Tag Archives: Asshole

Shit Painted Gold

Some people look great
but inside they’re as
dead as dried leaves or
an abandoned factory.

The immediate stench of their
absolute nothingness
can be bought at your
local Sears counter.

When you get too close
to the haircut
the cologne
burns the back of your throat
tasting like
plastic
pretentious
carcass.

And hey,
nice tan
here’s a prune.
Notice the resemblance?
Nah, course you don’t.
You don’t notice anything that’s not you.

They may flash you a disarming smile in return
etched to perfection by years of mirrored practise
but it merely acts as a freshly-painted billboard
welcoming you to an arid wasteland
of creams and oils and hours of self-pruning
of sickness and disease and death of the spirit
of a great empty place where there is little else but
meaningless chit-chatter so consistent and invasive
that it could drive a thinking man to leap
from a high-rise balcony
into the streets of stars below
because everybody demands Hollywood
these days it’s a sickness
a plague
a merciless wench with a ten iron.

Everybody’s a fucking celebrity.

But those
that strut around like peacocks
for no reason at all
do so with an undeserved
sense of accomplishment.

It just begs the question that you
will never receive a proper answer for:
Why go through all the trouble
hour after hour
day after day
to ensure that your shirt is still immaculately pressed
that your slacks are entirely lint-free
and every strand of hair is still in place
like it’s all that there is?

What had happened in your life
to end up placing upmost importance
in something so trivial?

You’re just feeding off of
what you’ve been fed
and would trade your soul
for corporate sponsorship
if you even knew where to look for it
and you’re a gorgeous piece of shit
and I’m a gorgeous piece of shit
and we’re all just collectively
one big commercial
at the end of our existential mire

but it’s people like you that deny the fact
that we all need to piss, shit, eat,
bleed and sometimes cry

So why care to the point
where it’s an insanity and a
disease?

You could ask them
but the main reason you would never
get the answer you’re looking for is because
as soon as they start talking
it makes you want to
turn on the vacuum cleaner
and sometimes
start up the blender too.

Good Ol’ Tommy

I saw an old college buddy at the grocery store.
I haven’t seen him in years so I waved at him excitedly with both hands
with all the subtlety of the Kool-aid Man crashing through a wall.
Oh Yeah!

“Hey Fucker!” I shouted gleefully across
the frozen produce section.

I waited for him to register who I was.
That’s right. Take your time…Dipshit.

Finally, “Oh, hey man!” He returned.
“Hey!” I repeated, came up to him and looked him over.
“Christ, you’re fat!” I said.
“I’m married.” He shrugged.
“Yeah, I can see that it’s done wonders for you.”
“Are you married?” He asked.
“Now don’t you start with that crazy talk!”

I saw him signal something to a woman
lumbering around the organics section
scaring children and
sensuously eying the cucumbers.

She almost sucked up an avocado just by breathing.

“Is that your wife over there?” I asked.
“Yes.” His eyes glowed so they must be newlyweds because
he didn’t absolutely despise or fear her yet.

“Good God! What happened to you?” I inquired,
“You used to be so slick
always picking girls off the club floor
like apples from a tree
now you’re perusing the tomatoes
you look like an eggplant
and your wife’s Godzilla!”

“Would you like to meet her?”

“Whatever, I gotta run.
Just looking at you two makes me
want to buy a steak
(I gave him a look)
before they’re all gone.
Cheers.”

I turned away and wheeled my cart
over to the next aisle
chuckling to myself.

Good ol’ Tommy.
Such a nice guy,
therefore we all rode him
like a cheap virgin hooker
on a Saturday night
all the way through college.

And something’s never change.