So I’m pretty ripped right now but you’ll never see it. I’m not like one of those fags on the Space who show off their six packs, I do it for myself and… Okay, the chick next door I hate when you fuckers force me to tell the truth. Now I had this skin thingy I thought was Psoriasis so I’m ripped and I have my shirt off but only for the Sun to cure my Psoriasis thingy and the chick next door. Right?

Now I reclaiming my brothers yard that has been lost to Nature. I’m cutting trees, shrubs and I almost decapitated the Mailman who made the mistake of standing still under a tree I had my eye on. Now the more ripped I get the more the young chick next door waters her tomato plants, no shit! Funny as hell. I wanna tell her “your plants need snorkels.” I just smile and say “Hello” cause I’m on a mission and Rama of the jungle will not be denied. So I finally have the yard back and I get a call from the Dermatologist who took a skin sample a week ago for analysis. Turns out it’s Cancer.

I could give a fuck but I never miss an opportunity to fuck with people, Doctors, Judges, lawyers don’t matter. And the only reason I’m still alive is I’m waiting for Congress to pass that “Kick the fuck out of your Ex-wife day” Has anyone heard anything on that? Let me know if you hear anything. So she says it’s cancerous and I say,

“How did you know Doc? My birthday is the 20th of July and I am indeed a Cancer.”

“No, No Ed, the test showed Cancer.” Concern oozing through her voice.

“Of course it did Doc, did ya think it would show up Taurus?”

Pause…

She starts laughing cause she knows me a bit and she tells me It’s not a real big deal we just might have to “cut your balls off to arrest it.”

“Doc, you fucking with me? Never play around with a man’s balls Doc, unless it’s in the bedroom.”

“By the way what’s it called Doc?”

“It’s Thomaluecytyeyourfuckedatosis”

I know stupid question, for some reason I heard Julie Andrews singing “Supercalifragilous Expialidocious”

But she assures me “just take these pills and don’t get pregnant.”

“Whatever Doc”

Now I can’t go out in the Sun too much and I hope the chicks tomato plants don’t die cause of it.

So I go to the Kitchen, now I’m a muscular version of Martha Stewart, my obsessive nature is to clean cause my Brothers don’t do it. They insist on a cursory washing of the dishes despite that stainless steel thingy I bought back in the day when I had cash: called a dishwasher. I don’t have the heart to tell them when they turn their backs the shits right in the dishwasher. Now to appease them I put a nice clean towel on the “clean” counter where they can lay the washed soon to be washed again dishes. Right? Now I also wash stuff like large Tupperware and pots which I lay on the “Clean” towel to air dry.

Pretty simple concept, ya think? Nope, the “clean” towel is often host to my Brothers making pizzas on it, bottles of ketchup and pickles. Which, of course, defeats that whole clean towel thingy. I can’t say anything cause I’m an indigent, obsessive-compulsive, muscular, Martha Stewart wannabe with Cancer. But I want to scream, “Do you Fuckers make bologna sandwiches on your pillows? WHAT THE FUCK!”

Oh well, I’m about done with the outside work, repaired concrete steps, repaired fence, painted parts of the house, edged the lawn, fucked Mother Nature up and told the bitch to “back the fuck off! Poet is here now Mutha Fucker”

Gotta turn my attention to the inside of the house, what a fucking mess. The first ten times I cleaned the toilets I donned a Tyvek suit with live air. Well I am an Obsessive-Compulsive, muscular version of a Martha Stewart wanna-be, soon to be responsible for dehydrated tomato plants Poet with Cancer.

Whatever…

I briefly wonder how woman masturbate. Probably with environmentally friendly solar powered dildos. I hate Women.

So my older Bro says, “Dickweed, stick with drinking yourself to death, suits your style.” Gotta love my Brother.

So I decide to go outside, which is a feat in itself because I haven’t left my room in about three months. I find most people boring — I really hate rubbing elbows with the fuckers. I leave the belt around my neck; I figure maybe I can pass it off as some kind of new sartorial style.

I see the mailman and I was going to tell him to stop delivering me mail, I don’t open the fuckers– what’s the point. But, I figured he worked for the Post Office and therefore was in his own private hell.

So I make it to the overpass, beneath me is the New Jersey Turnpike. I read somewhere; it was one of the most traveled roads in the US. I watched the social insects whiz by. I dig the sound. The World is full of songs; you just have to know how to listen.

I notice the inward curving fence and it pisses me off. (I’m always pissed) I mean it’s not like I can’t get some C4 and blow a whole in the sucker.

I know they are trying to stop jumpers. Not because they care about human life, they don’t want you fucking with traffic. I once saw a jumper splattered like sea gull shit on the asphalt. People were getting out of their cars and kicking the dead fucker saying shit like:

“I got a massage in 30 minutes I’m late because of you dead shit”

“I have a two hour window to cheat on my husband and fuck Ted the insurance man”

And my personal favorite:

“Someone scrape this dead fucker off the road”

So I mosey down to the local Dot Head store. What’s his name is at the counter. Cool dude but he has far too many consonants in his name. Hence “What’s his name?” Now, he has this pet Anaconda who he loves, so I ask him if he has any new pictures and his eyes light up and says: “I’ll be right back.” He runs to the back room and I run to chest freezer whereupon I start stuffing frozen Ice cream sandwiches down by pants and in my pockets. I love stealing shit and I love Ice cream sandwiches.

So he comes back and starts showing me the pictures of his pet snake and in the meantime my balls are freezing from the frozen Ice Cream sandwiches stuffed in there and let’s face it, who needs frozen balls.

I give him a fake smile and I split and start eating my plunder. Oh yea, then I went home.

]]> http://oddpoetworld.com/2009/12/17/another-failed-suicide-attempt/feed/ 2 http://oddpoetworld.com/2009/12/06/the-real-fucking-news/ http://oddpoetworld.com/2009/12/06/the-real-fucking-news/#comments Mon, 07 Dec 2009 02:41:30 +0000 Eddie Mount http://oddpoetworld.com/?p=281 A group demonstrating in front of the United Nations protesting the genocide in Darfur was set upon today by a group of angry New York shoppers eager to get into the Christmas spirit.  Disgruntled bargain hunter Christina Spencer angrily said, “I’m sick of this shit, Wal Mart  has a two hour special half priced sale which I will miss because of these pathetic fucks…  It’s Christmas for Christ’s sake. Hey we all have problems, this year alone I spent two thousand dollars on little Susie’s ballet lessons.”  To emphasize her peeve she kicked a young Darfurian Child in the head cracking it’s skull like a fucking eggplant.

Pentagon officials announced they fucked up again in their eight year pursuit of 911 mastermind Osama Bin Laden.  Award winning journalist Oddpoet revealed that Bid laden was not in North Waziristan but actually working as an animator for the Walt Disney Company.  When pressed Pentagon bigwig Gates admitted that Bin Laden penchant for changing one letter in his named befuddled the Pentagon’s brain thrust.  The plug wearing Gates said, “It’s really not our fault we were looking for Osama Bin Laden and he was working as Osama Ban Laden, You have to admire him, he is a crafty son of a bitch.”  The pentagon wunderkind went on to state that he believed Bin Laden had outside assistance and probably four or five foreign nations were involved in the nefarious scheme.  He urged all Americans to remain suspicious and terrified.

Scientist announced they had nothing really to announce.  They did say the quest of cures for children leukemia, cancer, aids, global warming were continuing at a snail’s pace.  “But on the bright side we discovered after intensive research that when you rip a lab rat’s ears off they make a really cool screeching sound.”

A group representing the “Real horror writers of America” urged a boycott of the phony Vampire movie “New Moon”  It’s an outrage, you have 13 year old chicks fingering their sludge pods over some cute vampire who don’t even suck blood.  What the fuck?  He predicted dire consequences on the continued fagification of American youths.  “Let’s face it a vampire is suppose to tear your throat out and they never fuck, sheeze”

The National Organization of Woman’s news conference announcing the group’s legislative initiatives urging the “castration of all males” was disrupted by the iconoclastic Oddpoet.  While overturning tables and tossing dildos at the “lesbian fucks”, Oddpoet announced his own agenda. He planned to “coldcock any chick who pisses him off” to demonstrate He turned and dropped a female reporter who got too close.  In the melee that followed Oddpoet was remonstrated by an associated who screamed, “she was not a lesbian Oddpoet, she was a pretty cool nymphomaniac who would fuck any man who looked her way or bought her a cup of coffee.” the never remorseful bard said, “Fuck the bitch, they’re all dykes in training”   As he was being led away to a waiting police wagon he urged all lesbians to continue making “Dyke flicks”, and that “he was still a sucker for girls going down on each other.”

In related news, Oddpoet planned to publish from prison his controversial annual Yuletide extravaganza, “very cool suicide letters.” The gang raped deviate stated that he had the “utmost respect for anyone who up and offed themselves.” The American Business alliance rejected the post and urged anyone in the depths of despair to hold off on killing themselves till after the holidays.  That “the consumer driven American economy needed every present bought and paid for by aforementioned emaciated American poverty stricken consumer, It’s no time to be selfish”

And every word of it is true…

As a species, the human race has an overwhelming desire to acquire knowledge; it is hard wired in us.  We have to Know.

When in my first college I started a movement to get the friggin business majors thrown out of the school.  I wanted the whole business program removed.  If you want to be a corporate whore go to a corporation and do it there, do not taint this place of higher education with your foul whore like business practices.  I felt strongly about it and I friggen meant it.  I got thrown out of that college.  Oh Well.

When the State gets involved with the acquisition of knowledge we are frigged.  It is usually to find better ways to kill each other.  We are never satisfied; we need bigger and more effective ways of doing it.  It is what we do best.  Started with sticks, stones, swords, catapults, guns, artillery, mustard gas, germ warfare right up to what I call the big firecracker: The Atomic bomb.  Even medical advances were fueled by warfare.  The object of war is to kill more of them than they kill of us.  So, we had to save as many of our guys as we could, not because we care, only because we want to win.

The big firecracker.   Robert Oppenheimer is credited with being the “father of the atomic bomb” He only ran the Manhattan project, which developed it.  The Knowledge required was cumulative, sort of like “dialectic(s)” I’ll bastardize it with: thesis, antithesis and synthesis.  This is an idea, a counter idea and new knowledge as a result of the argument.  This shit goes on and on and that is how knowledge grows.

Back to the firecracker.  Einstein and several other scientist wrote to President Roosevelt about how the Germans were building a really, really big firecracker.  So Roosevelt says” “How big?”  “Well big enough to destroy a city.”  Roosevelt replies: “we GOTTA get one of them!”  Oppenheimer heads the project and the bomb is developed.  During the initial “Trinity test” (irony?)  He is purported to have said, “If the radiance of a thousand suns were to burst at once into the sky, that would be like the splendor of the mighty one. Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.”  Proud of that one aren’t you Bob.
Always wanted to send him a happy father’s day card during the anniversaries of the dropping of the bomb on Hiroshima and Nagasaki.  Well I am, as I told you, a real ball breaker.

One last point on the big firecracker.  We are so figged up as a species that we recently developed a “Neutron Bomb” Kills all the people but does less damage to the real estate.  We are a practical lot.

The Famous Shaman Crowbeak, world renowned mystic and metaphysical purveyor of absolute wisdom.  Well what people do not know was that Crowbeak was walking around eating magic mushrooms like he was popping tic-tacs!  He was so spaced out he would stagger around saying shit like “When leaf falls from tree and touched mother earth, gravity is thus proven.”  Someone overhears him and says, “What did he just say? Sounded pretty deep.”  Then, “When caterpillar eats leaves off tree, tree dies, and then tree knows it was alive.”  Pretty soon you have a friggen horde of people following him around smacking there foreheads saying, “this guy is brilliant”  people are writing his shit down yelling “get me more paper”  Point being, even if something does not make sense the human mind will wrap itself around it and force it to make sense.

Rhetoric, which means I know more shit about a subject than you do.  I am/was very good at this because I had a secrete weapon” The Distinguished Professor Wilhelm Von Schwimm.”  Well he did not exist; I made him up, but would often call upon his expertise on whatever subject matter I was debating to prove what point I needed to prove.  “Well according to the Distinguished Professor Wilhelm Von Schwimm Bla…Bla…bla…“
Well, point here is people do not like to think they don’t know something or somebody and will accept what you tell them because they do not want to look stupid.  Try it.

Hang in there almost done.

Socrates! My main man developed the Socratic Method.  You can read a whole bunch of bullshit on this if you want but I can sum it up in two sentences and a quote.  In fact Socrates whole life! Not many people can do shit like that, well I am the Poet. Here goes:
1.People don’t know shit.
2.When forced to talk long enough they will prove they don’t know shit.
I will need to call on Oscar Wilde for the quote, “Oscar if you would, please.“
“When you want to tell someone the truth make them laugh, otherwise they’ll kill you.“
“Thanks Oscar, you can go back to the grave now.”

That is basically it.  And they killed Socrates because he was a ball breaker and he did not make them laugh.  For example:
A bunch of Athenians are in the Parthenon talking about the latest play ‘Dancing with the Nymphs” (And you thought ours was the only vapid culture? No, Vapidity has been around for a long, long time.) “I believe Themistocles dance with Nymph Amalthea was superior.”…“No dear Duceanees Lato and the nymph Arethusa were much better.”  Well in walks Socrates and the whole Parthenon rolls their collective eyes up to the sky and say, “Oh shit, here comes that ball breaker.”  “He would ask well what do you mean by better?” Duceanees would say “I mean superior…. “  Well pretty soon Socrates would have Duceanees throwing his arms up in the air saying, “Alright I don’t friggin know leave me the frig alone!”  Well they killed him!  Bastards!

What does all this mean? Well we have come full circle, right back to the Existentialists: Nothing, life is absurd!

Twenty Five years ago a young Father was driving down interstate 95 with his two young sons in the back seat, it’s Christmas eve, and they are singing Jingle Bells and Joy to the World and all of sudden an asshole in a pickup truck with the tailgate down and a large unsecured motor in it, hits a bump, motor flies out, goes through windshield and decapitates young Father (giving credence to the theory that no two objects can occupy the same space at the same time) A miracle the two young ones survived.  YES! Life is absurd.

Can never, never get that out of my head it is burned in there.

Here it is:
1.We have to know shit.
2.Killing each other is a large motivational factor in the knowing of shit.
3.Even if we don’t know shit we will force ourselves to know shit
4.No one wants to admit they don’t know shit
5.When push comes to shove no one knows shit
6.What is the difference because life is absurd.

Well all wrapped up in a nice package, not bad, even if I say so.
Life is absurd, however find your own meanings, make it moral, be good to one another and choose your own God or higher power and believe.  Else, I will be forced to come to your fucking house and pull a Socrates on you fucking ass.

Yea, I lied about the F bombs.

I remain, never humbly,
The Oddest of Poets

“To be or not to be” Any of you Dudes out here truly know what question the Bard asks?
Well, not many people think about mortality. Don’t blame them.
Back to “The Bard” six words that defines the nature or essence of our existence.

I am the only jerk off, I think, who will call God a Dickweed! Just did it, not smited yet, (guess that comes later)

Anyway, I go to Heaven, and there is God, drooling and snoring on his recliner, remote on the floor, a Hustler mag on his lap.

So I wake the fucker up.

“God, wake the fuck up, your “Creation” is in dire need of your omnipotent services.”

Well, the fuck snores away, well on the 7th day he rested. I did not take that to mean a fucking permanent vacation. I am forced to slap his fucking noggin!

Well, I did and he finally wakes up, thunder, lightning the whole show!

The Archangels have blades drawn on my throat and even those faggot Cherubs are biting my ass. Cause I pissed him off.

“Poet”, he says, as he wipes the droll from his lips, “did I not kill you? Or, at the very least, it has to be on my things to do list.”

Well, that did not give me a warm and fuzzy.

“God, Ultimate Dude of Dudes, A little help is needed on earth.”

“Poet! Asshole, The only reason you exist is because you are a funny fuck!
Don’t push it BABE!” “And, being omnipotent, I bequeathed, free will upon ye. Which, ultimately means…You’re on your own.”

“God! Alpha and Omega, hear me out Dude. I understand the free will concept; but, maybe some guidance, a miracle here and there.”

“It’s a miracle you are still alive!”

“I know God, Emperor of all Creation, I am an asshole, freely given. But how bout some miracles! Maybe cure every child suffering from cancer under… say 12?”

Must have struck a chord, because I could see his Divinity thinking.

I took the time to surreptitiously kick one of those faggot biting Cherubs in the groin. I swear if God was not there I would have kicked all those little fuck’s asses

“Poet, I see your point. But I hesitate to interfere with Humanity. Free Will I have ordained”

“I dig it, Big Chief of the Universe, But Satan’s running rampant on earth, war, disease, famine and Republicans have been running the show!”

“REPUBLICANS!!!!!!” I could see the big guy was upset; however, he continued.

“I see your plight Poet, but free will rules the day. I can not interfere and that is final!”

“God, head honcho, think I can get in to see JC?”

“Poet, you are very close to being dead! get out of here. You are not coming here anyway!” “Nor can you expect an invitation in the future.”

Seeing that I was outnumbered, and the fact that he was right.…and.…. God did not give a fuck. I was ushered, not too kindly, I might add, from Heaven, And Poof I am here.

Gee, aren’t you lucky. Well, thinking of a way I can crucify myself. Got the wood, know I can nail my left hand to the cross, the problem is having, said, left hand nailed, I am unable to nail my right hand to the cross! Which requires me to plea for help!

Ring.….…..

“Hello” “Ehhh.….Don, I need a hand.“
“Poet…watts up, Dude!”
“Don, I need a hand.”

“What?“
“I am trying to crucify myself and I need a hand.”

“Christ, Poet are you into one of your to be or not to be moods?” “Fuck you!” Click.….

dial tone…

Well.…That IS the question

So I bust in and there is the perquisite mourners circle and there was Ritchie who was no longer Richie. And my $100.00 was no longer my $100.00 so I take a shot and start rifling through Richie’s pockets. Too late Aunt Sophie beat me too it. The bitch was a bigger thief than Ritchie. The circle’s eyes widen in horror as I start punching Ritchie’s corpse and then they start screaming, all except Aunt Sophie, the bitch. I turned to them all pissed off and say: “What am I doing… hurting his feelings? The fuckers dead!”

So I book and start thinking about death.
I’m like everyone else; I don’t want to think about it. Death is like the fart in Church, no one wants to admit it’s there but we all can smell it.

The problem with death is it reminds us that we will all eventually be strapped to that one man seat. Death is the ultimate one man show, no supporting acts, strictly solo. We are so frigged about death we want to get rid of the body as soon as possible:

“Get that friggin stiff outta here!”
“But Ward! It’s the Beaver.”
“I don’t give a shit June, tell Wally to drag it out to the garage and call those Undertaker creeps.’

Undertakers– Nice name– I use to think Surgeons were fucked up people but Undertakers got them beat. Yea something definitely creepy about a vocational choice involving dead people. “How do you make a living?”

The first Undertakers were family who washed and cleaned the stiff and prepared for the ritual mourning of the dead. You had to make it quick, things can get smelly. The problem was no one was sure if the person was really, really dead. I mean it looks dead, but…

That was the problem, history is replete with stories of the dead coming back to life and a universal fear that is cross cultural is being buried alive. That will keep you up at night might even stop you from dying.

The first Undertakers were Fred and Ernie. They volunteered since they had no life and no one wanted the dead end job. The first order of business was to establish was it dead? So the slap test was developed.
“You want to take first shift Ernie?”
So Ernie starts slapping the shit out of the corpse.
“Seems dead”
Fred starts slapping the shit out of the corpse.
“Sucker is dead to me”
“We got to be sure this time can’t have a repeat of last Saturday”
“Old man Grady getting out of the coffin was not a good career fuzzy”
Luckily Aunt Martha had a heart attack so they could at least have a wake.”
“Yea, the keg was already tapped would have been a shame to waste it.”

That was the problem and it was Fred who had the solution.
“Eureka! Be right back!”
Fred gets a shop vac and evacuates the corpse’s bodily fluids
Ernie’s eyes widen in amazement.
Ernie’s riffs on Fred’s insight.
“We can put Uncle Bob’s special sauce in the stiff”
“What’s in it?”
“I think formaldehyde, methanol, ethanol and a whole bunch of nasty.”

They did it! If the sucker wasn’t dead before it was now and the stiff keeps for at least a week. The modern day Wake party was born. And we owe it all to Fred and Ernie.

Now leave me alone and stop making me think about this shit. I hate thinking about death.

Think I’ll watch a horror flick… Cool, George Romero’s “Night of the Living Dead” works for me…