The writings of Oddpoet

I like shiny things, I'm very superficial.

So I am in this Motel room and I have my John­son poised to enter this chick’s ass. She says “I never engaged in this kind of thing before.” Well, I tell her, “nether have I.”



I use to oper­ate under the assump­tion that Women were a gift of Aphrodite. An altar where I wor­shiped, a mag­i­cal inter­lude, a punc­tu­a­tion of real, in an oth­er­wise bor­ing life, that was before…



I’m get­ting ahead of myself…



So I’ve been fuck­ing this bitch for about two hours and I’m feel­ing good about myself, kind of like Wyatt Earp at the O.K. Cor­ral and the bitch is one the Clanton’s. So I’m pound­ing away, my gun is primed; being a musi­cian I’m pound­ing a whole slew of rhythms in that pussy. I am a jazzed ass cock­smith, I’m giv­ing her long strokes, short strokes, vary­ing rhythms, I am Thelo­nious Monk and the bitch is my keys.



All of a sud­den she can not breathe, well, not my prob­lem; she wanted to fuck, right?
And I real­ize my cock is a poten­tial instru­ment of death and I play the sce­nario out.



“What hap­pened here?”
“Offi­cer we were fuck­ing and she died.”
“You try­ing to say you fucked her to death?”
“I guess so Offi­cer.”
“My MAN!”

High fives…



Of course I stopped. Why?



The story demands our atten­tion…



Five hours ear­lier…



I knocked on her door, first look­ing left, then right, a para­noid thing. I have never been com­fort­able going into another man’s house for the pur­pose of fuck­ing his old lady. I don’t respect myself, in fact I hate me, but pussy is pussy and my old lady is use­less.



I won­der if the same scene is play­ing out at my crib, some Mandingo mother fucker who’s got my worth­less wife slammed against the wall, and she’s repeat­ing ver­ba­tim what’s going through my head. Shit! She’s not a Poet; fuck her and her Mandingo boy.



She answered. Her smile was preda­tory, she looked like she wanted more than I could ever give, any­one could give. She looked that hungry.

Her eigh­teen year old boy is on the couch eat­ing a hot pocket, watch­ing Nick­elodeon and eye­ing me. Now he has no dog in this fight his bio­log­i­cal Dad is on his third ex-wife and his Mom is fuck­ing me at the moment. His step Dad is in South Car­olina at the lov­ing sug­ges­tion of his never faith­ful wife.



Our eyes meet. I can’t read him…odd…
She grabs my hand,
“Let’s go in the bed­room.”



I look at the bitch like she has two heads. Her room is right behind the wall where the TV is play­ing Scooby Doo. And the thought of Scooby say­ing Rut Roo and Her Mom scream­ing Fuck me Jesus…Fuck me… Is even too much for scum like me to bear.
Besides don’t need her kid call­ing me Jesus.



She is insis­tent! Won’t let up. I know her kid hears her pleas, her need. I’m mak­ing a joke out of the whole thing. It’s like a fuck­ing Kafka novel, here I am try­ing to pro­tect her and her kid and she wants to kick my ass because I won’t fuck her with her kid in the house.



“I’m outta here.”
I walk to the door.
She fol­lows me, grabs me and pushes me against the wall.
Now I’m not a big dude, I’m a bad mother fucker but I’m not big and I let her man­han­dle me.
I’m think­ing about the kid…her…



I look at her and then her kid munch­ing on a hot pocket pretending…the world is… Rut Roo…



She is a tan­gle of needs and wants…
I knew at that moment I could never be the answer to that thing that burned in her, her eyes…



“We’ll get a room”



I should have run away and never came back, but… pussy is pussy and I have not had any in a while, being mar­ried and all that…



So…

The mid­dle was the begin­ning and the begin­ning is now…



I’m look­ing at her ass like Colum­bus look­ing at the new world. She never been ass fucked and I … what the fuck… My cock was sucked into her ass, it was like Lassie run­ning into the arms of lit­tle Timmy, home sweet home.



It was a vio­lent ass fuck, I slammed that mother Fucker and she bucked, lord did she buck. I was angry, I was fuck­ing her lies, her Son, her hus­band, but most of all me. I should know bet­ter…



She shiv­ered and shook and col­lapsed on the bed. I was amazed a woman could cum being ass fucked. She reached behind towards me and grasped my hand. I pulled away and ran to the bath­room. I started vom­it­ing and wip­ing the brown sin off my dick. I knew it would never be clean again. No mat­ter how long or how hard I scrubbed.



“You okay Babe?”



I couldn’t answer.

My broth­ers hear the crash and break the door down… Absurdly, I men­tally curse Home Depot and their cheap fuck­ing doors. So there I am with a belt around my neck and the entire drop ceil­ing strewed about the room. I fuck­ing hate failed sui­cide attempts. I mean what can you say, “Whoops?” It’s like get­ting caught by your future ex-wife with your sweat pants draped about your ankles wax­ing your car­rot to the Fredrick’s of Hol­ly­wood web site. That has hap­pened to you, right? Please say yes.

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.

“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 7^th 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

“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 7^th 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