come on lines that never worked

10)you ever seen a crisp 50$ bill
9)would you like to sit down, (clear a place across the nose)
8)are thos pants made of a synthetic reflective polymer, because the refraction appears to resemble my face
7)we can go back to my mom's house
6)me and the labia, we go way back
5)ever done it in a camper
4)i just got tested, and it's all good
3)i'm leaving for the peace corps in the morning
2)we could go out, have some dinner, sex, see where the night goes
1)wanna make some hard core porn

If i was the president

i'd wear running suits to every world meeting
i'd change the word trombone to tromboner
i'd train monkees to drink and fight and then pin them against each other
in hand to hand combat, over simulcast for all the world to see

i'd fart in the elevator,and then blame it on the vice president
i'd send the military to kick your ass
i'd print money with my face on it

i'd bring our people home

naming the band

cinnimon taost
noassatal
dirty sanchez
high on the horse
oil and water
predominatly honky
ray ray's chicken
vodoo economics
moonshiners

cast your vote

languished looks longing to love

coffee shop windows steam about latte and expresso
runner girl checks her pulse and then doubles it with a quick i.v. o java
rats race to be thirtieth in line,
calmy i,
eye the extremely low neckline of buisiness-girl, the superhero coffee exec
in charge of providing her entire office with highly detailed cups of joe.

dash o cinnamin here, shot of ammeretto there.
i like my coffee like i like my women

strong and milky
evidentially, there are only twenty four people who want coffee this morning
neckline struts it outa there

my turn for gruel

she's staring at me now, asking what i deserve from her
the genius in the starbucks smock,
fed up with my lack of starbuck's terms, and the fact her rich daddy makes her wait on me,
finally hands me a scone and a natural decaf chai.
now get out sconer, she scorns.

crazy ted from the old neighborhood tries to intimidate me with a tyrade of the war befor realizing who i am- gotta buck
anything for the crazy guy who used to sleep on the feces infested grass in the middle of the ghetto.

mornings rule



starbucks is a registered trademark, and can officialy suck it with a mouth full of chocolate covered coffee beans.

todays to-do list

create a to-do list

my list of bad people/ have mercy on their souls

busdriver, rt.7
tech guy at the front desk of a community college who won't let me bring my son with me to the
computer
al frankin
destiny's child
the bwc
the bbc
guy across the street (who the fuck do you keep looking at)
angry girl at the grocers (please put the eggs on top, and calm down, for your own sake)
realty companies that overcharge students, and decieve innocent people through legal jargin
major universities that steal money openly from poor grad students

if i forgot anyone, please accept my apologies and help yourself to a big slice of kiss my ass.

to clone, or not to clone

tickle my fucking belly, it's monday. so far, everyone i have come into contact with is either very hung-over, or just a grouch. good thing i eats me spinach every morning, otherwise i'd be flexin' on some fools. eight hours of class in 95 degree heat does not sound appealing, especially when four hours are outside. i might be down for this genetic cloning stuff, if the dude will stand in on days like today, and never touch my kool aid.
he probably would, and i'd have to kill him.
if you kill your clone, does a little piece of you die with him?

warm fingers slide just below my belt.
"let me take care of you, baby. just relax." hazy pill induced fog slightly intermingling reality and fantasy. "i didn't mean to not be here." all it took was a tragedy, right.
"let me make you feel good." body loose, mind burning at a thousand thoughts a second. top thought, you need this old boy. underlying, she's been gone untill now.
"god i missed you daddy." she's laying it out thick, what could she want this time? i'm emotionally and physically tapped.
"i'll do anything you want me to do, you know that." how about be there when it's just everyday time, huh nutjob.
"baby, i want to feel you, i've got to feel you right now." soft lips trace my neckline. i missed those shivers so much.
"why won't you talk to me, i missed you so much baby, i'm so sorry, i'll take care of you."
i don't need taken care of. the solidarity just started feeling right. get away. get off me, you sucubus. i love you and you kill a little part of me everytime. get off, get off.
"what baby, what do you want me to do?"

just get off

quick biopsy into my life: kicked out at sixteen, graduated and paid for my own college, (with help from our friends at the national goverment). moved umpteen times and been through too many slums to remember- repressed me thinks. attacked twice unsuccessfully for money. once resulting in a smashed cheek, nose and face, and plastic surgery, (my head was tougher than your gun). learned numerous trades, bought numerous material goods, (and sold just as many), in order to survive. i'm not bragging, just setting up my point.

recently, with the help of a recovering idiot, i managed to chop two fingers totally off, and dig half-way through my index finger. in turn, for the past four weeks i have felt, and been dependent on the kindness and help of others. i think this is my first real shout out, so bear with me .

i want to thank God, you know, for everything.

my little boy and girl- not once scared of my horrific hand, and tenderly planting kisses on it to speed the healing process. my babies are my world.

latty and ty- you motherfuckers have always been there, (many moons), and it's truly amazing the shit we've all seen and done. thanks for the mental and physical support through all the tribulations, not just the present obsticles.

dr. cook- best hand doctor in the nation, thanks for not amputating the middle finger.

the fam in cincinnati- pool parties, booze, and early morning talks. make a player miss home why don't you.

the killer- you've done it all, including put up with an overly aggressive, pain-stricken, loud me. i lurve you much.

the builder- yep

mitz, jez, and empress- ya'll make my insides tingle, like climbing the rope in gym class.

that's it, sappy shit over. take in the love, and then send me something to make me smile. (personal appearances are encouraged).

wankster

you with the fifty cent ring tone- interupt my thinking process one more time, and the phone is headed for a very lonely place. you know who you are.

hand over fist

the bandages are off. the scars are in place, and my ring finger is shaped exactly like a penis. i'm wondering if i should get cosmetic surgery, tattoo the stub, or just leave it exposed for all the world to see.
my middle and index fingers are at about twenty percent use, and twice a week some sweet little hand therapist almosts brings my to tears by flexing and bending the stiff appendages into the form of a fist.
things my left hand miss the most:
playing the guitar
being double fisted
riding motorcycles
tweakin two nipples at once

thank you to all those who have sent loving and supportive mail