Long Lost Ramones Lyrics #1: "I Wanna Wear a Bunny Suit" (to the tune of "I Want To Be Your Boyfriend")

Hey, little girl
I wanna wear a bunny suit

No little girl
I mean I wanna rabbit suit

Why you laughin' at me?

This rabbit suit is the key!

Why you laughin' at me?

I just gots to be me,

that's why I wear a bunny suit!

Praying Mantis of Atlantis

Part I: "Praying Mantis of Atlantis" (a jump rope song, sung by fourth graders at Northeast Elementary)


"Praying Mantis

of Atlantis

Everything you chant is

a can't-diss,

gotta-kiss,

ever-lovin' honey bliss.

In your space ship

you eat cool whip

mixed with prune dip

Yumm yumm good"


Part II: "Spoken Word Interlude" (performed by Tim Curry)


"You are the Queen

of all Atlantis

You are here to find your lost brother

in Kentucky.

He fled inland.

Can't you see that?

He fled inland.

Never wanting to be found..."


Part III: "Wild Cow", (sung by former Journey lead singer, Steve Perry)

"...He's a cow now

wild in the woods.

Yes, I said a wild cow now.

He has no earthly goods.

Dontcha know he's a cow now?

And he's lookin' for a wife.

But all he's found

through all his strife

is a rusty old

ginzu steak knife..."


Part IV: "Cows Haven't Hands" (sung by Neil Patrick Harris, to the tune of "Slipping" from Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog)


"....He'd use it to kill himself

spread some insurance wealth

but it's too rusty


It'd fall apart in his hands

So this is where things stand:

Our bull's still lusty


For a moo cow with udders hanging low to the ground

But cows don't have hands

So "How to grope titties?" will confound

Him, break him down he's

Tipping!, Frat Boys are tipping him down!"


Part V: "Bovine Insect" (a jump rope song, sung by fifth graders at Northeast Elementary)

"Bovine Insect

(God's choice elect)

do a gut-check:

No Slant Rhyme!"

“The Burn Ward Arsonist” part 1 of 3

1
--




The crusty old madam eyed up William Tenor skeptically, her webbed fingers absently twirling around a chewed up Bic fountain pen as she appraised him.

“You certainly look the type.” She finally admitted to him, her voice every bit as thin and raspy as he would have expected from such a creature.

Willy certainly couldn’t disagree with that, the “looking the type” bit… although he had to admit he wasn’t exactly sure what “type” of help this monstrously of a whorehouse frequently employed… he was relatively confident that his weaseley little red moustache and three-piece off-white pinstripe suite fit the bill quite nicely.

He followed the old madam around the back, past moldy water coolers and tacked up Giger prints and up to a door that read “Fetishists for Hire”.


…


Inside the sparse pink waiting room Willy cold already feel the cold pangs of anticipation, that, and his growing erection. The madam took no notice of him or his miniscule cock as she sat on one of the few imitation ivory barstools arranged in a nonsensical pattern about the odd little room. Willy sat too, waiting, his hands over his lap.

Finally, his name was called. And via a scum-ridden monitor, in a crowded room full of all sorts of other sorted “types” everything was explained.

“Fetishists for Hire” was set up to provide “service” to the hideously undesirable, but that service went far beyond mere sexual intercourse… hell, almost any starving hooker would suck off a pair of Siamese Twins for a crack rock (as the video [narrated by a tired sounding Billy Zane] put it)… but would that hooker ever truly worship them…. worship their deformities…no, only someone like Willy could do that.

Willy Tenor smiled, for he knew he had found a job in these difficult times.


...

LINCOLN'S ASSASSIN MY FACE

Abraham Lincoln woke up. He had had that dream again. The one where he is shot in the head by that squid with the giant breasts. One minute he’s looking at some slippery slimy cleavage, thinking about sticking his flesh-pistol in there and then the next minute BAM his brains are splattered all over a theatre balcony.

He was glad the dream was over. He got out of bed, making sure not to disturb his wife. She was a light sleeper. She was down to eighty pounds and blind. She was gradually turning into a mole. Lincoln was convinced that it was those goddamn confederates who were behind it. Was nothing sacred to them? It was his WIFE, goddamnit!

Lincoln walked to the corner of the room and looked down into his spittoon to make sure that his birthday cake was still there. It was. A soft and sugary rectangle covered in gooey phlegm provided by the Chinese prostitutes he hired. He’d eat it later.

He went downstairs, careful not to disturb his kittens who were busy playing poker. Those bastards were always gambling. And now they had taken up smoking pipes, too.

In the kitchen Lincoln made himself some breakfast: two hairy eggs and a glass of donkey milk. Shit, that stuff was good.

He was too busy chewing loudly so he didn’t hear me sneak up on him. I put the pistol to his head and then whispered, “This is for John, you bastard!” and then BAM-BAM-BAM. A bunch of presidential rice-krispie treats splattered across the kitchen.

His wife ran down the stairs but instead of attacking me, she ran outside and dug into the ground. She had a nice ass for a mole. I’d like to stick my flesh-pistol in there, I thought. Why not?

I walked up to her and said, “Sic semper tyrannis.”

She stuck her ass up out of the hole and said, “Where’s the beef?”

I stuck my manhood inside her, answering her question with a forceful thrust. God bless America.

In the Depths

Young girl, stay away from the big, brown river,

Young girl, stay away

For those that go down there, they go down forever

And bid the surface goodbye.

In the river, I threw lots of plastic

Candy bar wrappers and frisbees

And sometimes a ballcap would fly off my head

On days when it got very windy.

And the garbage there gathered and made a decision

Perhaps because I granted it written permission

And said it wasn't garbage

But a dragon.

In the presence of a priest and a notary.

So there's a tincan dragon with bottlecap eyes

And big canring arms

And he talks honeyed lies as he strangles ducks, geese and fishes

Saying "come here and I'll grant you three wishes."

And when you do

(And you probably will, no matter what I say)

I'll feel sorry for you

Since you'll slave your life away.

He'll make you his bride

And keep you down there

To iron his socks and his underwear,

Thanks to your foolish pride

Since you ventured outside

(And don't tell me you won't

Cause I know that you will

It's in your eyes I can tell)

And went to the big brown river

Where that dragon will keep you forever.

Stinky House (song, to be sung to the tune of "Jingle Bells")

Chorus

Stinky House
turds of mouse
pile up every day
Momma stays up every night
to sell a cyber-lay-ay

(repeat chorus)

Verse

Chatting on the 'net
with some guy from L.A.
Momma thinks that I don't know
she puts up pics for pay

But clicking of the keys
revealed the gruesome sight
I need clean clothes but mom's a ho
with airbrushed cellulite!

Chorus

Gynophobia

...

every second
is an hour

every hour
is a lifetime


the wet
warmth
of human flesh

was once a blanket

and now I shudder in the cold


pain is merely a distraction