Monthly Archives: August 2012

Poems for Lovers

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Romance is our forté. We know romance. Like the way TNT knows drama, that’s the way we are with romance. Franklin and Bash and Rizzoli and Isles. Not even gonna beat around the bush. We’re like a white Hitch. I take brown girls on ski-doo rides to Ellis Isle so they can learn about their immigrant ass grannies. Then I roundhouse kick them into the water. That’s what she gets for having a Mexican granny- and she’ll still slurp upon my goat leg a.k.a my chubbed-out goat chode a.k.a my girthy chubby-wumba. We know all the ins and outs to getting it in and out. It’s calculated.

And sometimes we’re even romantic by accident and next thing we know Ms. Satin Titties working at the register in Subway is asking if I want extra roast beef on my footlong. In actuality it’s only a six incher (rounding up) but that didn’t stop us from tub-thumping in the stockroom. That’s how Jared Fogle was conceived. Jared’s mom had a chowder stew brewin’ in her Nether Clam and Papa Fogle came in and threw down some salami and asked if she wanted chips and a drink with that. Then fat Jared was born a few months later and then he just kept getting fatter and fatter. Then Jared’s mom took him into the same Subway where he was concieved and he was like “Fuck the bullshit, I’m only eating at Subway from now on.” Then he lost all that weight, made millions of dollars, and fucked bad bitches with no rubbers. Just like his diddy.

But we’re not here to brag about this and that, we’re here to help you. For all you fuddy-duddies out there, here’s a few poems you can tell your gal pal to get her gushing like the mighty Potomac.

Roses are red

Violets are blue

Your skin is tan

What are you like 1/8th Sioux? 

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Roses are red

Violets are blue

Pussies be warm

like Brunswick Stew

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Roses are red

Violets are blue

Your hair smells sweet

What kind of shampoo is that? Is that Pantene ProV for Damaged Hair? Yeah, I thought so. Not that your hair was damaged or anything. I’m just saying, smells nice.

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Roses are red

Violets are blue

You’re my therapist

and my father molested me

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Roses are red

Violets are blue

If you break up with me I’ll kill myself

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Roses are red

Violets are blue

Can we try anal?

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Roses are red

Violets are blue

Seriously, all my friends’ girlfriends are letting them try anal and they say it’s not as bad as everybody always says.

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Roses are red

Violets are blue

Okay like, I’m not the type of guy to lay down ultimatums or whatever but I just feel like if your not even willing to try anal JUST ONCE, then obviously this relationship doesn’t mean that much to you. I already bought a tube of ultra-lube and everything. I read some reviews on the website and it said it was the best lube for doing anal with. Please, Sharon.

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Roses are red

Violets are blue

GOD SHARON!

You are such a selfish cunt.

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Roses are red

Violets are blue

Take my wife please

She’s a selfish cunt.

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R.L. Stein Book Review

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We can sum up R.L.’s new magnum opus “Halloween Hell-Fire: Smokin’ In The Boys Room” in one word: GOOSEBUMPS.

Serious. Got some real ass goosebumps on this one. Fa really doe. Lookin’ like geese up in here with hundreds of bumps covering every square inch of our torched bods. Laying eggs and shit. Eating little pieces of bread. Chasing kids. Trying to peck their eyeballs. Our bumps, our bumps, our loosey goosey bumps. Like that Black Eyed Peas song? But we changed the words a little bit? Weird Al style. He should totally use that for one of his epic polka parodies. With his accordion. We saw Weird Al in a Ruby Tuesdays once, munching out on some bacon ched sliders. Shit looked di-vine. He’s not as weird in real life as he pretends to be on the TV. The bizarre tale in R.L.’s latest Goosebumps was way weirder than Al. Believe that.

Stein’s literary masterpiece is a modernist quest to define the self. There ain’t been chops like this from the Stein family since the days of R.L.’s lesbian grandmammy, Gertrude. R.L. explores the human condition like only R.L. can. Shit had me going through the works. The water works. I cried. I screamed. I shivered. I hooted. I hollered. My hair stood on end. I hid my head under my blanket. I nearly jumped clean out of my skin. The only thing I couldn’t do was PUT IT DOWN. LOL. CuZ IT WUz sO GoOoD!!! Talk about a page turner.

The protagonist, Xander Magoo, is everyman. Your average Average Joe. His parents’ working class background makes him the symbol of the proletariat’s hopeless quest to transcend social stratification. Stein uses Xander’s hamster, hopelessly running on it’s wheel, to represent the capitalist charade. Deep Mon.

This Marxist masterpiece follows Magoo as he is flung into the world of bone chilling fright along with his best friend and fountainhead of comic relief Blaine “Earwig” Jewstein. Their adventure begins when they find out that their Chemistry Teacher, Mr. Gorbachev, has been catnapping the neighborhoods’ felines. And by catnapping, I don’t mean taking a quick snooze on the couch after inhaling a can of tuna. I’m talking about kitty abductions! Pussy snatching!

So Xander and Earwig plot out a wicked scheme to catch Mr. Gorbachev red fucking handed on none other than ALL HOLLOWS EVE. WoOoOo! SPoOoOoKY.  So they sneak into Mr. Gorbachev’s house and set up a camera crew so that they can bust him To Catch a Predator style. Dateline NBC Y’all. Chris Hansen eat your heart out.

Long story short, one thing leads to another and they end up in a high speed chase on
their Huffy bikes. Then there’s like…a swamp….And….there’s this whole thing about Mr. Gorbachev keeping his teaching position because of tenure…maybe there was something about a golden amulet? I’ll be honest, I might have just skimmed the last couple chapters. But it really was good! I swear, like the first 30 pages were fucking fire ass fire. It just got late and I had one of those weeks.

Like for instance on Wednesday, I went to Belk’s to get some of these fucking Ralph Lauren ties like James Franco wears and they CANCELLED my Belk’s Rewards Plus Credit Card. What kind of jergoffs do they got running this place? How the heck do these royal jergoffs expect me to buy any Ralph Lauren ties if they cut me off? Like, Ralph is a personal friend of mine and with one fucking phone call I could BURY YOU, Belk’s. Like, he invited me to his nephew’s baptism in Milan and if I gave him the word, he would pull his entire line from your stores so fast that your jergoff heads would twist clean off your little chode bodies.  Don’t think I won’t, Belk’s. I’m not the kind of guy you want to fuck with. All I want is my fucking Belk’s Rewards Plus Credit Card with the 10% discount so I can buy some fucking Ralph Lauren ties so I can look like James Franco. HE IS HANDSOME.

Did you see Pineapple Express? So Funny. Talk about range. Just when you think you’ve got James Franco’s figured out, he comes out of left field with a doozie like this. God damn it, he’s good. Rise of the Planet of the Apes? He was like a super smart monkey scientist that taught them how to read books. Nailed it. Spider-Man 3? He’s was an evil goblin and ripped Toby McGuire’s dick off. Pure gold. He’s like a shape shifter or something the way he goes from role to role. Like a shape shifting mighty morphing changeling chamillionaire or something. God bless.