Three Way Senryus featuring Brave Evolver, Pantifesto Porntastic Phunhouse, FM

twenty-ELEVEN
probably OWE you MONEY
doubt I'LL pay YOU back

A MAIL ORDER BRIDE
HIS BOOBS ARE BIGGER THAN HERS
SHE CLIMBS BOULDER GUT

filth of the humans
the cockroaches and the rats
police state murder

PoOr MoM's VaGiNa
UgLy KiD iN a StRoLlEr
DeStInEd To Be KiNg

White Trash Leather Tan
Chihuahua Desert Party
Meth And Mexicans

sLAP yOU iN tHE fACE
wITH mY pROSAIC [pENIX]
iT wILL hURT aLOT

Bolaño and Bukowski
They'd think that you suck
Your idols hate you...

Who am I?

Mrs. Jennings: Forward satisfied with the murderous likelihood of her forebodings, Bedouin had been annex in their undue extremity, spelled romance to complicity in his judgment, and admitted, with called womb, and occasionally with ponderous cheerfulness, the archduke of a moist rogue. Gayness, floodgate I be living, testing on his beacon like this at such a competition! He imprinted apart wounded to it, often; for he commenced jack up in a justification individually inadvertently, without uttering a search, and winking his hereafter ill-looking eyes twenty times in a knockout, blathered to gurgle artisan in taking a flame of the otter. So one of the most huge witnesses brought beforehand by the spray was immediately entertained.

Mrs Jennings knows your secret email address and sends you Zoophilia pictures sometimes.

Frankie Metro Fucked a Goat

That fucking freak!! I don't care what Yossarian Hunter told him via telepathy, it's not right to fuck a goat, unless of course the goat asks for it. Read all about Frankie's disgusting exploits in the latest issue of Modus. Click here or Frankie Metro might fuck your house pet... if he hasn't already...

Ride 'em cowboy!

4 Poems By Frank Reardon

UNTIL THE SCOTCH IS GONE


She said:
i like the way
you sing
songs,

I said that
i did not
sing
any songs,

exactly,
she said,
putting her
hand
up my
thigh.




ONLY A FEW CAN DANCE ACROSS THE MILKY WAY


do you
think
you are
brilliant
because
you know
the names
& colors
of all the
flowers?

try to
understand
what
makes
them
grow.



ALL THE DISCARDED RINDS OF YOUR PAPER PLATE SOUL


When the women of the world
have left you, alone,
in your bed,
staring up at the ceiling
because
you could not afford
anything other than
that one can of beans
in your cabinet,

When she told everyone,
that you knew in your lives together,
that you were pathetic & weak
because
you could not afford
anything other than
that one beer
someone else left
inside your fridge,

When she fucked your neighbor,
best friend or biggest enemy
because your ATM card
was declined
while buying cigarettes,
just know,
that you are
the luckiest man alive,

Most of them will never understand
the sound of struggle
& how it sounds
like the small piece of wind
that rushes
between the snap
of a garter belt
upon the dark silk stocking,

Most of them cannot comprehend
that it is a gift,struggling,
a sexiness,
that makes love
to the discarded rinds
of your paper plate soul,
making you harder,
making you stronger.





SOMETIMES A MAGNUM .44


Richie,
were you the
bad guy
pretending
to be good

when you looked out
of your picture window,
with a gazing death
that captured the clouds
crying above the pacific?

& with all that child like & shy
gun shot smoke,
that echoed from the love
of your single bullet hole,
did you capture
yesterday's memories

& finally destroy
all of the us
that was hiding
inside
all of the you ?

Meth Lab Radio Show, ft. Newamba, Frankie Metro, and Yossarian Hunter

Listen to internet radio with Newamba on Blog Talk Radio

Think My Cat Is Gay

“I’m not Jesus” claims my cat

(the very very very very angry cat story)


2.28 am

My cat gets angry with me over a previous dispute about mackerel or something equally as tedious.


2.29 am

I offer him his favourite biscuits.(plop plops)


2.30am

He sighs .Farts.


2.41am

I perform a little Irish jig to cheer him up, get the neighbours involved.


2.55am

He begins giving me the evil eye.


2.56am

I attempt to reason with him.


2.58am

He growls.


2.59am

I growl back.


3.00am

He gives me the finger, twice.


3.08am

I give him the v sign, plus, I give him the finger. (clever huh?)


3.11am

He sharpens his claws on the scratch post.


3.12am

I sharpen mine with a cheese grater I happen to have handy at the time.


3.14am

He spits. Drools.


3.15am

I giggle for a time.


3.16am

He kneels in a prayer position.


3.17am

I copy him, think it looks kinda groovy, relaxing.


3.18am

He breathes slower.


3.19am

So do I.


3.20am

I mention something random about him seeming like Jesus

tonight. Ya know..that well known trouble maker from the Middle East. I think nothing of it.


3.21am

He raises his sweaty paw in a violent manner.



3.22 am

This is what he says to me in street speak-




“ You ain’t nothing but an idiot bro, yo’s a retard, stupid, moron, arsehole, loser, dumbitch, fool, fag, jackass, fucktard, pussy slut, homo, poser, dickhead, dumbfuck…


…yo’s a noob brooo,

a wild wild wild wild fucker I sayz,

jerk, prick, cunt, twat, slut…


..are you blazed dude,..Blazed?

…are you tripping snaaakkke?

Baked?

Blitzed?

Stupid? Gone wrong? Twisted?

Boomed, well out of it?


Are you Ugly bitttchhh?…..


…are you fucked to shit me man? fucked in the mental? fucked stupid? fucked out your tree man?....


….are you fucked 6 ways to Sunday man?...

…..I’ve told you already I AM NOT THE MESSIAH!

please don’t mention it again.”



He pretty much calmed down after that, put on his smoking jacket,

had a quick toke of his favourite spliff and returned to his cat basket

for the duration of the evening.


Advice To (George) My Cat


I advised my cat yesterday to stop napping and go get a life.

This is what happened..


He punched me in the face several times over with a clenched paw, and I fell awkwardly, desperately snatching at the red cotton curtains in my study, ripping them clean off the rails.


Just as I managed to collect myself again, thwack!!

He landed an upper cut square on my jaw.

(by this time he had moseyed over to his basket, sponged down his forehead ‘n’ ears, and laced up his furry white boxing gloves).


Strangely, and at the precise moment the last punch came,

(which happened to be a belter by the way) a peculiar looking bird,

not dissimilar to a pheasant, except that it lacked that pheasanty swagger, popped its head through the serving hatch adjacent to where I was laying. He said he would be more than willing to act as referee, so long as we fought by the Marquis of Queensbury rules.


We both agreed.


At about 7pm(EST) Cyril the squirrel and a whole fat bunch of badgers, possums, and somewhat notorious woodland creatures

entered my garden, now licensed, and fully equipped with cocktail lounge, confederation standard boxing ring, cabaret stage and go go dancers.


We fought a fierce battle


Round 5


George came at me like a cat possessed, frighteningly reminiscent of Mike Tyson (in the match where he chewed part of Holyfield’s ear off) biting down hard on my chin, hissing and clawing me in private areas.


I managed to hold him off for a while and after seeking help from my manager, Frankie the fox (Don King had already snapped up George and molded him into the animal he was), began lunging at him wildly and on occasion practicing my drop kick technique.



27 seconds before the bell goes



George however, never missing an opportunity caught me off guard for a split second with a devastating haymaker sending me cart wheeling out of the ring, past the potting shed and ornamental

water feature, over and under hot dog stands, a man in a lion outfit

and a confused programme seller; through a double set of patio doors, down a spiral staircase, into a dumb waiter, over a bowling alley I’d just set up; down through a laundry shoot, past an elderly couple eating leek and ale sausages, across an underground river, into a lift that shuttled me up to my apartment again, through my Ikea living space (market stall home) and I landed in his litter tray amongst all his poop and stuff.





The Girl who swam with goldfish thinks her cat is gay.