where did she goooo?
…
mah luuuv-ly?
ah wanna nooooo…
wh-r do u whar do u goooo?
“what?”
i’m talkin’ ‘boute that one renter,
you know,
with the smokin’ hot bod
and the mini pincher dog,
who we only ever saw
when they’d test the fire alarm?
the babe, not the dog.
h-h-h-ho-ho-way
h-h-h-ho-ho-way
“who’re you
yammering about now,
hm?
i told you the girl at Jasper’s funeral was
probably twelve.
it’s the GMOs in the food:
that’s why rule of sevens, dude.”
always with my head in the clouds
thinking out loud
at work and on the couch.
sometimes i cry
but it’s only fleeting
when i remember in whose bed i’m sleeping.
even though the sheets are Gluckstein Gode,
the floor still feels good after i’ve shot my load –
every day, waiting to explode
then collapse into dark of the shared abode.
i can’t even watch Married With Children anymore.
He was a dirty Boy. Hot on the heels of his shift, he reclined in his death-trap on four wheels, cruising the back-streets at 110 k with his high-beams on riding up some poor helpless Honda’s ass, scratching, couldn’t stop scratching. His Mom reminded him yesterday, “Make the prescription!” And he’d tell her, “I know, I know, I know!” Something with his sweat. Couldn’t stop sweating and he couldn’t stop scratching now, itching the skin around the outside of the hairy part of his armpit as it reddened, swole-up, pimpled in real-time under his nails and damn it, this fucking itch is KILLING me! I can’t wait to get home, jump in a hot shower and give it Hell with my luffa.
Through the front door he burst, stripping right down by the laundry room that sat parallel to the rental’s entrance, straight to his bareness, and scampered barefoot down the main hall to the bathroom. Music. That damn music again! It was his neighbour: his landlord’s 18-year-old daughter who had recently-graduated, occupying the suite next to his on the ground floor of the house they all shared. Blaring that Top-40 garbage at the maximum volume her little, pink, pig-shaped IPod dock could muster while singing at the top of her voice, the shower on, the water-heater – which sat in the wall between both suites – at full-tilt. He might not get any hot water now. Oh well, too late. And he wasn’t prepared for another hour of scratching while he would wait for her to finish showering and then wait for the hot water tank to fill back up again. He closed the bathroom door & kicked the mat so it blocked the gap at the bottom of the door, unplugged the night-light, turned on the shower to secure his place and sat on the toilet to take a big, fat shit. It was about damn time.
theory of a daskeman 