Re: A.A.P.C. FOLKLORE, Part Forty-Three

> HarryLime wrote:
> THE SHITHOLEVILLE MYTHOS: Ode to My Slurp-puppet
> 
> "Ode to My Slurp-puppet" is an epic, humorous poem that was co-written by the members of A.A.P.C. (although Michael Pendragon and NancyGene were the primary authors) in reaction to an annoyingly repetitive post by Will Donkey.
> 
> Will Donkey made a practice of bumping his old posts to the top of the feed by re-thanking anyone who'd commented on them in the past.  General Zod (Stinky George) would aid and abet him in this practice by dropping one word comments after each of Will Donkey's posts -- to which the Donkey would invariably reply "Thanks for the nod, General Zod."
> 
> Out of a collective sense of frustration, the A.A.P.C. members took to composing a new stanza to "Ode to My Slurp-puppet" each time that the Donkey thanked General Zod for the nod.
> 
> The resultant poem ran for 1,000s of lines, far surpassing "Penny's Hat" in terms of length.
> 
> It can still be read online, although it was too long for a single post and had to be submitted in parts.



THE SHADOWVILLE MYTHOS: Ode to My Slurp-puppet
PART THREE

A Donkey raises his snifter:

"Zod,
Did I tell you my thoughts on the pussies of Black,
who let me come in and then leave and come back?
I must admit that they all had the knack
for letting me in for a tasty shack snack,
and they fluffed things up even when I was slack,
and for some I just had to grab my Kodak
camera to record just what white girls lacked,
which was muscle and bush and a dark blend cognac.

"I loves me some pussy, red, yeller, black, white…
I loves big, ol' loose poons, an' I loves young an' tight;
But coon poons are best, them gals work it just right
Just feed 'em some Ripple an' they'll fuck all night!

A Donkey makes party plans:

"Zod,
You have three days left to enjoy this earth
and in two days we'll toast your very last birth-
day with wine and drugs and my luscious girth
on top and below and we'll share the mirth
of gaming the system for all it's worth.

"And, Stinky, ol' friend, as we bugger goodbye
I'll wiggle your weenie and splooge in your eye,
If'n it ain't too unseemly, I may even cry…
Till I hook up with Jordy in Farmer Brown's sty.

A Donkey knows the value of friendship:

"Zod,
Barfly is selling off all of his art
and his table and chairs and that's a small part--
he'll be left with what fits in a shopping cart
in the parking lot of an abandoned Walmart.
He's 100 years old, with a broken heart,
since teen-aged girls know he not Humphrey Bogart,
and he never was talented and I don't give a fart,
but he gave me my brilliant poetry start.

"Why, if it weren't for Barfly, who knows what I'd be
A drunk on a barstool, a pimp on a spree,
I wouldn't have a Perky or a GED
Or a cushy career path in delivery
(Pizza, that is), anybody can see
Why all of the trolls here is jealous of me.

A Donkey sees a bright side to a seemingly sad situation:

"Zod,
Your days on this earth have dwindled to one.
It's your birthday today and tomorrow you're done.
Dirty Mike will sneak up and have his bash fun--
he'll use your old pipe or maybe a gun.
Dirty Mike's fast and you can't even run
away from Pen's curse, which now has begun,
and Friday's the day when you'll know that he's won,
and your mourners will number zero and none,
but your croaking will cause Ibish the Russian
to write a bad poem so you're even more shunned.
Do you mind if I start a ZodGoFundMe fund?

"April is coming, her fool's joke's on you
She's taken your teeth so you can't ever chew,
She's shriveled your wank so you can't ever screw,
She's grizzled your hair and your boot black's gone, too
Your breath's pronounced toxic each time that spew
Your hate screeds and slurpages of Donkey-doo;
You look like a monkey and smell like a zoo
You've got no time to spare for your days here are through.
So farewell, adios, smell you later, P.U.

A Donkey has a reckoning about a prediction:

"Zod,
Don't turn your back on old Dirty Mike,
that's when he's most likely to strike
with his pipe at your head and you won't like
what it does to your skull, like LoHo's ho-bike,
but at least you won't leer in the park at those tykes --
you'll come back as a carp in a river Third Reich.

"You live in the refuse at Shadowville's rim
Encrusted in filth while you struggle to skim
A mendicant's meal from the plates of the prim
And proper civilians who've filled to the brim
The dumpsters you dive in as though you could swim.

"You haven't a fig, and you haven't a care
You’ve lost all your teeth and you haven't much hair,
But if a kind soul has a dollar to spare
You're there with your hand out demanding your share;
While life passes by you, you weep in despair
Unable to stand with your head in the air
Meet friends eye-to-eye, match society's glare,
You will die as you've lived, and the world, unaware
That you ever existed will still be as fair
While the maggots and rodents will strip your bones bare.

A Donkey considers puzzling life choices:

"Zod,
I can't believe that you're really dead
just from Dirty Mike busting in your head.
I think I'll fill his backside with lead
'cause he robbed me of having you in my bed,
and who will make sure that I'm always corn fed,
and my poems are bumped that no one has read,
but that's just what Pendragon said,
but now Jordy's pleading we are free to be wed,
and I'd really like to move from that broken-down shed,
since D. Mike did the deed and right away fled
the cops and took off with all of the bread
that you made from your art but left the art instead.

"My Zod lies dead
Mike bashed his head
In with a metal pipe.
And I now face the empty bed
Where Zod once laid his grizzled head
And listened to the tripe
I'd warble to him like a bird,
He'd blush at every note he heard
And never groan or gripe.
He'd seem to hang on every word
And never would it have occurred
To him that every word was overripe.

A Donkey used to work at an olfactory:

"Zod,
How is it you died yet smell exactly the same
as when you lived here and had little shame
about being ripe and Stinky was your name,
and neither art nor poems was the source of your fame,
but the odor of outdoors when April 1 you came
indoors at my shed and torched the bedframe
by self-immolation and spontaneous flame
caused by booze and drugs, was it your last ditch aim
to make it look like Jordy was the lover to blame,
but Jordy's rich and has made a counterclaim,
and he's too dumb to see through my cut-to-the-Chase game.

"Your puss-oozing flesh makes an odious smell
To mix with the piss smell we both know so well
You've been rotting for years so I'm hard-pressed to tell
If you're smellier dead; either way you repel
Anyone within five hundred yards… Is that gel
Leaking out of your bunghole? You're starting to swell
Up with gas like a blowfish… too bad Michael's spell
Left you dead as a doornail and sent you to Hell.

A Donkey has literary trepidations:

"Zod,
I'm jealous of that Year of Sundays site:
I can sing and paint and eat and write.
Pen is just jealous and he banned me in spite
of my fabulous talents and always being right.
I know since you croaked, you don't see that much light
and since Dave is with you, I can post through the night
and my poems about me are always top-flight
entertainment for readers who visit despite
the outdoors and ten fingers threat of frostbite.
I'll be joining you soon, so be sure to sit tight.

"Pen's banning really was mean and unfair
But I quit afterwards and gave him a 'So there!'
And now I can act like I don't even care
What do I need with Pen when I'm Shadowville's mayor?

A Donkey rationalizes his moral quagmire:

"Zod,
Are we wrong for stealing from that bitching NG?
We do take her photos, words and poetry
and claim it's our own on some Facebook entries
'cause we don't have no talent to do things, agree?
And we're high school dropouts and she has a degree
in making us look foolish, and does it with glee,
like we can't support ourselves and get food for free,
and Pendragon says we don't have no apple trees
to make rot gut cider and they both act boujie,
and Brother Dave's check was sent back with penalties,
so it's okay to plagiarize from NG and foresee
a time when I'm famous for my poems and coffee,
but neither of us can remember more than 12 ABCs,
so stealing every day is a posting necessity.

"The truth is, we really have nothin' to say
And no words to say anything, anyway,
I'm dumb as a mule, and I cain't even bray
Without stealing from Eeyore and A.A. Mil-nay --
They say second-handing's the Dockery way.

"I plagiarize this, and I secondhand that
I'll steal your one-liners and claim 'tits-fer-tat,'
(Did someone say 'tits'? I gots my tits-from-fat).

A Donkey tries bargaining to assuage his jealousy:

"Zod,
Have we made love yet in that spooky graveyard?
Your wandering there sure made me hard
to believe you were cruising for other retards
to have sex with and, really, where were the guards
to the place since you only have stolen credit cards
and aren't you satisfied with my posterior lard?
This makes me feel like I no longer starred
in your bed on the river where we lovingly charred
those rats on a stick and you watched the schoolyard,
but if it's sex with the dead, then please disregard
and those rumors of me and the stray St. Bernard.

"Well, that bitch had a small keg of rum round her neck,
Turned out she was a he, but I said 'What the heck?'
A cooter's a cooter, a dick is a dick'
An' poontang or poochtang, it's all worth a lick
-- At least dogs don't call me a fuck-ugly Shrek..

"So, Did, let's hook up in the graveyard tonight
If stiffs can get stiffies, we'll make out alright,
I'll come in a jiffy then get out of sight
Cause spooks give me the willies
An' not just 'cause I'm white,
But that won't deter me in spite of my fright --
Because doin' dead Did is a drag queen's delight.

A Donkey yearns for the older, simpler times:

"Zod,
Those Oscar Meyer wieners made me hungry for dogs.
Not the big mangy strays that Ma used to snog,
but the juicy 12 inchers I see in travelogues
and the bite sized ones I can use to unclog
my delicate palate so I'll sing like a frog,
and I'll post the pictures on my popular blog
of me gobbling you down in the spooky, thick fog
of the graveyard where we can play fat pollywog
and since you're dead, that can be your epilogue.

"I wish I could see Jordy Chase's weiner,
That is what I'd truly like to see-ee-ee,
'Cause if I could Jordy Chase's weiner,
I'd know why Isaac wants him more than me"

A Donkey celebrates Library Week:

"Zod,
I finally finished reading a book --
it was Jane and Dick and I took a look
at the pictures and thought it should have the hook
of Jane and Dick sleeping with a schnook
like you and not some gobbledygook
about family and spelling and I also took
the story to mean that Jane was a crook
who forced that Dick to clean and cook,
but we would put Dick in our special nook.

"But look! Isn't that Ilya Spambot I spy
With his hands down his pants and a gleam in his eye?
He claims it's colitis while sending a sly
Little smile 'cross the aisle to a hot-looking guy.
And the guy smiled back! I should give this a try.

A Donkey sings of size:

"Zod,
I've now seen Isaac Chase's cocktail wiener
He emailed pics and videos to me
And now that I've seen Isaac's male-fail wiener
I can't say yours is really so pee-wee.

"Jordy's Uncle said his wiener's from Vienna
It's traveled 'round the world a time or two
and since I have a bratwurst-man antenna
I disappointedly went back to blowing you.

"My hot dog, on the other hand, is meaner
Than any other knockwurst, pound for pound;
I mean you've never seen a meaner wiener
And a keener wiener never could be found.
My wiener's known to be a bit obscener
Than any wiener seen this side of town;
It's bigger than my thumb, and somewhat greener
(This latter fact has earned it some renown).
I'll show it off to anyone who asks me,
I'll show it off to those too shy to ask;
I've shown it off to Corey at Doo-nanny
And passed it 'round just like a whiskey flask.
I like to show it off to little kiddies
I like to show it off to old folks, too;
I think it's quite the pretty little diddy
That's why I like to show it off to you.

A Donkey taps out hoof jingles:

"Zod,
I am stuck in Jordy
and Jordy's stuck in me
I’m awestruck by Jordy
'cause he will bankroll me
He holds my weight no matter what
on fingers, toes and knees
No canuck, that Jordy
Undercover, sucks on me.

"My buttbuddy has a first name
It's J-O-R-D-Y.
My buttbuddy has a second name
It's C-H-A-S-E.
Oh I love to screw him every day
And if you ask me why I'll say
That Jordy Chase sure has a way
With sticking donkeys up the 'A.'

"And I don't mean his uncle Isaac.

"Yank. Yank. Jizz. Jizz.
Oh, what a relief it is!
Yank. Yank. Jizz. Jizz.
Wait, Jordy, I've got to piss.
What' that? On you?
Okay, if you want me to.
Squirt. Squirt. Piss. Piss.
Whoops! Now Jordy's pulled out his.
Slurp. Slurp. Kiss. Kiss.
What? You wanna take a whiz?
On me? Okay.
They say it's got lots of vitamin A.
Fart. Fart. Do tell.
It's my own upper lip I smell.

A Donkey returns to his 50s musical roots:

"Zod,
I think I'd excel at those doo-wop songs.
I'll sing falsetto and can't go wrong
with the people like Jordy who like my thongs
that make me sing higher and also sarongs
wrapping my body in XXXXXXL long
and my hairy chest just like that King Kong
who climbed up the building and took what belonged
to him like with Kathy and the booze and the bongs,
and I'll sing when I finish this case of Ding-Dongs.

"There's a moon out tonight 'cause I've taken the care
To unbutton my jeans and my butt's in the air
Like a one-eyed cat smiling 'Come in if you dare.'
It's pointed at you, Zod, don't sit there and stare
But rama lama ding-dong up my derriere
Tutti frutti my booty then hop like a hare
On top of my backside -- a ten dollar fare
Is required of all riders; you've money to spare
The Shadowville welfare fund gives you your share.

A Donkey considers footwear styles:

"Zod,
I'd like to lick Pat Boone's big white buck shoes.
I thought I liked Black bucks but what can I lose
by worshiping Pat Boone and not drugs and booze
though I still drink and drug and won't have to choose
you over Jordy and hear I misuse
words such as Pen does like what's a hypotenuse,
but Pat Boone's the one that I'm looking for clues
from and I'll eat his shoes and that does confuse
me since I love you and Jordy though our posts get no views.

"Pat Boone rocks my world, his voice makes my clock tick
I'd buy all his records -- and screw Little Dick!
I've my own pee-wee, so why should I pick
A man whose own 'little man' won't do the trick?

"I'll sing 'Tutti Frutti' while waddling onstage
Folks say my gyrations will be all the rage,
I'll have the tweens shrieking in spite of my age
… Won't somebody hire me for minimum wage?

A Donkey reviews his photo collection and the back of Dave’s truck:

"Zod,
I know that you're dead but still roam
around the old graveyards and foam
at the mouth in those creepy monochrome
pictures of you like a gnome
looking for sex at Safe Homes,
groaning in drunk monotones,
and sucking trailer hitches of chrome.

"You aren't fooling people one bit
You smelly old zombie half-wit,
True, your stench was always unfit
For company and I admit
You stank like a pile of shit
Long before your spirit had quit
Its home like a bat from the Pit.

"Why can't you just lie down and rot,
Hid deep in your Potter's Field plot?
Are you looking for Lo-Ho or pot?
Are you watching me while I besot
Dirty Mike with my Donkey's love shot?
Dirty Mike thinks I'm totally hot.
And with you being dead, well… you're not.

A Donkey is clean and reverent:

"Zod,
Kids yell ho, ho, Green Giant when I take a bath
in the river that flows just down from path
to your tarp and the life I led with Kath-
y when we rightly defied her parents wrath
that she got knocked up by a psychopath
but that won't compute 'cause I suck at math
and I see myself more as a sociopath
and when I drop the leaves, scrub me with what you hath.

"We'll flop in the river, with Dirty Mike, too
We'll scrub one another, and maybe we'll screw
If Lo-Ho rides by, will a dollar, five do?
I loves me to wallow in the ol' Chattahoo
It's good for a piss or for taking a poo…
I'm dropping the soap now " Hey, boys! Woo-woo-woo!
It's cold in this river, my blubber's turned blue."

A Donkey tries to quantity:

"Zod,
How many ways can I count to thank you?
I'll count the ways, but I can't count past two
without pausing to take off a sock and a shoe
but I can get past five if you give me a clue
but much more than that, indeed, I can't do
but I thank you much for coming through
to the hobo camp, bringing a tube steak beef stew,
and your recycled bummy wine-beer-piss home brew,
and my poems that you praise even though they're pooh-poohed
by that Pen and the others who practice voodoo
and for that I will give you and Mike a free screw
down by the river called the Chattahoochoo
the final stop of brothers, stuffed cats, and Fake Jews.

"Yeah, Mike's banjo will strum and Loretta will dance
And you'll shoot your load on the one pair of pants
I can squeeze myself into, my recent expanse
Has made it imperative I refinance
My wardrobe… old buddy, I wonder, perchance
If you've any spare cash that you'd care to advance
From your welfare checks, artwork sales, government grants?

"Oh, how many ways can I thank you, dear Zod?
I thank you for slurping my big donkey rod
And my poetry too -- like I'm some kind of God…
So thanks for the nod on my rod, General Zod.
I thank you for sticking around to applaud
Each word that I write, though some might think it odd
That two friends are so tight, and might call the vice squad
When you're shooting your wad on my blubbery bod.
I thank you for helping me when I defraud
The system, the IRS, that fat truck stop broad
HC, Blackpool Jim (three steak dinners, my lawd!)
That was one scam that still makes me stand and applaud.
And thanks for your helping hand when things get hard
(And Sandy's on tour and ol' Dave the retard
Is as dead as a doornail), and for calling me 'bard'
Every time that I'm hoisted with my own petard.

A Dockery hops to it:

"Zod,
Come to my shed for the Easter Egg hunt
between my legs and my back and front.
Don't worry if I moan and grunt --
when you find the eggs, I'll bear the brunt
of explaining that I baked a bundt
cake with you in my new EZ-Bake Cunt.
No hare-less torte for you, little runt.

"My dear Lady Bunny, you know that I care
For your sweet candy kisses and marshmallow stare,
Let's breakfast at Safe House, they've donuts to spare
Then I'll fill up your basket with my chocolate éclair.

"Have you seen my shed? There's fresh straw on the floor,
It's an Easter grass bed, can you guess what's in store?
We can play 'Donkey Head' then I'll holler for more
(Like I did in Atlanta with that fat truck stop whore)
Then we'll play 'Hide the Bunny' until we're both sore
-- If you pull on my Peep, I'll make jellybeans galore."

A Donkey finds that he has long-haul Covidiot:

"Zod,
I think I lost my talent to spel
and I don't hardly know if I even can smel
you in heat or in cold when you strip and you swel
those generous buttocks that are red and foretel
the hours of passion that shoot from fat cels
in my brain when I ring that Conley cowbel
to summon you here for a night of bombshels,
when I am the farmer and you are the del,
and you lift my gut like a workout dumbbel,
and I stretch my legs like a speedy gazel,
but though I can't spel, I can artese your wel.



"You know, Zod, I wish I could sing like Pat Boone,

He's famous and rich and carry a tune

Which I can't, when I try folks say I'm a buffoon.

I've got elephant ears and a face like a goon

When my pants split onstage, people call me 'baboon,'

My voice sounds like it crawled from the local spittoon

And instead of applause, people shoot me the moon,

They cry out 'Thar she blows!' and 'Pass me the harpoon.'



"I may not be Pat Boone, but I'm all that you've got

Dirty Mike needs Viagra, Loho's gone to pot,

And Missy won't kiss if she knows you ain't got

A sawbuck to pay for her goods on the spot.

So off with them trousers, you know that I'm hot,

Though my beard is a hodgepodge of beer, barf and snot

I've got lice, fleas and ticks and a crotch full of rot,

But that's all forgotten when you're on my cot.



"My doctor says Covid is why I cain't spel,

But truth is I nebber cud spel werry wel.

I flunked outta hi schul, but I stil ken tel

That fer a blak man, Zoo Bolten had a nice smel.



A Donkey comes clean:

"Zod,
I want to confess that I stole your shoes
and your clothes and your tooth and your denture glues
and I also took home your tent with the views
of the dump and the bum-dirty Chattahoochoos
and I'm busy setting up in-person interviews
with Lo-Ho, Mike and even Ted Cruz
about your life of sin, sloth and booze
and even our tender, manlove screws,
and how you offered no good excuse
for bashing Dave into an eternal snooze,
so I took your things but why did you choose
to have all that junk but no shampoos
and I saw the pictures of the little papoose --
you were unfaithful to me so I banged your flooz-
ies and sent all to Pen to use for voodoozees.



"And I'm calling dibs on the Riverwalk trash

Without Brother Dave's Welfare I ain't got no cash,

I cain't buy me no soap, so my butt's got a rash --

Let us stroll through the park and find children to flash.



"You can sketch monkey-faces of people for change

While I'll busk my hit tunes in my best two-note range,

Who cares if the passersby think we look strange?

It's the Dharma Bum lifestyle, I wouldn't exchange

It for Donald Trump's fortune.  What's a little mange

Here and there?  We've a home on the range!



A Donkey considers relationships:

"Zod,
It's no secret that I'm attracted to Pen.
I've always known that I liked brainy men
who had talent and looks and cash now and then,
but he doesn't like me and keeps calling me Ken-
ny and I look in the mirror and just see a lumpen
fat old guy shaped like Big Ben,
and Pen has a wife and some lovely children,
while I have three losers and you with your Zen.



"Pen's handsome and virile and studly, tis true

And quite unlike you didn't escape from the zoo,

I'd so do Pendragon, where you are just doo

You're toothless, you stink, and your pants smell like poo.



"But I'm just a donkey, who's called 'Will Donkey'

And though you smell funky, it's perfume to me,

You're my little skunkie, you're hunky dory

Your monkey-faced sketches of me and Kathy

Are looking right spunky, did you wank your wee

Wiener and splooge on my hunky, chunky

Image while sketching with your left hand free?



Cupid's Arrow hits a Donkey -- A Donkey's Tail:

"Zod,
I can't decide between Pen and Edward.
They're both real handsome and I love their words
and I read them aloud though my speech is slurred
and my eyesight is gone and their pictures are blurred
but the thought of them makes my loins get gird
and I'm sorry if you are coming in third
after them but you have been interred
in that graveyard with the other jailbirds
and that they shouldn't want me is just absurd
'cause I'm big and tall and soft and furred
and the best of all the donkey herd
so they should want me no matter what they've heard.

"I'm not just Will Donkey, I'm Will Donkey Kong
I call myself that 'cause my schlong is so long,
Why it's nearly two inches, but don't get me wrong
It's limp as a noodle in soup. My ding-dong
That is, tends to droop like a soggy Fruit Loop
Though it stands up sometimes when I'm straining to poop
In the hole in my yard by the old chicken coop…
Do you think I should say things like this in this group?



A Donkey takes stock of his assets:

"Zod,
I'm Will Donkey, and I'm your Godzilla,
from my massive feet to my hair of steel brilla.
My chest hair is hiding two dozen chinchillas,
and my butt is a nest for 10 mountain gorillas,
and my gut could be port for a couple flotillas,
and I treat my ho's like a Southern Attila,
and my shed has crumbled like an old Tuscan villa,
but my brain won't retain the slightest scintilla
of facts and words and their meanings until a
person like Pen says my poems are all thrillas.

"I'm the kinkiest donkey you ever did see
With the dinkiest wonkey I wank constantly;
I swap slurps with Jordy and Old Georgie D,
But my stinkiest flunky is General Z
Who is constantly spanking my monkey for free.

A Donkey learns to code:

"Zod, my love --
They call out whiskey tango foxtrot
when I walk by, because I'm hot
and though I don't drink, a great big shot
of whiskey three times a day is not
like drinking and you know I don't dance a lot
except with North George and he is sought
at the border and the last time was caught
and put in prison to slowly rot
but that was just Pen's shit slinging plot
to ruin our lives and turn to snot
all we worked for and I think I'll boycott
the Army bases where I squat,
and I know for sure that I was taught
the alphabet as a 19 year old tot
so WTF are not English letters, I thought,
but it's possible that I just forgot
and I think I just ate my coffee pot.



"I don't know my A's or my B's or my C's

But poets like me can get by without these,

I just waddle onstage, make a dyspeptic wheeze

And some grunts, groans, and gurgles like I've got the heaves

Doing just what I please till my audience leaves.

And I didn't learn no D's or no E's, F's or G's,

My arithmetic blows, and I know no hist'ries,

But when I'm constipated, I know how to squeeze.

I don't know my H's, I's, J's, K's or P's

Or whatever letters are in between these

But I can pick ticks from my rat's nest with ease

Groom my dingleberries and scratch at my fleas,

When my nose gets all stuffed up I knows how to sneeze

But I think that I'm getting some kinda disease

'Cause my beer belly's drooping down below my knees

And there's all sorts of puss in my new BVDs.

I don't know my Q's or my S's and T's

And my W's ran off with my XYZ's,

But I am a poet and I write poetries

'Bout my dead wife, ex-lovers, pizza deliveries

How my family members all swing from the trees

Or the colors I see when I eat LSDs.



A Donkey enforces Wild Ass law:

"Zod, my steed,
I have heard that Mike has used your pudendum
to hide his money and discarded chewed gum.
Your pudendum is mine and tell him I'll come
to bash in his head and break both his thumbs --
doesn't matter how many stolen banjos he strums
or the path that he strews with stale rye breadcrumbs
to lead you back to camp where again you'll succumb
to his charms and his drugs and his stealth no-see-ums,
but I'll forgive you if you return Derundo's one drum
and bring to me all your unearned income,
then we'll ho, ho, ho with a bottle of rum.

"And what's this up your sphincter, a burnt cigarette?
Are you Dirty Mike's ashtray, or homemade gas jet?
If your butt can puff smoke, can it play a cornet?
What's wrong, little pet, there's no reason to fret
You flirt then you pout like a dime store coquette,
You're the sorriest sailor that I've ever met
And I've met my share a LeGents. You can bet
I've ridden more dinghies than a truck stop quartette.
I'm placing an ad in the Columbus Gazette
And selling my body for all I can get,
I'll be livin' the dream as next Joe Buck, yet!"

A Donkey dreams of travel:

"Zod, my pal,
I've always wanted to go to New York
and be like Joe Buck and not just a dork
in Columbus where I'm treated like beans and fat pork,
where people stick me and tell me to fork
off and STFup, which just makes me torque
my ass, which is grasping and a handy lunch spork,
but the thought of Joe Buck makes me pop my butt cork.



"So you be my Ratso, and I'll be your Fatso

I'll ride your banana, and carry a lasso,

We make a great couple, folks tell me that that's so

I'm Roy to your Trigger, and wear a white hat so

I look like a hero, though clearly a queer, oh…

You'll shout at the drivers that you're walking here, so

That we'll cut through traffic like two half ton steer; slow-

ly and steadily… keep to the rear, so

That all who look on us as we waddle near know

That I am the leader and you are my beau ho

Who walks like a lapdog attached to my yo-yo.



A Donkey takes flight:

"Zod of my delta,
My ears diverged from a head of wood,
and they'd take to the air if they thought they could,
so I now I wear only jackets with hoods.
They've grown nine yards since my eerie boyhood,
and the FAA always has misunderstood
and thinks that my butt wind is up to no good.
I can carry a load in my ass and you should
book a trip 'round the world and that certainly would
include a big drink from my engine's manhood.



"I'll take you to Timbuctoo and Biarritz

And show you who Sarah got her donkey tits

From -- nope, not from Kathy that flat-chested bitch --

My man moobs are queen-sized, let's see how one fits

Inside of your fuselage; my dangly bits

Fit tight in your cargo hold, my baggage sits

Quite snug in your cockpit; and I guess that it's

A good time to warn you that I get the shits

From swallowing -- hope you don't mind if I spits.



A Donkey aspires to be on a Wheaties box:

"Zod, general of my privates,
I think I can be a world champion gymnast.
I can flip and then flop even with my limp wrist.
I can swing and high jump and do a half twist
and land on my butt but that helps breaks the cysts
that I got from that ho and I surely was pissed
when I didn't get freebies from that haggy hair stylist
who said that my brillo was the sign of an egoist,
but I'm great on the bars and the rings and just missed
the cutoff for China but I'm on the short list
of those who will go to the proctologist
for a finger wave bend-down and he'll use both his fists!



"I'm like Bruce Caitlyn Jenner in more ways than one

I may even get some regendering done,

They say guys like 'em big in the breast and the bun

And I'm plump and I'm juicy and must weigh a ton!

My sports days were over before they'd begun

I huff and I puff if I jump, bend, or run,

I sweat like a pig lying out in the sun

But if I'd been an athlete, you know I'd have won!


A Donkey considers modes of transportation:

"Zod,
Instead of flying, I think I will swim --
I'm sleek and strong and don't need no gym,
and I'm Flipper but have these muscled long limbs.
Get on my back, we're a pseudonym
of Poseidon and Neptune and an antonym
for all that is manly but that’s the prelim
for us outdoorsmen, who have to skim
money from people like that handsome Jim,
who probably swims -- damn, I wish I were him.



"I probably can't swim, but that's just how it goes

I don't travel anyway; so I suppose

It doesn't much matter what mode I propose,

If I gets me to Waffle House before they close

I reckon my life smells as sweet as a rose.

I wish I'd been born Jim, but then God only knows

Why He gave me these big ears that flap to and fro

And a beer gut so big that I can't touch my toes

Or a head full of Brillo, or second-hand clothes

When I go to the beach, people yell 'Thar she blows.



A Donkey shows his true face:

"Zod,
I am thinking of shaving away my gray beard.
Do you think me clean-shaven will make me look weird
as I've had it since the day it done first appeared
when I was in first grade and the kids there all cheered
'cause I got out of jail and then done volunteered
to clean up the toilets with my beard and my ears
but the principal laughed and pointed and sneered
and said I was 19 and he was a'feared
that I'd been there too long and had thus commandeered
all the desks for my bare feet and also had leered
at the girls in the class who after that disappeared
so I found a hallway and Southern engineered
a special-ed shed where I read old dog-eared
comics and porn and my Ma and Pa teared
up that I had stayed in school and done persevered
20 years for a GED and my juvie record was cleared,
so you think it's about time for me to be sheared?

"I think being shaven will make me look young,
I know for a fact that my jowls are well hung,
Though my teeth all turned black and my breath smells like dung
The hos know my dong plugs their holes like a bung.

A Donkey is jealous and wistful:

"Zod,
You've been cheating on me with your Dirty Mike friend.
Do you think you can do that and it not be the end
of our torrid affair and attempts to go spend
my Brother Dave's check and now I have to amend
my plan to sell poems for Jordy's Uncle's weekend
in Vermont with the syrup and many adjectives penned,
but you hurt me by sleeping with Mike and pretend
that a ménage à trois is the new hobo trend
and you assume for him our special backbend,
plus you stole my coffee, a Dave-Roast-Toasty blend.

"How could you choose some other man over me?
I'm handsome and virile and still sixty-three,
My donkey-dong's flaccid, but just wait and see
A year from now I'll get Viagra for free.
Dirty Mike's got the cooties and smells like spoiled cheese
He's got crabs, ticks and head lice and all kinds of fleas,
His boils go 'Pop!' if you give them a squeeze…
Oh, that's right, you've already got all of these.

Every Donkey mourns in his own way:

"Zod,
I was shattered to hear that you and Mike drowned,
but I've seen you go down without making a sound.
I'm the best lay you had if you count pound for pound,
and you said you could swim so I find it astound-
ing that you couldn't float and still haven't been found,
but maybe the fact that you both were rope bound
made it hard to tread water and the nets that were wound
around your heads plus the rats that were browned
to a crisp over fire at your littered campground,
and it reminds me of times when we loved to horse around
and we'd be uber sexy in Nelly's tight gowns,
but you drowned and I'm stuck just walking to town.

"You died in the buff like a two-dollar whore
And now we can't play hide the wiener no more,
At least till your carcass is beached on the shore.
You loved Dirty Mike 'cause he strummed his banjo
And he cummed on your bum when he gave you a blow,
Now the Chattahoo's scummed and the hobos can't go
In without getting Zod slime all over their toes.
The catfish are dying, and well I suppose
The Board of Health agency's going to close
The communal bathtub for pissbums and hos
And I won't have no place to launder my clothes.

A Donkey learns about fingerlings:

"Zod, the Nimrod,
Those things that you catch in the river aren't fish,
though the way Mike prepares them sure is delish.
They're brown and they float and they'll readily squish
between your fingers and toes if you step on the mish-
mash of the dirty, muddy shore or are reading Ibish,
and I'm sorry you drowned and are now in a dish
with some soap and a scope and a trip up to Mich-
igan but you mean more to me than some souvenir kitsch,
and per request, I'm sending you to Pen's Make a Wish.

"There's round fish and brown fish and yellow fish too
There's hard fish and soft fish and runny fish goo
There's large fish and small fish to throw in the stew
There's so many fish I don't know what to do
I can fry them or bake them or broil them, too…
But however I cook them, they still taste like poo.

"Why 'taint fit to bathe in the river no mores
With all of them fish pouring out of the sewers,
Ibsh says it's them feminists, Mike blames the whores,
While Jordy blames Trump and the corporate-backed wars…
Whoever's to blame, them fish clogs up my pores
And caused me to break out in unsightly sores
But I ain't got no money and cain't go to stores
So I'm fishin' for food on the Chattahoo's shores.



A Donkey indigests:

"Zod,
I hate to tell you but those trash tater tots
have swollen my tongue and my tooth turned to rot
and I dug 19 holes just so I could go squat
and moan and groan that my guts hurt a lot
and it might be from cooking in that old lead-lined pot
that you found abandoned in a graveyard parking spot
and the food is making my nose run to snot
and I'm thinking it might take a good old gunshot
to save me from forming more fatal blood clots
and no one will tell me just what disease I've got
and Pen's curse is looking more real than we thought.



"Who'd have thought dumpster diving could make a man sick?

We always chase off all the rats with a stick.

Does it really matter that they get first pick,

When we tear of the nibbled bits?  We're pretty slick.

Hey, look at these raisins I found -- plump and thick!

There must be a pound of 'em -- grab 'em up quick!

I've wanted some trail mix and they'll do the trick;

And they'll make a good side dish for rat-on-a-stick.



A Donkey has comfort food issues:

"Zod,
I spied you and Mike kissing down by the river
in flagrante delicto and it made my butt shiver,
but it doesn't take much for my body to quiver
with the fat and all that but you Indian-giver
who wants me to donate a part of my liver
and to think of those pizzas I didn't deliver
but brought them to you just so you could relive her
(LoHo's) life as a slut but you continue to dither
and I could eat a whole pie and not just a sliver.



"You know I've been wondrin' where did LoHo go

She don't ride her bike by the river no mo'

The blowballs have all gone to seed so I know

That Spring's come and Dirty Mike strums his banjo,

But where's the stoned ginger to put on a show?

I got me five bucks an' I got me some blow

Missy just upped her price an' I ain't got the dough

To piss it away on some high f'lutin ho;

An' One Drum Derundo says Sandy's a no

So where'd LoHo go, that's what I wants to know?



A Donkey longs for a summer vacation:

"Zod,
I wish that Columbus had a lake
where I could relax and take a break
from all of the stress from trolls who take
a shot at me which makes me ache
because my art I'll not forsake
but you will see my moobs aren't fake
when I swim, they float and bob and shake
and we'll sing that Jonas song about cake
on the beach or make our own clam bake
and I will be your pubic sand rake
and you can paint like William Blake.
Think Edward will send us $50 for a steak?"



"Maybe I'll camp out with you at the dump

I'll lie down beside you and laugh while you hump

On my leg like the dog that you are, then shout 'Jump!'

And 'Roll over!,' and 'Bark!,' and I'll paddle your rump

Should you fail to obey. Then we'll sit on a stump

And make fun of the rick folks like old Donald Trump;

Make believe you’re a car, I'm your gasoline pump

And I'll fill you up till my till my hose starts to slump.



"We'll picnic on crumpets fished out of the dumpster

Behind Dunkin' Donuts, or maybe you'd prefer

To lie in the sunshine while smoking a reefer.

I'll write you a love song 'bout frankincense and myrrh

Which you'll slurp all over and call me a master

Of imagery, metaphors, words, rhyme and meter,

Then reach for your toes while I whip out my peter --

I'll call you my Kathy, you'll call me Loreeter

Our place in the sun will be all the more sweeter

When Dirty Mike stops by plugs in his tweeter

And plays on his guitar while you rim my sphincter,

We'll all have a laugh when I let out a stinker

Right square in your face; then I'll call you a twink for

The way you act gay when we're sharing a drink or

Seven before getting thrown in the clinker.



A Donkey weighs the pros and cons of love:

"Zod,
More and more, I find that Pen so attractive
to me and although we've been mostly combative,
he is handsome and poetic and so I am active-
ly seeking his favor by proposing a pact if
he can see me as more than an autodidact whiff
of garbage when I'm ignoring a silly old poem tiff
and the nutritious steak dinners we got when I stiffed his
friend of $50 when you were housing resistive,
but Pen doesn't trust me and what would I not give
for his regard and love plus you don't have long to live.



"I just sent an email to Pen.

But my gmail returned it again.

He marks it as 'Spam,'

More partic'ly 'Canned Ham'

Or a slab of 'Pork Butt,' now and then.



"That PJR's good looking, too.

And Peter's a dick through and through,

I sure like to stare

At his poofy red hair

But he thinks I'm a tub of pork stew.



A Donkey joins Ancestry.com to find his seeds:

"Zod, my soul and my inspiration,
I know Jordy's Uncle was born simpleminded,
while I was born simply and always was minddead
and you were born poorly because no one reminded
your ma to drink deeply from that dented mug of pure lead
to get rid of you before the Buffalo crimefeds
caught up to your family, and you all had to done fled
to Columbus where they learned that everyone is inbred
with parents and siblings and cousins and pin-heads,
which is why you say that to Pen my beloved,
because pin-heads are Sulzbachs and were born in a woodshed.

"I think that my dad was a dog
(Either that or old Farmer Brown's hog),
Mom got porked by a poodle
-- A canine canoodle --
And now I've got a face like a frog.

A Donkey expands his type:

"Zod,
I'm also attracted to that sock-puppet Cujo.
He has a good job so he must have some dough --
if I beg and I whine, would he send me some so
we could dine every evening at the new Steak and Ho?
Don't worry -- you're still my number one beau,
but I'm worried that Cujo has a gun and ammo
and might secretly attend my big sold-out shows
or send a New York friend of that handsome Coco
to berate and correct me before I get to my gizmo
to post at AAPC for help from North George and Jordo,
or Cujo'll demand I play guitar, and you know
I can't do that but I can type a repeated hello.

"Cujo says he can sing karaoke
I do too, but my voice can be croaky,
I plunk down fifty cents
To sing at LeGents
And the fellas all give me a pokey.



A Donkey just wants to be loved:

"Zod,
Why do people hate me so much?
Most women, the poets and even the Dutch
make fun of my face and my life and it's such
a cruel joke because I have a light touch
in writing and never use rhymes as a crutch.

"I can see that they're jealous of my manly form
and how I can instantly write and brainstorm
a cento or sonnet or even transform
a Spenser old poem into Southern that's torn
from the streets of Columbus the day I was born,
and I've been a success at fluffing your porn,
but I won't let others taunt and shoehorn
me into new shoes and pants not well-worn.



"Why does everyone think that I'm dumb

Or treat me like rancid pond scum?

I'm a bastion of wit

While they're all slinging shit

Yet they say I'm as dumb as they come.



"Why does everyone think I'm a bum?

I know you are, but I still get some

SSI from the Feds

Plus some pretty cool meds

Just for provin' my brain has gone numb. 


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