Friday, May 6, 2011


apples to apples

dusk to dusk.

my sappy poetree is the shade for the critters that love me.

oh critters. oh babies. i'ma gonna put you all in my zoo.

my menagerie, under glass

the sap the sap who played the sap who made the syrup?

who taught you about love anyway?

it was the weird woman.  DEE OH TEE MAH

but not through her directly. it was through a friend who heard it from her who told everyone at a party about her and then someone from the party told another party who told some other guy and it was written by playdoh and then i read about it.

what was it, though?

it was of something. it was of nothing.

love is the absence. the desire of presence.

love is alot like writing. always absent. absentee vote or absentee love?

well ronnie james dieu, i just dont know.



satanic sex rite

beelzebub, thongs, altar;

the safe word? pink sock.

o bhikkus o bhikkunis

what are we going to do

about all of these birdies

all of these bunnies

all of these giraffes?

all of the ghosts? where will they go?

will my ghostfriend find happiness?

find it! get it!

dig it up and roll around in it!

just as soon as you're defeated, you realize that you're on your way to victory.


no. just goo.


venus in unfinished tail

it's pony's playtime. he waits all week for this.

where's his ponytail buttplug? oh right, it's in its zippered case in the bathroom.

plug me in, plug me in. plug me in, plug me in.

pony time.

when he shakes his head, it isn't a weak combover that is tossed around. the spell is working. he shakes his mane instead.

but where is she?

where is that wascawwy jockey? where is the bitch with the hold on his reins?

pony starts to sweat. spooked pony.

he trots to the kitchen, nudges open the fridge door with his big horsey nose. good horsie. thassa good trick you know. the pony nibbles on the end of a carrot he freed from the bag. chews thoughtfully.

he is a showy, wily pony. he is a wonderhorse.

the pony can drive a car. the pony can do quick mental math. the pony can balance a checkbook. the pony can balance a checkbook on his nose.

the pony can talk, but only when the jockey says it's okay. that's part of the magic.

the horse is only mildly aware of the man outside. the man is only mildly aware of the horse inside.

it is their shared dream that binds them so strongly.
the dream of the centaur.
the perfect form, unattainable.

speaking of binds.

here comes the jockey; the pony's ears pricked up at the sound of her distinctive, clandestine tattoo against the backdoor. yes, it is safe to come in. yes, little girl, you may come play with the pony.

"did you...hrrmmhuhhrrmm...did you bring the spurs?"

breaking the rules. breaking the spell. but pony wants!

"bad horsie. ponies don't talk and i only deal with equines, buddy."

but the pony looks so sheepish,

it's a look that is all animal. it softens her. pony is forgiven.

he is, after all, a wonderhorse.

Thursday, May 5, 2011

if you came here to see the new banner... are hereby rewarded with funny pictures. 

the birdbat goes about its business, unaware that it is an abomination.

something tells me this ensign isn't going to die as quickly as the other redshirts...

cats have a weird way of showing affection, and it usually involves their urine on your clothes.