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!


Here there be pirates! And Doughnuts!


Yarrr! This doughnut has got no holes. And it be long like my friend Davy Jones’s locker. And there chocolate upon it, like the hair on my chest, dark and thick inside thar be treasure! Creamy treasure! It reminds of the time me and Jack Sparrow and Red Rackham and Wade Simpson went on a rum bender ’cause they wasn’t rationing it then, I tell you! Yarr! Rum and opium and oriental food blow a mighty squall in bowels I tell ye! Yarrr! We all blew a brown typhoon! But this doughnut, avast if it twasn’t holeless and not like them Shanghai wenches at Madame Lee’s Nasty House where me and Lucky Jack Aubrey and Dougie Slavatchek was reaming them like they was cannons and we was the balls and we was broadsiding Lord Nelson’s canoe! Yarrr! But this doughnut it had no holes and was coated in chocolate and was a rectangle and filled with cream and I liked it like I like my ownself. Yarrr! And that’s the tale of the Long John and never will dead men tell it! Yarrr!

Astro Sod


Burt looked out the window. And gasped. He hammered on the glass.
“Get the hell off the grass!” He yelled, spit spotting the pane.
“What’s going on, Burt?” She called from the kitchen.
“There’s a damn thing on the damn lawn!” He said, eyes staring daggers through the glass.
“Well, didn’t it see the sign?”
“Of course it did!” He cried, “how could it not!” He pointed at the large placard that stood purposefully at the edge of the property upon which large, stern letters declared ‘STAY OFF THE LAWN. ASSHOLE.’
“What’re going to do?” She said, poking her head through the doorway.
Burt shook his head and didn’t look at her. He was studying the interloper.
“Son of a bitch,” he said.
A chubby, pink globule about the size and shape of a couple sacks of shit sat there in the middle of his freshly mowed, perfectly green patch of suburban pride. It casually raised its globby head.
“Blurmp,” it said and a sticky wad of red slime plopped out of the hole in the middle of what may possibly be somewhat accurately described as perhaps its face and splat onto the grass with a sizzle. Where it landed smoke rose and the blades of grass blackened to ash.
“SONOFABITCH!” Burt cried.
“What happened?” She said.
“He’s killing my boys! The squishy creep is killing my baby boys!!!” He turned to face his wife, “Violet, get my gun.”
To be continued…

Butter Truckin’ USA

ThunderDoug put his foot to the floor and the grease hit the pig right in its honky tonk blowing the fat machine off like a dickless chicken. He pumped that throttle down and blowed it up and the monkey spit spat out of them chubby pipes like a deep-fried monsoon at a Kentucky smorgasbord. He twisted the stick and flipped the switch and the hunk of fat blistered like a boil on the Holy Pope’s stink tit. He filled the bowl with the oil of life, speed screaming sweet mother of flavour into the the night sky like L’il Rick and the Panty Raiders playing live at the Nipple Lick on Tuesday night. The rumble roiled like it was all you could eat chili dogs being chomped by a hot tub full of Japanese schoolgirls and the screams came out of it hard and fast and long and thick as if Big Poppa Moonworm had done the wango tango with the Big Big Bango. He was a nood dood smoothed with rood food. Made them little kiddies undies get skiddy. He tore it down and turned it up and let howl with wind that broke with the smell of a millions stinks. The sky went chocolate and spread itself thicker than Florida Cheddar on a Wisconsin waffle. Man, can this cat ride! Whistle wicked, Willy, you earned it.

Post-work Circle of Verse


The horn has blown, quittin’ time! Gather round employees and join ye hands, now we are a circle. A circle of the employed. Representing eternal employment, no beginning no end. Close your eyes, bow your heads, open your hearts, let it flow out of you. And let it be free. Your souls have toiled so hard on the job. And now it is time to release. And so each one of you, in turn, make poem make poem make poem:
Take this job
and shove it
up your butt
like a coconut
Prolapse it
Like the stinkhole
This job is.
Where we work away
From morning ’til night
For very little cash, jack
and extended benefits?
Nope. And our families
ask us, “Why are you so grumpy?”
And we do not answer.
We get drunk.
And let our misery fester
Inside our bodies.
Like fucking cancer.
we are jobbers
who are jobbing
The job

And so it floats and gathers and draws away the ire from the employees and they come to love each other and their place of employment. And then everyone kisses each other with open mouths.

Orbiting the planet of broth


The lizard man, in his little ship, hovering above the earth, looking down, and wondering, why is that child crying? Does it want some candy? Does it need a hug? Is it because we are stealing the water for our alien soups and stews? Don’t knock it ’til you try it, kid. It may smell bad but it’s nutritious and it’s not easy to make. Especially since our world gone and done dried up. It’s really made everything taste s bland. So we came here to planet earth, to check it out, and fornicate with your women, and jack the juice and squirrel it away and use it in our alien cuisine. Which is good eats, I tell you. You have to try it, little boy, it’ll change your life. Trust me, your palette will think it’s died and gone to taste heaven. Of course, us lizard people know there is no heaven per se. It’s infinitesimal mud hut full of slobbering reptilian sex organs that pleasure you for eternity. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, kid.

Eating at a restaurant: a review


This is my review of eating at a restaurant. It was the first eating at a real restaurant I done because I never had before I got sent up and when I got out my moms took me to eat at restaurant to celebrate. It’s not like I hadn’t eat out right like when I was making moves on the street I went to Burgs&Slurps and Skweezies but never at no place with glass plates and maitre d’s and shit and I guess in the pen it was kinda like eating out when you was having chow at chow time in the hall but without the waiter and then sometimes you had to throw down with some fat pig over who was whos bitch or maybe he was just a punk and you had to step up but thats not what eating at a restaurant is like. Which I saw for myself when I ate at one because I didn’t know that before but I know that now because I ate at a restaureant. It was called “Black Noodle” and it was an italiano style pasta restaurant and they had lasagna right there on the menu which I didn’t order because one time inside they served lasagna at chow and then one of the bulls got all up in my face and I don’t back down because I ain’t no ones bitch and I ended up in the hole over it and so lasagna don’t sit with me. So I got what they was calling linguini with them clams and that was some crazy ass shit right there with all them sea things on there all over these flat noodles. It was like when I was out in the yard with Sniffy Jeff and he was telling us how he used to be known as Banana Jeff before he got sent up and then he had to change his name because with a name like banana dudes inside be wanting to see that banana but no one wants to see your boogers so he changed his name. And that is my review of eating at a restaurant.