE!