Category: Epic

Gathered here on Turkey Day
Family here from far away
We won’t mention Joe’s conviction
as father prays benediction.
How can uncle be at large
with the gravity of that charge?

But it’s not me and for that I am grateful.

And there is sister Betty Lou
Whose love life is always a taboo
Beside her sits step brother Mitch
Whose life time partner is the biggest bitch
Aunt Fay, the dear, was in a crash.
And Bob was swindled out of his cash

But it’s not me and for that I am grateful.

Great Uncle Pat wears at his side
A colostomy bag worn cockeyed
So oozes brown and with foul smell
While 8 year old little grandson Mel
Is forced to endure the horrid stench
As he is made to share Pat’s stinky bench

But it’s not me and for that I am grateful.

Hoping this day will quickly pass
We pray while staring at poultry ass
For in the center of our great feast
is the traditional stuffed, roasted beast
celebrating this glad day spread wide
With non bird things crammed deep inside

But it’s not me and for that I am grateful.

Rip Mangle Pop
Sounds I like alot
The coffin shows rot
Snap Mangle Pop

Snap Mangle Plop
The body goes keplunk
Flipped from its resting spot
Rip Mangle Plop

Rip Mangle Pop
It’s time take the top
While weakened bones get bopped
Snap Mangle Pop

Rip Mangle Pop
The sounds I like alot
Old bones now show their rot
Rip Mangle Bop

Whenever I’m in town, I make it a point to see Evette
The brightest lights, abundant wine, blonds, redheads, and brunettes
Painted women line the walls, tasty little snacks.
But none can hold a candle to Old Sadie in the back.

The female window dressings are in the bloom of youth
But in Old Sadie’s head could be found not one real tooth.
She has few hairs upon her head – the few she has are white
And the huge mole upon her brow is a really haggard sight.

But when Old Sade on bended knees puts her teeth into a cup
The men who hear the muted klink fight each other to line up.
One by one she takes them on humming as she goes.
A mm mm good that makes her wrinkled cheeks begin to glow.

Afterwards they leave that place humming her catchy song
It stays with to force them back to her to serve their dongs
I pray to whatever gods are there to grant me some mercy
For I confess that in my head forever plays that melody.

She told me not to eat it. It had sat around all night.
Now it ripped its way through me- I hate it when she’s right.
I rushed the john. I dropped my pants and aimed my behind down.
Too soon! I missed. The wall did splat and make a mighty sound.
I grabbed a towel to clean my mess but found it wasn’t bad.
With depth my ass had told a tale on tile that made me glad.
This had to be put on film to share it with all Mankind.
When I came back to take a snap, I found in there my wife.
“NO! Don’t do it!” I begged as she sprayed the rag to wipe.
She said to me, “It’s only shit, brown and gross and ripe.”
“It speaks of Mankind’s plight,” I said, “and of Mankind’s pain.
You cannot understand what my ass is trying to say.”
Again she said, “It’s only shit that needs to be removed.
To keep it here for all to see in no way I’ll approve.”
I to her, “When first we met, I did not think you dense
But great art before you stands. Of this you have no sense.”
“No sense,” she said, “I’ve more than you for I see it’s only shit!”
” ‘No’, I say. It’s Man’s great trek and how his soul’s unfit.
This splotch shows him naked, ashamed before the Earth.
This one,” I went on, “shows the darkness of our birth.”
“BUT IT’S ONLY SHIT!” she cried, “You see what e’er you want.
‘IT’S ONLY SHIT,’ I say for you’re not some great savant!”
“You don’t know art,” I said to her. “Let’s put this thing to rest
We’ll call on those who claim to know what art is really best.”
We called on five who claimed to judge the truth with in all art.
The first one who came and saw called it bold and with great heart.
The second came and said it lacked of anything mature.
The third was touched by its dark view of human souls impure.
The fourth came claiming it was a copy of one he saw in France.
The fifth needed to break the tie came in and gave a glance,
My wife yelled, “Tell him it’s shit” To which he said, “You’re right.”
I shouted back, “I won’t be wrong. Don’t help her win this fight.”
“I did not say that you were wrong,” the critic then chimed in,
“But you crapped it out. It is shit, In this your wife will win.
But is it art? That’s up to you and your wife to surely judge
Whether you decide to clean it off or keep your walls afudged.
I’ve been to lands far and wide and seen shit on many walls
Is yours better or worse? I cannot make that call.”
He left us there perplexed as hell not knowing what to do.
So we flipped a coin to let the gods decide our bathroom view