I have not, and I will not eat

the last of the ramen

That line break was ridiculous

and meaningless

I hate poetr

y

Save Point

What You do when you die

Doesn't count towards your life

A lot of people aren't aware of this

So they spend their time kneeling and praying

And not enjoying the time they have to punch

God directly in the face for taking so long

To make everything right

You can't do it ever.

Hunter's never stay married for long, they belong to the wilderness.

I'm sorry you're allergic to Octopus,

But damn it, I hunted this one myself.

And if there is one rule I live by,

it is we eat what I hunt!

I Wish We'd Never Met

When I asked to come

up to your apartment

I wasn't sure about it.

Because of the way you look.

I'd sobered up since the bar,

And I was less convinced,

That you were a seven,

You moved down

to a six or even a four.

I know I'm shallow like that.

But now I know,

You're just as ugly

as me,

on the inside.

And that's what really matters.

That Bozo

When I was little my Mom

Told me never to trust clowns

She said they were evil,

lying, cheating, sons of bitches,

and they were awful in bed.

That last part confused

Me as a child.

But as you can imagine

She was disappointed

When I followed

In my father's footsteps

She always hated that Bozo.

The American Family

I don't want to

open this jar of

pickles for you.

So stop asking.

Also I want a divorce.

And Your Mother called,

She's got Lupus,

And she's disappointed

With her life.

Harsh

"I Wish You Didn't Exist

So That Something Useful

Could Exist Instead of You"

I always thought my

Eighth grade math Teacher

Mr. Wong,

was a little harsh,

When he wrote that

on my quizzes.

Sometimes he'd just pass me notes

Saying things like

"You're the Worst mistake

God EVER made,

and I'm counting Hitler"

Now that I'm an adult,

I use a calculator,

and I vote against educational funding,

because it is cruel.

The Way Most Stories I Tell Go

Remember last week?

Yeah me too.

Zooked

My Uncle Ben was a weird guy.

He would take us to the lake,

To go fishing, in winter.

He would yell at us for hours to catch fish.

We always tried our hardest,

but we never caught any.

It is really hard to catch fish,

When your imaginary Uncle,

Is yelling at you.

Sometimes I wish my parents

never left me in Nebraska.

Stratego

A couple of weeks ago I received an eviction notice.

They had the wrong name and address,

But I moved out anyway just to be safe.

Some people say I'm too cautious.

When they say that I slap them,

and tell them that I take risks.

But that's a lie.

Hunting Porpoises

The Stutz Bear-Cat was the most

horrifying,

evil,

Automobile

That was ever made.

Part Bear, Part Cat

It could reach speeds up to what ever it was chasing,

and then lose interest.

Only a small portion of the population

ever bought them.

The cars were used,

mostly for hunting porpoises.

About Giraffes

A surprising amount of Giraffes

Can't spell their own names.

They are mostly illiterate anyway.

A lot of them try to get by on their looks and street smarts.

But in today's world that's just not going to cut it anymore.

Just Like Ansel Adams.

When I was little I used to

cover my bedroom wall with boogers,

that I picked myself.

and I'd say "I'm an artist! finally!"

Just Like Ansel Adams.

Madam Currie's Complaint

It was simple really.

Her Complaint was so simple.

"These radiation burns sure hurt... ouch."

If I Were President This is What I Would Say

Well Mz. I'm sorry I dropped your baby.

You really shouldn't have ever decided

That I was competent enough to hold

A baby covered in motor oil.

Really, that's ridiculous.

To The Man in the Ten-Gallon Hat, even though He doesn't own any Cattles.

You might like the way I talk,

Because I mimic you.

If you've noticed I use the phrase,

Ya'll more often

More often than I ever intended.

But it seems to make you happy,

and that way you won't beat me up.

Hooray.

Come On Winter Get Here Quicker

I like it in the winter

When girls where their coats

And hide their hair under little hats,

As if to say no, man you can't touch that.

You can't have that.

And that's alright with me because,

Bitch has ugly hair anyway.

... You know what I'm saying.

not finished

Somewhere from the east a note stirs the early morning air,

Even though to me, here in this place, it is still night,

Everything I've said sounded so much more profound before I said it,

So I'm making a new resolution, I'm only going to start to say things,

I will never finish my thoughts, and the profound depths they reach,

As they hang endlessly in the air, strung up with fishing line,

Will make it seem as if these things I haven't said were the only things

Ever worth saying, at all.

Thank God For Guns.

Foils and sabers stopped being impressive,

When gunsmiths invented the revolver.

Why bother twirling towards your opponent?

Instead spin the chamber, and let the grace

Of a single shot...

Revolvers are still in fashion though,

in some circles it is the only manly way to dance,

But mainly it is all about magazines these days,

or clips.

Which seems so effeminate for

phallic things like guns,

To revolve and twirl,

and clip things from magazines.

If you stop listening all the way,

when people talk about guns,

You might think that a fourteen year old girl,

is making a collage of all the things that sparkle,

Rhinestoned purses and a nice pair of italian shoes,

Pasted next to smith and wesson,

and winchester's casings.

Imagine how girly we'd be

if we still fought with swords,

and wore tights,

and gabbed to each other

about our powdered wigs.

Thank God for Guns.

chicken

Melodiously the I,

indeed the very eyes

that stare me back in the mirror,

that you know so well,

ceased to exist sometime ago.

And in their place.

A new despondency formed.

With a great crash it fell,

Like a hatchling it falls from the nest,

Away from care or worry.

And even now it ceases to care about anything,

But why it is on the ground.

And what would be nice to eat,

at around noon.

Waste

I'm trying to struggle for nothing,

I want to be a heretic screaming towards nirvana,

On a burning rocket train of erasure.

I want to cease being myself, and even

Remove the idea of myself,

I will be erased from history,

in a backwards moving wave,

An ebbing tide,

that puts everything right.

And the twenty dollars I lost when I was ten

will be found.

And be put to good use.

A Position Towards The Edge of My Bed

It is the angle of my stare,

As I wait for the night to come to a close,

A glance to the left reveals bars of the shuffling dawn,

Fluttering through my curtains, until

I succumb to the sequenced arrangements

That have foretold the sequence of images,

Which will soon be shown to me by myself.