I Am That I Am

I have been the butt 

of your low-hanging jokes,

for as far back as I can remember.

But I gotta admit that ain't too far.

Between the k2, booze, and blunt force trauma

bout the only thing that sticks, anymore,

is the pillow

and some

macaroni and cheese

sometimes

when I'm stabbing my brother.

When beer is your coffee, 

life takes on dimensions

mere muggles can't begin to grok.

When the zombies attack, 

you gotta throw bricks,

or raw chunks of crumpled concrete,

whatever you got on hand, really.

And when you live like me,

it's better to forget

that your wife collected money 

for your dead sons

while they were still alive,

and tried to bite your dick off

when you was too tired 

for relations.

I got seven friends a day

dying from prescription overdose.

I got a hundred thousand brothers

rotting right now in prison.

I stabbed a Bears fan in the spur of the moment,

and shot my own damn self bowling on a Tuesday night.

I got caught masturbating on a public boat ramp.

What I'm trying to say 

is that if you been through what I been through

you'd get a beer while fleeing police too.

Cuz you'd know it'd be a while before your next one.

and if you ever let the buzz wear off

and the memories catch up

you'll have a hangover that could kill that skunk ape,

that I saw that night

out behind my toolshed

attempting to have relations with an alligator.

You can't hear about me without smirking,

and your silent "there but for the grace of God go I" and I

I don't blame you for your feeling superior.

We're each just as we was created.

But don't act like you don't envy me.

My name brings them to their knees,

killing from Glengarry to Synecdoche,

St Paul to San Tropez.

I got 400 million hits on google, 

and 108 thousand followers on twitter

watch me come up

I'll be bigger than TikTok,

but I want you to know my name.

I am Florida Man.

I will get a blowjob from a hooker with my toddler in the car.

I will throw eggs at the courthouse.

I will sometimes be attacked by alligators.

I will often be found butt naked,

in the wrong person's house or apartment,

or on the side of the road,

proposing to a dead pit bull,

or attempting to have relations with it.

I love my cock-shaped state

that you can't take your greedy little eyes off.

born in the fountain of youth

washed in the blood of conquest

trained by mad raving pirates

stolen from the Seminole

plundered by capitalist greed

shaped by drug cartels and the space race

this is a land of endless freedom

strapped down by dickhead cops

*spits*

And if you're too scared to push it to the edge

how can you feel superior when I fall?

You rely on God's grace to keep you out of danger

because you can't handle this heat.

Like a caged canary laughing at raging wild turkey

you hold your manhood 

cheep

while I speak.

And I'll leave you with the words

tattooed across my neck,

"Only God can juge this soul"

and YES, I know I spelled judge wrong

I am FLORIDA MAN!

And I will chew your fucking face off!

I want

I want to bury my face in your hair
and die
with your scent in my lungs.

I want to wrap my arms around you and squeeze
like you're the last bit of toothpaste in the tube.

I want to find every man that hurt you
and beat him
at everything he's best at
in front of everyone he ever respected.

I want to find the mean girls from high school
make them fall in love with me
and dump them on prom night
by showing up with you.

I want to know every inch of you with my tongue.

I want to listen to you laugh after midnight
when we both have to work in the morning.
I want to rub our foreheads together
and let fireflies explore our skin by moonlight.

I want to have to throw away my favorite
black silk shirt
because you ripped the buttons off
with your teeth.

I want to regret saying
some fucked up shit
that makes you look at me
that way.

I want to laugh together
at some other fucked up shit I said
that makes you look at me
that other way.

I want to hold your hair when you puke.
I want to know what your farts sound like
but not what they smell like, because that's gross.

I want to know what your breath tastes like in the morning.
I want to hold you while you soak my face with tears.
I want to know everything there is to know about you
and keep it to myself.

I want to start making love on the beach as the sun goes down
and finish as it comes back up.

I want to make love in the middle of the day
and go back to work without taking a shower
so when I unzip to piss
your scent will hit me in the face
like a cloud of love bugs on the grill of a semi
and I'll remember every noise you made at once
and I will spontaneously sigh-groan out loud in remembered ecstasy before I can catch myself,

drawing funny looks from the other men at the urinals.

I want to go to bed mad at you
and wake up ashamed of myself.
I want to cover you like an atomic force field
and take all of your pain for my own.
I want to make you moan
and your legs shake like Michael J Fox.

I want to make you forget
what pain and hunger feels like.
I want to make you wish
the world would end when we kiss
because every moment that we don't is a disappointment.
I want to give you your space.

I want to listen to you babble about the minutia of your day
in excruciatingly painful detail
while I rub oil into your breasts and thighs.
I want to make you feel alive.

I want to wake up with pins and needles
because you fell asleep laying on my arm.
I want to eat your sin and feed you love.

I want to open pickle jars for you.
I want to reach into the back of the top shelf in the cupboard
to get that thing you need as often as you need to use it.

I want to move at your speed.
I want to make you blush when I tell you how I feel.
I want to hold you in the dark till neither one of is afraid.

In a word,
I want you.

Albino Crow

Albino crow knows
Nobody listens to words
anymore
anymore
Singing songs of his heart
they see alabaster wings
not the melody he brings
they say he needs a shiny concept
to best represent his emerging brand
and delineate a marketable persona
to set his art apart from his peers
he needs a gimmick
he needs more misery
they wanna know
who is keeping him down
No one believes in happiness
anymore
anymore
Truth is why we can't now
we're so poor
anymore
Albino crow hops
from branch to branch
along the grass
digging deeper than he can reach
stones chipping tender beak
dirt and blood making mud
like a funeral shroud
piss-proud, he takes the summit
dripping death and intoxication
he says
see, I'm just like you
cock-a-doo
a-doodle-do
Mud Crow forgets
what he came to say
and it doesn't seem important
anymore
anymore
but from the rippled surface of his favorite bath
a stranger stares him down
and laughs

The Pledge of Allegiance

Documents were recently uncovered which prove without a doubt that the US Pledge of Allegiance was not, as previously thought, authored in 1892 by a Socialist Baptist minister.

This also proves that "Under God" was NOT added in response to the Red Scare of the 50s, but was there from the very beginning.

The actual author remains unknown, but recordings of George Washington presenting the pledge to the legislature were found on a steam powered MP3 player that had fallen behind a stack of Ben Franklin's erotic French lithographs in the library of congress where it lay forgotten for two hundred years until Lupe pulled the desk out to vacuum.

I present to you now, the full, unedited, complete transcript of this momentous occasion.