Spastic Gastric Function

by Violet Tiara

November 25, 2002

"Spastic Gastric Function"
is the social event of the year,
bathe your Clydesdales in lite beer...
Homeo-apathy as a viable career?

Flaccid pansies? I'd eat them gladly.
Anteaters play clarinets,
from the trunks of blue corvettes,
the gentlemen have placed their bets.

Take your chances
on pairs of pantses
that look lovely when they're nuzzled
between the ass cheeks of male models
who suck the rubber tit of baby bottles.

Terrorists?
Don't act so pissed,
just because your country's all full of sand.
Think sand castles all across the land!
Everyone's a king until the crabs attack.

The earth cries,
the French fries
have eyes and legs.
Holy shit McDonalds on acid!
There's a tarantula with Velcro knees,
George Bush honking on the Japanese.

Rubbery dumplings
shit out the ass of mumbling somethings,
green are their eyes but they only say one thing:
"Hello can I take your order?"

Ronald please,
no angry cow disease
for me.
I'll have the salad, plain as Jane,
and please hold the holes in my brain.

The world's a kaleidoscope
not an Al-Qaidascope
and we all try to hope
we'll live long enough to elope,
a wedding in mauve and taupe
with incontinents jumping rope.

Or at least a back-seat grope
with some kind of hot-ass guru or something
we met at the Spastic Gastric Function.

Quote of the Day

“Give me liberty or give me something better, and kick it in the ass this time, I'm late already.”

-Henry Patrick Wells

Fortune 500 Cookie

You will finally get that monkey off your back, but the tattoo removal fees will cripple your already weak home dog-waxing business. Try parting your hair on the left this week. Couldn't hurt. Look out for people dressed in blue. Nobody likes you.

Try again later.

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