Dead Elvis Made Me Pregnant

I got racist. That was the most miserable part
of my life. You would think that racism would baby

you and everything. I am no expert, but when
my son had my periods and had an abortion God

just gave them fresh seafood from crablegs, clams,
squid, octopus to seaweed magically. I got my note

out of the God-box, all frothy and delicious. His
tentacles were reaching towards Cambridge scientists

who knocked me up. I've always wondered how
they got people onto those shows, into those cat fights.

Now I understand. After they dumped me they had
the nerve to ask me not to be a racist anymore,

ducking from the invective I was hurling at them.
“Bullet Bullet in the head!” Gee, I wonder who that jerk

could be? I wasn’t the one who gave me chlamydia,
who knocked me up, the one who got me evicted!

That wasn't my cocaine. That wasn't my racism. So
I found the whole history of racism while fiddling

around online earlier. I read a little My Space blog.
We talked then of Earth and America and politics

and racism in America and I wanna go on jerry springer
cuz my moms bf is the 1 who turned me into a racist

but she doesn’t know his remarks about the Hispanic
men with whom he worked, using patriotism so

shamelessly mawkish that one of his main “Dead Elvis
made me pregnant” genre stories from the Boulder

Public Library made me racist again. You are in the correct
Mr. Show sketch, Racist in the Year 3000, but the line

you answer to is simple: yes, if you are a racist, “of course”
if you are a blatant racist. Run, run away from that pig! Or crawl.

Whatever. I was his baby and he had his baby’s head near
a croc. The headline read “Cat Swallows Parrot, Now It Says N-Word”