At best we are just human. Sometimes we forget the tragedies one must bear in life. The important thong to remember is Sisqo’s thong song.

Barf in a shoe. Wear it to a Mets game. Call it your Barf Shoe. Call in sick to work. They will never know that you were at a sporting event. The smell of the Barf shoe will cover your tracks.

Every time I think of stuff
I think about what it is
Is it a moose?
Or is a pig?
Or is it some kind of angry pig-moose?

That’s what it is not is.

I’m not blogging.
I’m blobbing.
Blobbing up and down,
the sweaty sidewalk
of Internet Street.

I love them.
Dear Sharpie company
I would love to endorse your product.
Sometime I get Sharpie on my face
When I am drawing
Oh
Dear Sharpie
I can’t throw you out
Where did you come from
Some kind of super marker planet where everything is cool and awesome and permanent.
Sometimes Sharpies go around in a circle
Chanting
They tell me to draw things.
Terrible things
And funny things
And the best things.
If Sharpies were a food
They would be the best food.
Black Sharpies turn grey over time
It takes years for a Sharpie to die
Literally years
If I had to have some part of my body replaced with an inanimate object
It would be a Sharpie
Hopefully it would be one of my fingers and not my penis.

Rain.
What is it and why is it here?
Is it God’s poop?
Who gives a shit.

Rain.

What’s up with stuff?
Does it make you feel tough? Want to shove it in your muff?
Can you eat it? If it were a cookie? Hairy like a wookie?
Harry like Whodini? Where is it?
What’s up with stuff?

I’m on a writer’s strike.
The internet is TV.
I write on the computer and then I punch it.
Strike one for me. Pitching great TV.

Ted Demme is Ted.
Ted Demme isn’t Lemmy.
But He has a motörhead.
A motör-shaped head.

It’s the kind of place that makes
a bum, feel like a king
And it makes a king
feel like some nutty koo koo
super king.