An open letter to the open minded

Dear carnal buffet of wonder and taste,
I’ve got it bad from both sides. My jack is jilling and my Jill is jacked. I’ve got a motor in the moonhole and an engine in the stars. And they both run on gas, Baby, gas. And by gas I mean the sex. I take it pure and fluid and nasty as a Norwegian Swede at a Mississippi Swamp Jam. You heard me. So. Question one. You wanna meet me in the bog, baby? Cause I’ve got thick wrinkled mudflaps that hang all the way from hello to goodbye! And I need a hot splashbone to part my curtains and wash my windows. My skin is covered in sexual grease and I need a heavy dripper to scrape me off and dry me out like a Bedouin Jacuzzi. I wanna feel the harsh wind of a throbbing blunder nugget splitting my mottled thighs open like a mountain does the sky. Make my sex place a Montana licence plate and ride the beef fleet on in and in and on and on. Juice my lewd tube and make it send sticky clouds into the fleshy sky. I’m a deuce caboose front and back and side to side stopping at all stations from Ladyville to Mantown. My body is nude thunder and naked lightning all buff and smooth and wrinkled and creased like a midnight prune. I give it and take it and mix it and make it because I’m double-edged piece of Parmesan that you wanna sprinkle on your erotic lasagna. I’m spaghetti and meatballs, baby. I’m sweatpants and tightjeans. I’m a loose goose. I’m a slop dog. Lather me up and rub me down and use my multi-body to clean the grime off of the city with them officials down at City Hall sitting up in their crystal offices writing sex cheques their nut butts can’t cash and sticking the dirty costs hard up into the crowded holes of the commoners sitting all complacent in front of their teevees vaping bubblegum and eating pudding and smiling their toothless smiles and wallowing in ignorant glee.
Snakeskin Renegade


Statement of Ultimate Facts 2018


My name is Chef Pierre and I’m my favourite guy I love the food I make in my restaurant I love my food it is the most tasty taste and when it’s in my mouth I’m my favourite guy and when midnight comes my name is Chad Peters and I make the sex like a flesh monsoon and my best sex move is The Snake In The Pantry and I do it smooth it feels like slippery love and my other name is Sombrero Jones and in the morning light I sing the song of freedom it sounds the sound of a million birds all whistling proud the accomplishments of their children in various activities and it makes me feel like my favourite guy who is me because I’m that guy and I do my best everyday. Peace out y’all.

PHONEZONE (into the communicators[beyond the future realm])


dial it up
what is the number
now it is ringing
the dial tone’s bringing
to a magical place
voicemail’s of mystery
punch in the zone code
what is the number
the signal is busy
the connection is whizzing
to a mystical place
operator assist me
electrical whizzwhee
rotary dialing
touchtone compiling
stay on the line
while the wizard completes you
enter the digits
calling inside you

Emotionally Concise and Spiritually On Point


Tonight is forever
and tomorrow is tonight
The moon is shining
And the beach is eternal
Because you are my woman, baby
And you are the rainbow
In the sunshine of the night
And the winter snow is falling
As the warm breeze blows
Through the flowers in the field
And you make it morning time
when the clock strikes midnight
and the butterflies are riding high
and the stars are waving ‘good-bye’
And you are my baby, woman
Making freedom sing its song
And eternity is just a day away
I can’t wait because
you bring the summer vibes
baby woman forever girl
You are the best horse  in the race
and I am the Wizard King
alive and well and busting his nut
in his mountain palace
and you are chief of the love police
spitting squishy justice out
from Central Headquarters
And tomorrow is forever tonight!

Rutabaga Loving


(Note: Sing to the tune of the saddest song you have ever heard in your goddamn life)

Rutabaga, sweet rutabaga,
oh rutabaga, you’re the root of my misery
you’re a big fat turnip
and I can’t get you into me.
You taste kinda bitter.
But the night it comes
and the stars come out
and my tuber floats free from the soil
So I cut a little hole in you, rutabaga
And ease myself inside.
‘Cause you’ve stole my heart
like a midnight train.
A wax-y turnip-y renegade.
Got my loins on fire
like a moonlight roast.
But I can’t get you into me.
‘Cause you taste so bitter.
Oh how your yellow-y flesh-y
is slippery and slidey
and when I make love to you,
Rutabaga. Oh gee whiz,
It’s better than sex.
From the top of the mountain
to the bottom of the sea
to the dirt in the farmyard
where you live until I dig
dig you up
and slide on in
and grease your loving root vegetable
being, with my love!
With my love!

Justice with a capital “G”


My name is Gus and I am so down with the law, man, you criminal S.O.B.’s had better watch out. I am full on hard as a throbbing slab of fleshy concrete with justice. I am engorged with it. And if you think it’s a good idea to cross the line and commit a crime, I will stroke off like an atomic ape and blow a thick, hot wad of judicatory cum in your ugly scofflaw face. You will feel the steaming stick of Sweet Mother Justice with her sword and scales dripping down off your chin and onto your racketeer’s golf shirt. I will nut the law hard. NUT IT HARD. I am so horny for jurisprudence my balls are blimps and they are floating over the city seeking you goddamn yardbirds who are in desperate need to feel the sick sting of the gooey juice of due process. All you greasy punks making illicit moves on the street staining our beautiful law abiding tarmac with your black-market diarreha hear this, “I AM ASS NASTY HORNY FOR TRUTH AND RECTITUDE!” So get your peccant face down and your indictable butt up and get ready to receive the fairest and most constitutional reaming of your deplorable life. I AM GUS! I AM JUSTICE! GUSTICE!