kayakBluE99

1.

I was the dashing rogue who tap-danced through your doorway in manta ray boots acting like he and Dick Nixon out of San Clemente was, like, tight in the buddy-buddy way, or worse, more lewd, who knew? 

LOL and WTF duffle-up along with us, am I right or 

United Arab Am-I-Rights?  

Have I got these Gucci shoes on too tight? 

Does Neolithic man still cry out in the night? 

It took me ten years to learn to kick a can with a spoon. Crawfish in your underpants? Then we shan’t be accepting you back into the tent, and you’re two months owing on rent. Blimey, blimey.

2.

I was a military experiment from the get-go but also unfortunately a stagecoach wino and scapegoat for those who refine oil, like my pa, riding side-saddle to God. My gimmick is ridic when I throw the lit match into the oil slick. Hindustani upgrade on the reg, overshooting the relaxed calendar of official relaxation, already brazenly in arrears in the preordination, is this here your surcharge, honey, under the Sony Playstation?

Riddle me this, co-worker, is that your piss in the thermos I dearly miss? 

Is this your idea of a functional ham sandwich? 

Next time you pass me by try not to scrape your undercarriage.

Stopping me in my tracks like I were anthrax is a cheshire cat checking facts. 

I throw down sawdust and encamp myself in the terminal building, counting to one hundred. Pill-popping, pip-pipping Penelope awaits her Odysseus…or does she? I’m a little bashful, all and all, even when I'm having a ball, so why did I hand my little pink puckered starfish to four unfeeling prep school assholes who should be more than sufficiently satisfied with beaver? Is it the holes like cigarette burns in the ozone layer? Something ado about my hair?!

3.

I went grocery shopping with the Marquis de Sade and he came out carrying a cabbage, slobbering. He’ll stick his quill whither he will. I have an appointment with celestial anointment, driving on the wrong side of the road like a Brahman bull ‘cause I feel impenetrable and enlightened and all my sensations and sensitivities feel like they's heightened. 

This isn’t a soap opera, it’s just plain old soap…if hardly for the likes of you. Come back when you’re dressed less like the pope and no longer committed to rocking the boat. My baby, she’s a trough full of offal, prognosis naturally isn’t fuckin’ hopeful. I’m not usually boastful but: 

I’m in some kind of torpor and I...

I’d like to offer up my aubergine with a side of leeks

then set up a sting and see who peeps. 

One day life will be a game where nobody any longer cheats; 

try to be a little more sly with your crib sheets and little 

bookie notebook, 

my sweets. 

Try not to cook the cook—

4.

In pulchritude and lassitude I was nevertheless the lad who could 

not be fooled even as he was forever overruled by roaming bands 

of cock-blocking fools—what is the hour of your appointment 

with His Highness? Sorry, I was smoking a blunt and 

now here we suddenly find us:

SocksCrates and Owlcibiades!!