The Impressionist

I took my wife to the Monet exhibit at The Museum of Modern Art. I had the sudden urge to deficate and had no time to find a bathroom. I ducked behind one of the paintings and relieved myself on a blank canvas.

At the end of the show we attended an auction. While we both make a decent living, the majority of the items were beyond our reach.

As we got up to leave, someone paid a fortune for a "Just Found" Monet painting.

Irritating Itch

Fred's dog couldn't stop scratching its back. The doberman said, "Please Fred, do whatever you have to to stop this irritating itch."

Fred put his paper down. "No problem buddy."

He returned to the living room with a military-issued flamethrower. He fired it up and threw flame on the still-itching doberman. The dog squealed as it rolled around the carpet, eventually extinguishing the massive blaze.

Now hairless, the doberman's itch had been eliminated.

Fred smiled as he sat back down and watched the dog nibble its testicles.

The Sanctity

last night
was a marriage

of heaven and hell,
of you and me,
of blackmail,
and bittersweet romance

(you called your husband's name,
as you bit my neck)


and I can tell you darling...

the pictures were hardly this incriminating

The Girl Who Would Not Cry

rouge starshine
reflected

animates
your sleeping features

a godless beauty
somehow still mechanical
after such godless work


I think
this might as well
be Golgotha
and not just some dystopian daydream


I think
this might as well
be Sodom
and not just our bedroom



I think
that this could
be Babylon
if only not for your dry eyes

..................

The Taste Of Freedom

this era of glossy singles is over
the vinyl is cracked
and stacked

and peeling


technology has forced
salty socialism
between our lips

and just because you spit
doesn't make you an individual

FRAGMENT

She decided to cut off her finger to see how much blood would spill out.

The movies never got it right. Turns out way more blood than one would imagine flows from the stump of a severed finger. Blood everywhere. Even after she tried to wrap the wound, droplets splashed over everything and she knew she’d be finding the tiny crimson puddles for weeks to come.

And the pain.

It was excruciating. Vision gray, she’d gripped the counter by the kitchen sink with her uninjured hand and it took everything she had to not let loose with a deafening scream.

Maybe this hadn’t been such a great idea after all. She knew she’d have to blow a kiss goodbye to her dream of one day learning to play guitar, but still. Curiosity had gotten the better of her, as it often did.

Besides, she hadn’t taken off the entire pinky. Just the first two knuckles. Maybe she could still learn…

Conversation Overheard By A Beercan

Dan: Listen, I don't want submit anything. What are you going to suggest I do next, fucking research? I told you before... I'm no fag.

Robert: What does research-

Dan: Shut the fuck up Robert. You just don't understand me, your bleeding heart pussy-pow-wow-dramas may sell to those fucking cunts in New York, but I aspire to something better... I want the publishers to come crawling to me like the hungry dogs they are for any bone I throw them. And I'll tell you-

Robert: Wait... you said I could have a dollar ever time you used the C-word… and I do plan on getting rich off of this.

Dan: Here is your filthy dollar fuckface. And you know damn well you are already rich.

Robert: I know, but I really want you to starve.

Dan: I thought you were a liberal.

Robert: I try, I try.