poetry? fork poetry! bwaahaaha!

Poetry? Fuck poetry! Haahaahhahahahah… I am bored.

All in green my love went riding… on a big ol’ donkey with testicles the size of softballs, which looked like some kind of veterinary emergency. I was all like “Dude… there’s something wrong with your ass!” but he totally took it the wrong way. Sadly, he went home and burned those green velvet breeches…

Because I could not stop for Death… I kindly apologized next time I ran into him in line at Starbucks. Apparently he’s a triple soy no-foam sugar free hazelnut latte kind of guy. I never would have thought. I thought he was more of an black coffee and cigarettes kind of guy. I never thought the suburbs would corrupt him like this.

Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons, I have measured out my life with coffee spoons… but then I realized how pointless that whole enterprise was. Fuck coffee spoons, man! I’m moving up in the world… forget coffee spoons. These days, all the kids want their Jonas brothers and their crack pipes instead. So, I’m designing a line of Jonas Brother’s crack pipes. I’m gonna make a ton of cash. Jealous much, beetches?

My candle burns at both ends. It will not last the night… But Sweet and Holy Mother of Fuck in a Pickup Truck… I’m getting sloppy drunk tonight!

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I–I took the one less traveled by… and… well… I don’t really want to talk about it. Let’s just say that I had no idea that a human being could do that with a squid. There are some places that tentacles should NEVER EVER EVER go, and some things that people should NEVER EVER EVER talk about. I’m in therapy. With time, I’ll probably be able to love again…

I have eaten the plums that were in the ice box and which you were probably saving for breakfast… Sorry about that. How would you like to suck on these plums, bitch? Bwaaahaahaaa!!!

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan- A stately pleasure-dome decree… Where Alph, the sacred river, ran Through caverns measureless to man Down to a… really big neon sign that read LIVE NUDE GIRLS, DONUTS & CHICKEN!!!  Thanks Kubla Kahn… thanks to all of the time that my husband spends at your stately pleasure dome “gentleman’s establishment”, we’ve relocated to a van down by the so-called sacred river. Thanks a-fucking-lot.

And… I’m done. I’m tired and I can’t think of any other poems to bastardize up with my Heidiness. I need fodder for my amusement. Maybe I’ll rewrite the 9 Satanic Statments(!!!) into something more outHeidilandish. That’s gotta be more fun than describing my family vacation to Uranus.

I’ve heard an astrologer (not my buddeh Jeremy Jebus) refer to it as yur-in-us rather than your-anus. Urine-us. Haw-haw! It’s still funny. Maybe we should just rename it Mortimer and be done with it, eh?

And… my nonsense is done here. Please enjoy the refreshments, but remember… byob. These are hard times, mthr fckr. (I am trying to conserve vowels)