The writings of Oddpoet

Okay, where was I? That’s right, most of you suck. To be truth­ful, I don’t read yas, but if I did I feel my con­clu­sion would pass empir­i­cal sci­en­tific scrutiny. You’ll have to take my word on that as I seem to have mis­placed my attaché case it’s where I keep my bull­shit I mean evi­dence. I am a sci­en­tist in fact I’m all them there “ist” things.

There are a few of you out there who sail uncharted waters but the over­whelm­ing major­ity of you are stuck in the kid’s pool with you toes wig­gling in the shal­low depths say­ing, “I’m a Poet, whee.….” Fuck­ing sad man. You’re not a Poet till you’ve spent time in a jail, nut house and a rehab and killed at least ten peo­ple. Which I call the crème de la crème of human expe­ri­ence, yes, I know I’m feath­er­ing my own nest, but remem­ber, I suck too, I’m just more angry and I have larger balls than you.

Let’s talk about the Blog Talk whores, men and woman. Do you dumb fucks know that a mutant chimp with lep­rosy could get a show? No shit and prob­a­bly bet­ter than yours. In fact what time does he come on? It’s cool, it’s casual but when, because you have a show with a hoard of say three lis­ten­ers please don’t go pon­tif­i­cat­ing, rat­ing who is the best and worst of us. I fuck­ing hate that. Do I what I do, you all suck, this way every­one gets their feel­ing hurt. Kinda of an all inclu­sive love fest sans love.

I can’t lis­ten to the shows any­more, cause I get in trou­ble in the chat call­ing peo­ple Douche bags and shit like that. The only show I lis­ten to is Reverse cause you can hear some cool shit there. The prob­lem is there are still douche bags who call in try­ing to read there own shit, as if the world can’t wait to hear them. “Oh I must read now, I think I can change the world with this write” it’s times like that I wish i could shoot peo­ple over the phone. Any­one know how to do that?

Who haven’t I insulted? Okay let me get Racial, Black chicks, when a black chick reads there is a two thou­sand per­cent chance she will say shit like “she is a good woman, she is the best, she deserves bla…bla…bla…” or some such non­sense. Check it out for your­self, I’m a sci­en­tist would I lie? Man, black chicks must go through some shit. No lie there. And as far as Black dudes? I have no idea what the fuck they are talk­ing about. It’s like “What the fuck is he say­ing?” Black dude poets give me a headache.

I save all my vim and vigor for what I call the Saintly Poets, the bor­ing fucks who are con­stantly whin­ing about the Beat­rice of their dreams and desire. The Uber­woman. We all know who they are. The guys who never get laid. They would never dare use Fuck in a write. I so wanna tell them if you want to fuck Beat­rice, grab her by her hair, rip her panties off, slam her against the wall and fuck her silly. How hard is that? She’ll love you for­ever studly.

Okay enough insults for one night. Hey, any­one of you Poets wanna get together for a game of Parcheesi?

Odd­poet

I’m going to improve the Art form with some won­drous insights into the state of Poetry, Here goes, you bet­ter not read this if you’re sen­si­tive, bet­ter yet, read it. You prob­a­bly need it.



I’m in one of those moods. What the fuck. I sel­dom write about other Poets because most of them suck and what would be the point? I’m not going talk about com­mand of the lan­guage espe­cially with my pen­chant for say­ing fuck at least ten times a write. Well I lied I am. While I have been called obscene I can han­dle that because I am when I want to be. Please don’t make the mis­take of think­ing I use lan­guage for sim­ple shock value; while that does come in handy and I have employed it, for exam­ple “Dear Mom, go fuck your­self!” I am what you hear. Fuck is a good hon­est word. So fuck you. And if I wanted to shock you and you pissed me off I would say some­thing like, “I’ll dig up your dead Mother and skull fuck her” That’s shock­ing, see the dif­fer­ence?



But I can also be mel­liflu­ous when I want to be, see, the choice is mine. My point here is for those Poets who care about the craft try read­ing and not comic books, too many of you have lim­ited vocab­u­lar­ies and imag­i­na­tions and a Poet with a lim­ited vocab­u­lary and imag­i­na­tion is fucked, see? It fits.



Sub­ject mat­ter.
Lose the “I!” gave a cur­sory look (see I didn’t use I) at some of my writes and only about 30% use I, mean­ing moi. This is my per­sonal pref­er­ence, I try to look at uni­ver­sal themes like get­ting laid under an assumed name, cas­trat­ing by ex-wife’s lawyer or bor­ing things like Death, Jus­tice, immoral­ity, eter­nity etc. Shit you should be look­ing at but your too busy whin­ing. Do me a favor and check your­self out, If you are con­stantly using “I” you are bor­ing the shit out of your read­ers, Stop whin­ing will ya? Your read­ers will not tell you cause they don’t want to get a neg­a­tive review on their next whineathon. Yea, I don’t have to worry about that cause no one reads me so I can piss every­one off with impunity. Some­times it pays to be unloved.



I will return to this sub­ject mat­ter later because Bambi is on TV and his Mom just got ham­mered with a 30 odd six, and I’m get­ting a lit­tle misty eyed. I don’t wanna lose my edge here.



To be continued…

I’ve been get­ting numer­ous let­ters ask­ing when my next inci­sive write on that human carwash/minefield or gaunt­let of extreme human mis­ery, the rela­tion­ship between men and women. As always I lead the charge into bat­tle and bear the scars of con­flict to min­i­mize your expo­sure. I could enti­tle this write the Meat Mar­ket, but that would sound too cyn­i­cal, and as you know I am not a cyn­i­cal man. What fol­lows is the opti­mal rela­tion­ship age to max­i­mize chances of suc­cess. So let’s jump into it, shall we?

The Des­per­ate youth (20’s late 20’s)
Men and women in this age range are like the unformed seed pods in the inva­sion of the body snatch­ers. Why talk about them, so let’s move on.

Men are easy they have a very short shelf life, about 32 to 34. Women should always go after a younger man; it’s your best bet. After 34 we are useless.

The opti­mum age for women, I was going to be a prick and say 35 years 22 days to 35 years 25 days and tell you there is only a three day win­dow. But some of you will jump out a win­dow. So let’s say lower to mid to upper thir­ties. It’s at this age they real­ize Romeo is a myth and if you think about it who would want Romeo. Some dweeb out­side your win­dow every night wear­ing leo­tards, play­ing a real bad lyre toss­ing thee’s and thou’s your way. You will not under­stand a word he says and he is wicked annoy­ing. Besides he will not even make love to you. You want to get laid and he would say shit like, “I wouldst sooner watch the essence of my life’s blood bleed into the bar­ren earth then peel the ped­als of thy beauty.” You would be say­ing “Peel Mother Fucker peel.”

Mov­ing up the men’s age range we get to my niche the mid to upper 40’s into the 50’s. We fall into two cat­e­gories the barely tol­er­a­ble and the “Did you see that dude?” The barely tol­er­a­ble which is my place in the food chain real­ize the chicks they are inter­ested in are not inter­ested in them. It’s dur­ing this time the idea of a really good sand­wich takes on almost myth­i­cal pro­por­tions. Prior to this age you would day­dream about bang­ing that hot chick in the frozen food sec­tion of the shop­ping mart, now dreams of real crisp Ital­ian bread and imported Ital­ian lunch meats are the means to very large erec­tions. Also, expen­sive elec­tronic devices, doesn’t mat­ter what they do as long as they look cool and beep and flash a lot.

The next group are major tragedies the “did you see that dude?” group. These guys exist in their own bub­ble of unre­al­ity. The guys with the comb over or the jet black spray paint unsuc­cess­fully hid­ing the bald spots. And the donelaps, yea, their stom­achs done lapped over their belt. This group see them­selves in a per­pet­ual state of tran­si­tion, they buy very large cloths and huge belts declar­ing to the world, “Yea I look like this now but soon I’ll be young again. To them it’s about the jour­ney never the des­ti­na­tion. Amaz­ingly they are per­fect matches with younger woman, some kind of syn­er­gis­tic sub atomic par­ti­cle can­cel­la­tion thingy.

Older women are a diverse group rang­ing from very cool to “The Wart” Very cool needs no expla­na­tion. The wart is really, well, clingy, the kind of chick that will call you 25 times a day and ask you what you are doing. Yea, they call in the mid­dle of the night, just so they can hear your voice, WTF? “Are you sleep­ing Eddie?” “Fuck no, I’m hunt­ing big game on the Serengeti, lucky you caught me, we are being attacked by mutant lions and we ran out of ammo, I’m sharp­en­ing my machete as we speak. Looks like I’m about to die, I’m so glad you called.” How­ever, Warts are adapt­able. Women are the ulti­mate guerilla fight­ers, while men will fall on their swords, women retreat, blend into the land­scape and gar­rote your ass in the dead of night.

This is the cliff note ver­sion of the write a more schol­arly treat­ment will appear in the New Amer­i­can jour­nal of card car­ry­ing psy­chopaths, June issue. Now keep in mind I’m rap­ping gen­er­al­i­ties here, prob­a­bil­ity. The amaz­ing thing about the species is its vari­abil­ity. “Yes it might be true the race does not always go to the swift, or the bat­tle to the strong, but that’s the way to bet.”

Let’s see a nice tuna melt with some jalapeño and mozzarella…