Thursday, June 30, 2011

the pouteen we just wrote but couldn't post b/c blogger wasn't working

Tony: What is this life? Who knew I was a ho-mo? I didn't. But now I know.

Brangelina: Can't believe you sent me that letter. i WILL reject. I'm in a supersonic plane. I'll land somewhere in the mid-Pacific.

Ton-a-rone: All I can think about is the colon. So today I was walking around the lower east slice and I saw a map maker who sold me a thing or two. He actually felt pretty bad!

The helicopters were whirring.

WE've lost our center. The laterals, they've taken the yokes. I can't but cry at the whirry surface. EGADZDZXDXDDXXXD, Hello? How can I be a professional?

I was a hired hand. In my resume I noted my ability to pleasure. Intimate
Intimate. I enjoy intimate pleasure.

We've reached this point at sea-current. Corpuscular fucking breasts. Spin that globe!!!!!!

The hairy proprietor of the smoke shop stoop me up. I thought I had a date at the sea The angry sea. He said to me, "Vrrooooooooooorrrrrrrmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm."

I give up. Next time I go to the dentist, I give up. He'll take my teeth. Fine.

Corcoran, they are my real estate broker?

Saturday, June 25, 2011

Le Pouteen the Poem

The driver's lost control.

He just took a pill of pure H20.

He fuckin' crashed into the grocery cart.

Why am I here anymore I don't know.

Chop chop, Filth!

Friday, June 17, 2011

Notes From My Commute Part 1 (of a 8,234 part series)

A Japanese approximation of the New York City subway system.

Today, on my daily commute from SpaLIta up to the DMZ part of Midtown (located betwixt the Grand Central County-area and the urban haven of Times Sq.), a large Caribbean (I think) man in a freshly-pressed white suit and sunglasses, holding a tape recorder, microphone, and professional-looking headphones that he pressed to one ear as recordists are known to do, made the train his own recording studio and proceeded to sing/rap about, as I gathered, tsunamis, "woman in bed," and god and presumably record a track as well. I read a New Yorker article about Corey Arcangel (sp?). Was a nice little article about lite, poppy art until mention was made of the young artists bout of cancer. There i slid against youthful mortality and a chilling shadow cast over me. Earlier, I had slipped on some Joanna Newsom. To relax.

Now That's A Shitty Sandwich!

Where can I get a pointer like that?

Thursday, June 9, 2011

Breaking news: Black Eyed Peas Cancels Summer Concert, Leaves Fans Wondering, "Where's the Love?"

Sunday, June 5, 2011

The pouteen written from the formerly trendy bar


Non-narrator: I really don't have much of a frame of reference.

Mashina seks: the only thing I think about is covert cock and as well the times we spent!

Jason o'stephanie: I'm literally quaking in my boots!

Mashina sex: I have meth in my suitcase. I need to unload.

Jason O'Stephanie: That sounds suitcase is full of C4.

The devil said that something had happened?