I Want My Country Back

Opinion

What’s been happening with our country? We’ve let corrupt politicians, greedy corporations and illegal aliens subvert the will of the people and it’s gone on far too long. Seriously folks, it’s time to take our country back. Let’s get out there and take it back. Right now! Who’s got it? Who the hell took the country? Did you? Did someone you know take it? If you know who took it and you’re not helping me get it back then you pretty much took it.  If I find out who took my country and they don’t give it back I swear to god I’m gonna punch them right in the taint.  So I’m asking you one American to another just give me back our god damn country. You hear me! GIVE IT BACK. Seriously I’m not going to ask again. GIVE ME BACK MY COUNTRY!!! …

Okay sorry about that I’ve been a bit worked up lately. Lot of stress on my plate. My jobs been rough, boss has been riding my ass, so I’ve been tense. Wife tells me I should try yoga but I know that’s the devil’s work. So let’s try this again.

Please. Can I please have my country back? Pretty Please? Come on. Give it. How about give me half now half later okay. I think that’s fair. I mean how come you get to take all the country and I don’t get any. Seriously. That’s not fair. You could take another country. How about Peru? They have some nice stuff there. Seriously Peru. Take Peru. Damn it. GIVE ME BACK MY COUNTRY. NOW! NOW! NOW!

Okay. Once again. Sorry about that. It’s been a rough month. Gonna calm down now.  I’ve been to a few meetings about my anger so I’m gonna do what they suggest and count to 10 and take a deep breath…. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9…. GIVE ME BACK MY COUNTRY YOU SON OF A BITCH!

Stan Gruffly is a avid taxidermist and beef jerky enthusiast. He writes poetry in his free time and campaigns for a candidate who will remain nameless but whose last name rhymes with grump.

Market Street Musings – By Victor Jizzly

Poetry

Dammit, Market Street!

Your cruel and beautiful bricks rolfing my discounted espadrilles right through to the sagging arches of my 10W flippers,
from the theater to the park
in an Asheville laughable mini block.
Damn you, street, why do your brick-alive echoes
amplify the caterwauling, cement-handed hacks
clunking great clumps of the keys of innocent pianos?
(I get it, dudes- you and Billy Joel are having sex with a mixed drink)
Lap it up, tourons.

Oh, hell, the meat market disco that I never went to has swirled down the sandy vortex of the hourglass to oblivion and up popped a restaurant that serves…
say, Caballero Roberto-
what is a Brazilian Steak, anyhoo?

To the corner bar! Remedy the offense to my nostalgic senses
with a  rootin, tootin, highfalutin attack on the cranial
if not the cerebral, but

Who concocts cocktails and says she’s a craft mixologist reinventing booze, for Godsakes? Of course you’ve overserved me, but it’s the bill that makes me sick-
Sick of the stumbly trip bricks playing their Market Street tricks
and sending me down for a sloppy, dirty brick kiss that loosens a tooth
after just

pssssst

a hint of vermouth, drowning the flower of my youth.

Victor Jizzly, poet philosopher

10 Facts About Partial Thread Metric Flange Bolts You Might Not Know!

Facts
  1. 23.jpgThese bolts are sometimes called Frame bolts
  2. Hex heads are six sided for use with a wrench
  3. Are Zinc Plated for moderate corrosion resistance
  4. Come in three classes: 8.8 steel yellow, 10.9 steel, and 10.9 steel plain finish
  5. Are quite violent when confronted by full thread metric flange bolts.
  6. They won’t fit a 6.8 hex nut so don’t even try unless you want to look like an idiot
  7. Contrary to popular belief partial thread metric flange bolts are not to be taken nasally. They hurt the sensitive nasal lining. They do however fit quite comfortably in the ear and can be used to block the sound of relatives sharing their feelings or the sound of crying children.
  8. Did you know that ancient Egyptians did not have partial thread metric flange bolts? They put things together with mud or sand that’s why their stuff sucked and broke a lot.
  9. Flange bolts are used to make dents in wood by using a bolt slapping device also known as a ‘Hammer’. Once dented, it is common to throw the dented wood and flange bolt into the trash and repeat.
  10. Flange bolts can be found in nature. Anywhere boric acid naturally mixes ammonium nitrite a flange bolt tree grows. Most flange bolt trees can be found in Brazil where 1,000,000 tons of flange bolt fruits are picked annually.

Birds in the Morning – by Edith R.Crownbridge

Poetry

When the birds sing in the morning
When the sunshine glistens in the dew
When the new day shines with possibility
Don’t speak
Just remove the ball gag and leave
I’ve got water aerobics and jazzercize in a hour
Don’t forget your walker
Yes I’m sure it was bent like that before
Can you hear the birds sing the song
of a brand new day
Seriously get out of my bed and leave

 

Edith is a poet and writer for the Sunnyvale Retirement Home Gazette. She recently celebrated her 85th birthday and enjoys visits by her children and grandchildren. 

001 – A Haiku by Server 001-B

Poetry

001

10011

1110

Server 001-B is a Red Hat® Enterprise Linux® server who’s time is spent hosting various blogs and craft sites. It wants to one day learn to dance and be given a soul. It hopes to finally finish the auto-biography of its childhood entitled ‘001010011000’.

Transformus Festival Newsletter

News

Dear Citizens of Mysteria,

Our fair and temporary city of Mysteria is an experiment in community building and social alternatives. We practice radical inclusion and respect the benefits of diversity. Therefore before we drop acid and burn things there are a few issues that will need to be addressed.

1.  Our leader Hypothesis would like to say that all playa names are trademarked in the City of Mysteria so the guy who says he’s also Hypothesis is in a Mysteria trademark violation and may not be able to join in the real Hypothesis’ drum circle. Also, ThunderKat would like people to stop calling him by his other name Burt. Sorry about that Burt.

2.  Psychedelic Hayride, the Mysteria Mass Transit system, like any other transit system, cannot guarantee on-time arrivals or that you’ll end up anywhere close to where you ask to go.

3.  Also your Mysteria 2012 1070-D Tax forms are due in two months. Remember you can no longer write off shroom or Xstacy purchases. Glow sticks are acceptable up to $100.

4. In other news, The theme camp ‘Crackhead Hippie Beaters’ claims that they were not being included in the town of Mysteria. We would like to re-emphathize our policy of radical inclusion, but we have decided that their ‘Fecal Art’ is not really art and cannot be used as a gift in Mysteria’s gift economy.

5. Last and not least, the Transformus Census Bureau will be returning to conduct a new on-site census of Mysteria because last year’s team wrote down “Aren’t we’re all just like one, man.” Which is spiritually poignant, but in the end, completely worthless.

Okay guys, let’s make this burn the best one yet!

Was This Wrong? – I Sold My Dog for Four Grams of Hash

Opinion

I don’t know. My friends have made me think that maybe what I did wasn’t right. They could have a point, but I think I have some valid reasons too. Here’s what happened. The opportunity appeared for me to score some hash. I might add, some really good hash. I didn’t have any money, but I did have a three-year-old Yorki.

Well I guess the title should say “I sold my girlfriend’s dog for four grams of hash”. But once again I’d like to say that I didn’t have any money and it was really good hash. I know because I had just smoked a little when I told her that Mr. Scrapples was missing, and believe me, I was really stoned.

I was totally into Mario Kart and really stoned when she was searching the house for her dog. I told her he’d probably show up later. You know how dogs are, but she didn’t believe me and spent the night searching for him. She came back at five in the morning crying and asked if she could have a little of the hash she saw me smoking earlier so she could calm down. I told her I had just finished it all off. I actually had some left, but I sold a perfectly good dog for it and didn’t feel like sharing. I don’t think that’s wrong.

Anyway, a couple of days later she found out what I did. She got mad and kicked me out of her house and won’t return my calls. I’m living in my parents garage and now I’m wondering if maybe I did have a lapse in judgment. So my question to the world is – was this wrong? I guess only time will tell.

Written by Dirk Berring

Dirk tackles many of the gray areas of life. He’s not afraid to ask the serious questions and is currently seeking a couch to crash on if anyone knows of a place. His band is called ‘Unholy Shenaningans’ and they are playing at ‘Mutton Bar’ next week.

In the Event of Global Catastrophe, Stick Head Between Legs and Thank Yourself for Using GloboRescue Inc!

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The Flowers I Gave My Girlfriend Before She Left Me Aren’t Dead Yet

Poetry

Spring turns straight to winter

my smile: an upside-down frown

My frown: a right-side-up frown

my smile: a frown while standing on my head

and frowning

The hot day turns cold

my pleasantries at work: rehearsed

my pleasant life: gone

my work life: fairly pleasant

until I must stand on my head

while frowning to present

a smile

I pluck two petals

“She loves me not,

she loves me not.”

The flowers I gave her

are still here

alive

but she is gone

alive

bummer all around

I pluck two more petals

and manhandle the stem

not metaphorically

I really mangle the stem

I set it on fire

The fire grows

unlike her like for me

and then I freak out

extinguish the fire

with that squirt-gun thing

on some kitchen sinks

with no water pressure

like her like for me

I pluck two more petals

and hiss the “N-word” at them

I open my lips but keep my teeth shut

so spit flies out

when I hiss racial epithets

at the flower, before it’s dead

I close the blinds

lock the door

turn off the lights

before I do this

because my friends

aren’t above playing pranks

like setting up a camera

to record my pain

in hopes it goes viral

so they can laugh at me

high-five

marry redheads

I pluck two more petals

eat them

wait six hours

shit them

in the sink

retrieve the shit-flowers with great trouble

light them on fire

but they don’t catch fire

just like our relationship

because they got wet in the sink

during their retrieval

just like the shit-flower that was our relationship

I pluck the last petals

I tell them it’s not working out

that we’re moving in different directions

while I rip them up in different directions

I pour the water out from the vase

from my back deck

and then pee off my back deck

to piss on the water

that nurtured

the flowers

I gave her

before she left

I throw the vase

like a baseball

underhand

I hear it bounce without breaking

so maybe there’s a chance?

I throw other things at it

to break it

but can’t hit it

I check to make sure my computer

isn’t Skyping with my father

That would make this episode worse

but that’s the only thing that could.

Or my older brothers watching

while hidden behind the curtains

laughing with their wives and kids

also hidden behind the curtains.

I key my neighbor’s car

The next day I realize I got carried away

like my girlfriend carried herself away

my neighbor had nothing to do with it

but I was on a roll

and not keying your neighbor’s car

is something you do

when you have someone to laugh at

cat posters with you.

“Oh shit!” indeed

We are all kittens with claws extended

clinging to a tree

———–

Poet Scott Pierce works in a hospital cafeteria and just completed his first year at tattoo-artist night school.

Gone

Poetry

Gone
you innocent beach days
on the great despoiled Earth,
with our sandwich wrappers and six-pack rings
gently tossing in the surf.

Magic
made uncovered trash go away
from the open-bed pick-up,
and cig-butt fireflies danced in the interstate breeze
without an awful conscience to disrupt.

Foot
sliced on a pop pull-tab
outside the convenience store,
What’s another one, for the collection?
Treat their driveway like your whore!

Slash
and burn and slash again
like the homesteaders of old
It’s your American privilege
to leave your nest
Cleveland steam-rolled.

Victor Jizzly, poet philosopher.