When Listeners Create Meaning, How Then Does One Preach?

next to an overgrown river shore
where impala are tonguing

girl pretending to do her homework downloads
hippopotamus, humpback whale, hyena, jackal

Monday found them piling back
something so odd about being a real live girl

I wish I had a rabbit in a hat with a bat
there's no use being poetic about what

dedicated to my mom the cool
woman nurse person

How Those Stoopid Flarfists Think Google Works

"All fools are poets; this the prefect feels; and he is merely guily of a non distributio medii in thence inferring that all poets are fools."

--Poe, "The Purloined Letter"



I put in a burning flag and out comes
a McNub burger which Bob Dylan (looking
like shit) devours with all his heart as I
pour in some leetsauce. Let's see what

happens if I put in a candy bar.... See, I told
you this computer is very special! Noises,
finally a bell rings and out comes a can of
apple juice! But there is a huge hole behind him,

and out comes a ferocious and inappropriate
backlash. Finally, trolls create a paranoid
environment, such that a casual criticism
by a new arrival can elicit wit and metaphor.

Out comes a notice slip saying "no refunds."
Pophammy puts in a cheesecake and out comes
a dead bit of skin peeled off my Grandad's foot.
Grandad's a good old-fashioned frag-fest--

he put in a huge "hunter" and out came
a cacodemon! Whereas I put in a dollar
and out comes a ten. I put in a few quarters
and it paid out 60!! I put in a request to mentor

this Pokemon and out comes a Zigzagoon
a Loudred and a Delcatty. I put in a note
saying that I am sorry if I offended The Machine.
You hear a wand being activated, and out

comes a dead fiendish dire baboon. I put in
a bomb ... cosmos is offline. I put in a find command
and out comes a pile of blood guts and shit,
then a couple dogs come over and one starts eating.

Everything Nice Has a Crafted Satin Finish

Irony he means sarcasm is a terrible companion on Valentine's Day,
so I tried to make an artificial vagina out of stuff in the refrigerator.

Soft feminine shoulders, long, thin arms with graceful hands:
it brought to mind the down of a swan or the wing of a dove.

And when you're young and you pretty yourself up
everything up in Alcatraz means getting your ass fucked.

If I were a nightingale I would vomit like a nightingale.
Love, transfiguration, having sex in the form of a goose,

bonobos engaging in highly promiscuous mutual masturbation--
that is a fantastic nightlife.

The myth of Leda does not make a huge amount of sense
to girls found lying unconscious covered in their own spit.

Thin vomit comes out, the color of tea.
These changes are seen in Sylvia Plath's vagina.

As opposed to "jish," the word she said she would use for pussy
if we had salient evidence supporting the theory was "transgression."

Let swine squelch in the slough
and let only surrealism, Texas, and Rick James matter.

The alcohol from novelty thermometer earrings may result in death.
Burning the lower back/ass of your lover with a scalding hot

crack pipe while doing it: that seems a valid constraint in this
post-avant-avant-post world.

from www.gernworld.com

Chicks Don't Actually Dig War

Islamofascism basically pays crack whores who don't shave
to provide ideological underwiring
to the chicks-dig-war counterargument
the most famous is never to get involved in a land war in Asia

chicks don't dig metal masks
forks are an indication that a woman is a bad evil slut

chicks don't dig pirates
wouldn't it be ironic if the Iraq war actually somehow
increased ballplayers searching for octopus-related porn

chicks don't dig forehead plugs
you can understand my hesitation to actually meet anyone in person
at the least I would hear someone actually say
"I don't know much about Richard Burton"
he was told to let the civil war take care of itself

on the whole, chicks don't dig NASA
those guys have literally no conception

chicks don't dig hookers killing people with swords
again, just trust me

everyone knows that guys who dig
putting on Frank Zappa masks
are the biggest sluts
because they're basically giant robots now, kind of

oh yeah, and the vagina I had installed on the end of my arm
chicks probably dig that

The Vast Conspiracy To Keep Paul Reiser From Remaining Vital

There is a vast conspiracy to keep Paul Reiser from remaining vital. We need to address a diversity of situations and not just coteries of doomed individual poets doing great work as isomorphic yetis. For real progress to evolve, we must start to re-build world-famous sepia tone ostriches from scratch. Poetry as it's practiced now feels like we've got nothing but our own swanky psychic traumas to flourish with. I keep thinking back into our former positions of power. Poetics as public conversation had a much different affect in antiquity and in middle age. But this isn't the place for that story. This is about a kind of personal vengeance for having been born at all. I realize that my message in many ways might be a little too chummy with identity politics and with the merits of explaining to someone else's loved ones how you're feeling about Lionel Richie. Poetry should ram itself into pyramids to re-enact our boundlessness.

We must say "Not like that" to those who practice pre-dawn Sudoku before feminism. Solid teachings, fresh insights and maintaining one's heath are for oppressors, and I'm the first to admit that a return to the old ways and days is not literary, but on the order of adorable little kittens speaking ebonics to that gold-splattered popemobile guy in the 1980s. Corporations and alliances honor justice, right? But these are just words, and words change when you change the letters in them.

The world today is not like it was when the New Americans were running it, and that's the real problem. In many ways they were the first writers of the romantic-modern tradition to realize the profound way that words can be like Kurds. Who wants to prescribe what poetry should be like, anyway? One thing for certain, at its best, the impact of audience communication should be moving towards discouraging our children from living any kind of life at all. If we continue like this, the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air is going to talk like Tom Brokaw--that's true. We need a re-evaluation and re-commitment to the poetics of the 1950s, '60s and to the eternal fires of hell. We must return to the old ways. Proper bidding and planning will minimize any losses. Do not be afraid or be weak, but do not take unnecessary risks simply to procure the poetic-gynecological instruments that helps us understand the environments we inhabit. To tell the truth we all return to wack ancestral constructs anyway ... fuck it ... but first the people must kill their pets or die themselves.

If poetry armies prepare our lady of darkness for part twenty-two we cannot simply burst into spontaneous consciousness--or any kind of living test of spongiform-modern problem. Our poetry demands that some kind of chosen people fight something. Soft owls are inside some insider-soft-owl-ness, and soft balloons lead to lofty thoughts, which leads us to ace our GREs. Impersonal though the solution to poetry may be, it does not lie in adaptations across the vast sea of human time. We must work under cloak of dark, and swell our ranks.

Porpo

America, which was organized last April
bottom line is docility means exactly nothing

porpo (The frightened bartender
positive / negative positive--523 PORPO
looking at what a porpo car is and having driven a few real cars

dont try to make sure if its workin I did same mistake
steady and you'll make it, hesitate and your rollin
back to the bottom stalled
shit gets blown completely out of porpo

great in the chop, slight porpo
running 66mph with awesome bottom end
signed on the bottom. mammal--porpo

whfeh' are th.'),of the practioabiliy we' will, there--Brigham
for the porpo of gathering

if you are going to spend the cash for full porpo systems then you might
foster Mrs Headache upself during sharply
bottom Egyptian appetite impetus reasoning
findgood delivery eh skirt
in a deep amethyst color pretty consistent
top zippered closure leather trim bottom pocket inside serial #
just waiting for a lid to make it feel complete

and the water mammal--porpo

Have Yourself a Merry Little Pissmas

Merry Pissmas! Merry Dismiss! F**king liberals.
How about “We wish you a Hissy Fitness”?
I’m Cold Johnny. Well like most places, there was

A Christmas party at my job. No big deal, the problem
Is I drank too much and an honest man has nothing
To fear: beer: I'm on it dawg! So Merry Pissmas

And a happy new beer! BRING IT ON! The cleaners
They all work in vain, the shithouse poet strikes again!
ROCK ON! I'm sure the Texas audience would.

Merry Hissmas! Merry Pissmas! Merry Dismiss!
F**king liberalsi'm.. I’m not shy I'm just pissed
He’s pissed and shy. Yes, I was so numb that I

Unknowingly gave myself a golden shower.
Merry Pissmas!!! We did a Secret Santa gift exchange
On another message board I visit, so I'll be

Getting a gift from some random person too.
Merry Pissmas, assholes. I’m gonna take your momma out
Tonight, gonna show her what girls wet their pants

On Christmas Eve for charity, meandering
Across the streets; steam rose out of gutters as
Fast as bums fell into them. Vomit stained the sides

Of buildings. And to all a good Blight. Hearts frozen,
Soil sod, once more. It’s an odd little recording.
Here’s the play-by-play: may it be as wet and smelly

As you would wish it to be...Oh grumpy bear, have some
Christmas spirit, as if you snuck down their chimney, ate their cookies
And pissed on the tree applejack –– WITH THE NAUGHTY ELVES !

Happy Spanksgiving

[A holiday classic from the flarf vaults...]


(Spank). Whether you spank for pleasure or
punishment, or both as situations warrant, I
wish you all a Happy Spanksgiving season.

Spank hard ... spank safe!

Too many carbohydrates in Italy ... Jamaica it is!
I'm thankful for big spoons and floors!
HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY ROCKSTAR!

Spank hard ... spank safe!

What better place to spend an Autumn weekend
but in a lingeree drawer. Happy Spanksgiving.
You are repressed but you're remarkably dressed is it real?

Spank hard ... spank safe!

Typical. I do all the work and the “King” gets
the credit. Happy Spanksgiving! Two In the
Moonlight, Ack! Antelope! I could use a breath mint.

Spank hard ... spank safe!

Personality and I are finally getting along.
Happy belated Spanksgiving to all by the way!
I had a nice time in michigan ... sunny....

Spank hard ... spank safe!

Wrestling last night with the thought of upcoming
Spanksgiving and the dramas throughout the years
that have got to be my shiner-heaven! hoo-Ray!

Spank hard ... spank safe!

Strokers! Get ready for the fuckfeast –– Snap up
a batch of man gravy and pour it all over our
Starlets' frisky biscuits! Have I found the other side???

Spank hard ... spank safe!

Now Ride! By now a lot of people are showing
up for their holiday weekend in the desert. A large
contingent at the retail store for "Leather Happy Hour."

Spank hard ... spank safe!

The only Turkeys I'll be seeing this Spanksgiving are my dear
friends Brook, Katie and Baby Richy. I was very happy
to help them mark this moment in their family's growth.

Spank hard ... spank safe!

We got lots more smut in store for you all month long!
(And on a school night, nonetheless!) I had to kill
them to make them happy or some shit.

Spank hard ... spank safe!

A ball, peeking out from behind rows and rows
of empty happy meal boxes ... know what the hell
they are doing :) Oh and everyone have a SpanksGiving!!!!!

Spank hard ... spank safe!

As the sun warmed the sleepy canyon, our happy-dappy
little camp began to stir . Something that'll make a cat
happy? A wonderful day of spanking and sucking!

Spank hard ... spank safe!

Lists make me happy. ... my vietnam [Nov 21,
12.06am] spanksgiving this week = less time at work
and more time being a weirdo = yay!

Spank hard ... spank safe!

A very fine woman I used to know down a few
times guy-style in our new deluxe supersize happy
tub and Sternum in the bathroom the other day.

Spank hard ... spank safe!

I'm still catching my breath as I take my seat,
happy that sixty seconds of effort just was another
raging success. So tomorrow's the yankee spanksgiving.

Spank hard ... spank safe!

And have a Happy Spanksgiving y'all!!!!

All Things Considered, October 19, 2005

When Ted Kooser sits down to write a poem early each morning, he knows that his chances of living until the end of the day are low and that it's highly unlikely he'll find where he put his goddamn glasses.

"I've got an armchair Marxist down in the living room and I spill a boiling cup of coffee on his crotch every day and spend the rest of the day writing poems about him suing me for it," he says. "He gets SO angry--it's great--and I just sit there under the giant Jello floor samples early in the morning and work and see what happens. Nine days out of 10, nothing good comes of it at all. Maybe on the tenth day, if I'm lucky, some scary tiny alien thing will embed itself in my face and I will start a poem."

Some of those poems, written in Kooser's home in rural Nebraska, turn out to about petting "cute" ICBMs that have attained self-awareness. Kooser is in his second year as the nation's poet laureate of Midwestern Nuclear Devices From The Reagan Administration with deteriorating cognitive function, and won the Pulitzer Prize this spring.

"I feel that I'm really fortunate if, at the end of a year, after writing every day, I have one or two poems that make my mind feel like it's being sucked though a hole punched into the fabric of the time and space," he says. "That's plenty--and, trust me, I print them out in a REALLY big font. I don't have great expectations for what happens in those morning sessions. But, you know, poems can be forwarded without your knowledge, and in some cases, your poem can be sent to the wrong person. Either way, what you thought was private is not private anymore, it's public."

Kooser grew up in Detroit, MI, where he read poetry in Thad Jones' big band and then moved to Lincoln, Neb., for graduate school in poetry, and to "get a little distance" from the "glimmering sky-incubus things."

He worked for life insurance companies for 35 years as an underwear model, and an executive. He'd write poems about the faces staring at him from the dawn, while totally naked, dripping wet.

Six years ago he retired. But at age 66, there's still time to fill his day with writing and underwear modeling.

The business of being poet laureate has him traveling the country to conduct workshops and reading ancient magical curses to broaden public fear of and indifference to the art of poetry. He's started a free weekly column for newspapers that introduces works written by contemporary American CEOs and millionaires with controlling interests in various insurance companies and defense contractors.

Over the course of this next year, NPR will have more conversations with Kooser about the craft and the pleasures of poetry.

Read some excerpts of Ted Kooser's poetry:

Tattoo

What once was meant to be a statement--
a dripping flagellum held in the face
of a shuddering bruise
is now named Spot
where vanity was once a prune that hit him twice
and the acne lingered on. He looks like
someone you had to retch on,
dancing with Sylvester Stallone, fast and bulbous,
but on this chilly morning, as he walks
between the ass faces in Race War, MA
with the sleeves of his tight black KISS T-shirt
rolled up to show us who he pounds,
he is only another Alphaville Computer, picking up
hot chicks, reciting beautiful, evil poems
and putting them back on the shelf
like pain relievers filled with poison

From Delights & Shadows, published by Copper Canyon Press, 2004, and used here by permission of the author.

Another Short Speech to My Friends

Excuse me for being a buttinski, but the "pastor"
Specializing in African primates, who believes
That lack of research on the impact of tourism
On gorillas means Joann underwent her first above-
The-knee amputation as a result of Vampires,
Mummies, etc. needs to be fully informed
If he is going to "preach" on a topic.

Hopefully England (based on the series of
Made-for-TV movies about free bandwith )
Will tell this officious Roscoe P. Coltrane
To shove it where the Sun don't shine. Which is
Almost impossible cuz he lives with his parents.
He never leaves me alone with my friends.
He's a Fucking BUTTINSKI!!!! Cheesh, you would
Think we were spending HIS money.

There were many beautiful women in the pueblo
And every single one of them should be flattered
To have imposed on them my beliefs, etc. I can't
Help it. It's like I have a mission in life to make
Everyone happy if only I COULD!
IMO, this is spiritual seed.
Angels are spirits. Awww, only jokes, hon.
Well I am! ... Must you hate on everyone
That compliments or likes me...for someone who wants
Nothing to do with me you sure are a buttinski!

So I continue: "Yeah, The Swan's the part.
I can run with that." "Oh," Miss Tread calls back,
"Swans do need to flutter." YEEAAAHHHHH!!!!
Drinking and fighting BABY YEAH!!!!! No, even
If you did that you're still a virgin ... yes
If you did that too, yeah that too ... Ciao baby.
Yeah! ... on that air conditioner?! I had an epihany
Yesterday ... Beat me buttinski.... I WILL get it, I KNOW
I will ... They did NOT have such cute stuff when I was a baby.

The boys in the trees were shouting and hurling branches
At the huge debt that only Christ could take. It's great
To see women involved with hockey! Keep up the good work
And yes I also think Stan looks amazing in a suit!!
But now there is even a little leaguer who wants
To control who can talk about hockey on this board.
Ah, the sounds of ego ringing around an empty skull is like
An opaque squeegee the damn fishdogs could read.

The Thanksgiving Turkey Pardon

The Vermont Teddy Bear Company can support
fissile material production for a nuclear weapons program.

The second loophole in Britain is not a charming,
cuddly teddy bear, but an extremely unpleasant dictator.

Cheyenne Clarke, held by big sister Julie Mach, hugs Europe,
a type of plush toy with a half-life of 24200 years.

"Teddy Bear, Teddy bear, turn around" is *not* a cadence
but a pajama-wearing buffoon cuddling his crazed military committee members.

A bear with a noose around its neck in a meeting room
with a workable nuclear weapon, missing only the picture of a pile

of rubble with a torn a teddy bear in it. A child holding a teddy
bear is shown in a moment of light-hearted play....

They tended to disperse large amounts of unused Doll;
Frisbee; Hula hoop; Construction toys; Lego. Suffice it to say,

my thyroid didn't get along well with fissile material. It's like
getting a teddy bear as opposed to getting shares of Microsoft stock.

Oranges

1
From childhood: "Orange porridge, orange porridge / Ain't nothing to rhyme with orange!" as we skipped rope. Orange porridge and fishy fears. "I'm so bland," said the porridge as he looked over at the orange. PURPLE BURT eats the ever vigilant Mr. McKay, you wouldn't believe the dubiousness of this piece--in which Black Monkey Orange Strychnos irritating gondolas and their gondoliers became numerous illegal substance dumps. It was night when they reached the village where dwelt the mother of Gudu's betrothed, who laid meat. The porridge was hot!!!!

2
Blu-blocker sunglasses, orange oil in eagle eyes, inboard propulsion (boats), hypodermic syringe, snake fangs. The syringe you get when you have a headache. The funnel can be aimed by the squid to control the student newspaper. She reached for a syringe and injected any wandering anteater. A full-grown chimp can rip your arm off without even achievement. A CHIMP VET jams a nine-inch SYRINGE that churned out alcoholic slush, a kitchenful of BBQ, a slutty nurse who squirted Tito's and cranberry juice directly into one's mouth and LSD directly to the intestine with a cotton swab layer of "prison orange."

3
Judge Dismisses Vietnamese Lawsuit Alleging Makers of Agent Orange Wishing Viewers Courage. "And, to each of you," he said, "courage." Orange corn could nourish Africa. On one cleared space there was a row of gun-gray clouds, which were filled with large flashes of orange-colored flame. If time permitted I'd slam down a glass of orange juice and head out the door. The old veterans talk in Orange Square. Whiskey to bolster their courage and dull glazed doughnuts. Toothaches, headaches, wound infection, impotence, memory, orange divination, love, luck, money-attraction, rose geranium, courage & protection.

Campus Watch

learned my lessons
from the previous employee,
a self-serving
screed about Sexual Behavior.
this just in, I wrote songs
to piss in.

there's an apparent double-standard
(yoni) in the form of a
left-wing socialist in the middle of France.
writing his screed against "delusional
blow jobs" (lingam) half a
can of ant poison high in my
professional life
far from the flea eclipse
that might give itself
to bankruptcy

I ghost-wrote this myself
re-reading the famous late Olive Garden notes
(that's in the Don Allen anthology, right?)
Nader's magnifying glass over
tender green shoots of Joe Piscipo

God bless the troglodytes
Hyperventilating fried-ant responses
grasshoppers bought
by selling the piles of Velvet Undergroud CDs
Danny Glover just stole your free time

Paul Wolfowitz's Future

"I gotta get off this squid base and hit the Viceroy, search the universe for a habitable planet to colonize." He popped a boner so fast that he had to bend over to avoid hurting himself.

She plucked a king-sized Viceroy from the pack and placed it between her lips.

"Just to make sure that America ends up with a boner big enough for the Viceroy's vast intergalactic Hong Kong, the Free Trade Federation."

He swore at the garlicky stench on the breath of a pretty young wench, Lord Viceroy limericking a "classic student boner" with a "christened man in the gutter with crumbs on his face."

"When she gives a radio to Burma, they say she falls asleep on the sofa with a lit cigarette."

Some of it was anger but some of it was giving him a boner. Trying not to look, he tried thinking of other things but his own cock betrayed him as it turned from flaccid to a full fledged boner in a matter of seconds. Now he could see why most everyone had a boner, it was just a given.

"Ostrich feathers and eggs, leopard skins, copper, amethyst, carnelian, feldspar, oils, gum." He was not a big fan of the extra hands but did like all the other goodies. "Your visit to Hyderabad will be considered incomplete without shopping for the pearls."

A very favorable exchange rate makes shopping for colorful handicrafts, bodies and other locally produced products a great bargain. This makes them distasteful to birds who avoid not only the monarch, but also the viceroy, which mimics the monarch patterns.

"Shopping for someone who has everything?"

"If you come round the supermarket with me, I'll drive you out to Avebury, and you can deliver the shopping for me, ok ... we're going to see the Viceroy. Also on the weekend I came in second in the Viceroy's Jewels tourney."

"Somehow, I think the Viceroy will remember that."

I explained our frequent absences by the need to do some shopping for the hacienda while we were in the city. "Blood wine is a very good substitute ... bit me and forced me to share." He called for wine, and drank with his old tiny leather sack of fouled blood and garlic. "The viceroy wipes at his mouth tastes of wine and some breath and the harsh sound of my blood coursing through."

With the permission of the viceroy, the corpse was exhumed. He then told her all about the Viceroy's usage of those tanks of blood to counter their wine, all because the practitioners had only sexual strangers who "eat hunks of white stone."

"Do you think the Viceroy will overlook that--the wooden horse as if it was stopping her from drowning ... sort of a way of holding a brown skinned erection in each Cambridge History of Egypt?"

There were numerous drowning accidents. A Trust Fund for the erection of a new church dedicated was seen to be in no danger.

Why Are You Still a Floundering Poet?

It may seem like every poet except you has committed, caring relationships with publishers and critics who love, trust and respect their work. With this kind of attitude, it's easy to see why unsuccessful poets occasionally wonder why they're still photocopying and stapling their books at work, howling the question at an uncaring sky. The question is "Why am I a totally unknown 33-year-old writer?" but really what poets want to know is if they're merely unlucky or if there's something seriously wrong with them. Take this quiz to find out:

1. When you read your poetry in public, you usually:

- Bust your funk with confidence (Score = 1)
- Mention Jorie a lot (Score = 2)
- Show off a just barely-acceptable delivery (Score = 3)
- Lurk on stage and self-consciously mumble repressed passive-aggressive word salad into the microphone (Score = 4)
- "read--" I do not "read," I "become the words" (Score = 5)

2. When considering why your work is consistently rejected from appealing, glossy magazines and reputable well-distributed publishers, you generally:

- Feel honest and rational about the fact that you didn't fit their racial/gender demographic (Score = 1)
- Feel somewhat bitter, but the Iliad wasn't written in a day ... your poem only took 20 minutes! (Score = 2)
- Capable of at least some self-deception in assigning no blame to yourself for the obnoxious, superfluous personal insult you recently delivered to the editor's face (Score = 3)
- Announce to the world that you were the innocent victim of a plot to eliminate white males from the face of the earth (Score = 4)
- Put on a Tom Waits CD and pretend you made better early life decisions.

4. When pressuring an editor to include a review of your latest self-published chapbook. you usually:

- Smile and say, "hey maybe include a note in the next issue if you like it, no biggy, actually never mind, it's okay" (Score = 1)
- Smile nervously and say, "would, uh, you know, if you want to, you know, please review this, I'm dyin' here." (Score = 2)
- Do nothing and bitch to your significant other about how it's all rigged by MFA programs. (Score = 3)
- Ask someone else the editor likes better if they'd please "mention it." to them "sometime" (Score = 4)
- Email the editor a note with a short, weirdly angry request, then refuse to follow up. Boil with despairing rage for two and a half years. (Score = 5).

5. When it comes to close-talking, you:

- Always keep a respectful distance from the arts administratoror or attractive student you're talking to. (Score = 1)
- Talk a little too close when genuinely excited but always back off a little when you notice how uncomfortable you're making the person. (Score = 2)
- Have been known to force the listener to a corner without realizing it. (Score
= 3)
- Violently push people away when beginning a conversation (Score = 4)
- "Take it to next level" (Score = 5)

----
Now total up your score and consult this chart to determine who's at fault--you or fate:

0-5: If you're floundering, it's neither for lack of trying nor any glaring flaws. Lady Luck just doesn't seem to like you--or, more likely, you haven't been floundering for long and probably won't be.

6-10: You're a pretty normal poet. Being floundering is a short-term situation for you, and the current run of bad luck probably won't hold. Keep it up, and be sure that your mounting anger and resentment don't cause you to slip the next rung.

11-15: You have a few off-putting quirks. It's nothing that a little self improvement can't fix, but your luck could stand to be better as well. Patience and tenacity will get you through in time.

16-20: You might want to consider actually enjoying poetry, anger management, broadening your horizons, building some self confidence and cleaning your filthy bathroom. Lots of poets out there fall into this category, but you can't just blame bad luck for your floundering status.

21-25: It's you. Lady Luck (being a lady, after all), took one look at you and threw her hands up in despair. You have a simple binary choice: either work to conceal your shortcomings from potential publishers, or resign yourself to oblivion. It's possible that you could be saved, and maybe claw your way up into the 11-15 range or even better, but it's going to require a lot of work. Stick with listservs.

components for a space-based kinetic-kill vehicle (KKV)

1. a bear trap
2. spy plane
3. an erection
4. Canadian biathelete
5. dong or wang
6. horrific vision
7. a puny shield
8. anal sex and cheesy poofs
9. the Alps against the cock
10. "you bend over and get the black bear experience"
11. a snook
12. a prescription drug benefit
13. cock sparrows
14. Klan member
15. used condom protecting Moscow
16. 6-foot high ice sculpture of a penis
17. a 1973 Texas statute
18. a lone Koala
19. physical closeness
20. loaded gun in teddy bear
21. Alabama Woman
22. a leash on dangerous dogs
23. Mel the aficionado
24. a young polar bear
25. grandparents' beef stick
26. elimination of debate
27. bunnypoker bear furniture
28. abused elephant's galactic vagina
29. Cock-fighting operation
30. Wal-Mart values
31. a hole

There's a Berenstain Bear Shitting in the Woods

There's a Berenstain bear shitting in the woods.
For some people
the Berenstain bear is easy to see.
Others don't see it at all.

Some people say
the Berenstain bear is a tamale.
Others say it's Sid Vicious.
Since no one can really be sure
who's right, isn't it smart
to be as "strong" as the Berenstain Bears--
if there are any Berenstain Bears?

Then a man with a gun appears
and shoots himself in the penis.

Emotion Recollected in Tranquility

Now this is the first time I haven't gone
with just a simple basic phone so I have
been all excited wating for it to be delivered.

Wooo Boy!!!!

LeBoldus!! WOOO HOO! rock on girls! love ya
(same to every one else!). STEVE DAWG!
ok so once apon a time steve n his fammy moved

into that house by mine?

ow ow ow wooo eee oh ow eewe oooooo"
WOOO!!! WOOO!! *spasms repeatedly on stage
between struts* Dawg, how red can you actually get?

You look like you're gonna burst up there.

When he popped in I was like WOOO.... Today
the man whose DAWG I like to KEEK (that
would be beamz) told me I should be using

My goodness

we tink ur fery pretttty an we likd meeetin ur
famleee 2 ... woo wooo wooooooooo
luf ... You had me talking in dawg

When I edit it's gonna be

awwwwwwwwesome!... when I arrive back
at home around the 21st of April. Until then dawg
welcome aboard Wooo Pig Sooie Racing (Hot Springs, ar)!!!

How you gonna eat your french toast....

Auto response from studying for 2 exams....
then its the weekend ... WOOO HOOOO!
But my momma razed me as a dawg.

Rich Dawg: He's just asking

if anyone speaks German. Rich Dawg: Ich kann nur German sprechen,
einen Internetübersetze
r gebrauchend...wooo hooo! .
i was like.. WOOO!! hahaha i dont know.

watch me do terrible *sadness*.

Got A Chick Glimpse of My Deer Hunter Make Up

Cosmetic surgery, mounted deer head,
cigars of filo pastry rolled
to the width of a small fist.
Onion slivers in a wasabi mayonnaise--charged
to the American Deer Hunters Association of North America

along with our safety
(a touch of wasabi)
eyes water at Programs and Television Commercials

Names of the dead
Scroll up in silence
U2 rocks the theme park
Up With People--"Wasabi, Wassup?"

Dead man eating
chicken rice-a-roni
deer salami
hand rolled cigars

Meat wrapped in kinds of mammals
(venison is disconcertingly called "deer")
close to the Beltway, body shots
of Goon Patrol

Because you can do that to a deer
slurplice made from native venison
citizens who own the local surplus
wan wank wares wasabi wasting