Dinner Date

by Violet Tiara

May 27, 2002

Swizzle-stick me in a jar,
mastodons in foreign cars.
Oh what lovely
buggering bubbly
sex shows on starships tonight!

Chew up those rancid tulips
like I know you want to, Stone Phillips.
Belching out butterflies,
watching them flutter by,
gastric delights hued in blue.

Don't be so dumb,
dressed up and down in that bubblegum.
Don't you know you're the queen?
Practical jokes are so mean.
My lady you drink like a whore.

Rubber wigs are low-fuss.
Parsley sprigs condemn us.
Slap on that wig
and shit out a fig,
see if they won't now get us a table!

Stone Phillips, the queen and me,
dancing on MTV.
Dining on the finest
low-calorie vaginas
this posh restaurant can provide us.

Laughing whenever we see
the bluebirds of jealousy.
Asking a Yeti
with a ceramic machete
to kindly pass the spicy mustards.

The creature, a teacher, a pig and the pope
sang a song all about their plans to elope.
And with a loud blast
the ballroom was gassed
(and though it was passed)
I don't think that was spicy mustard.

Milestones

2002: Office prick and former Acting-Editor Ramrod Hurley successfully turns 30, leading us on an endless week-long binge of bitching, moaning, and strange acts of vandalism we hope not to repeat this year.

Now Hiring

Big Fat Patsy. 'Cause we're not taking the rap for this, see. We must look like a real all-day sucker to you, yeah, a sucker, with a big fat wrapper. Boy, should we have seen it coming! Played like a two-bit piano from day one. Backstabbing dames need not apply.

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