The Twatters Prison

Here lies the old twatters prison,
The old steel gates that shake
And the old steel men that shake them.
There lies the old guard,
Unclenching his fists and releasing the long,
Overdue shadow of grief over the long,
Overdue souls of the inmates.

The men themselves feel not,
They have gone too far without feeling
Their lymph nodes and
Their lymph tails and
Their rectal itches.

They will pass unnoticed through the annals of history.
Their stories will not be sung nor read nor danced.
They will die alone.
For to twat is to subject oneself to the lowest form of misery.

For twatting, my brother...
Is the ultimate sin.

The Eventual Design

I cried that night

because the wind was broken

because our voices had spoken

of the eventual design.

We killed the hominid shaped dummies

and shipwrecked the old-timers,

kicking survivors like "we ain't one of you"

I stole a minute from the time farce

and stole a corner from my house's smallest room (mine)

And I cried like tomorrow was the last time.

And I cried.

Hump Day Haiku Vol. 9 (Written by Smackmeal Fritz)

Donglings! My fav snack!
They're like little schlongbites. Yum!
Come on! Eat mine out!

Hump Day Haiku Vol. 9

Nine nude shamans

Gently show us love is real.

They do it with rain.

Hump Day Haiku Vol. 9

Mangrope swamps sound fun!
I'd love to go to one, Tod,
but they're long extinct...

Underwood Typewriter 2:14

As the blues flew down from heaven,

The men held their noses and balls,

Great job.

Kill me a good ol' prize hatchling.

Kill the monkey face, ball.

The Crimean War exceeded all hopes of man.

It blew the balls off champions,

It burnt a hole in a weathered oak.

When winter froze,

The families went north.