Today's poems [5.26.10]
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There was an old man of Kentucky,
Said to his old woman,"Oi'll fuck ye."
She replied, "Now you wunt
Come anigh my old cunt,
For your prick is all stinking and mucky,"
The young things who frequent picture palaces
Have no use for this psycho-analysis.
And although Doctor Freud
Is distinctly annoyed
They cling to their old-fashioned fallacies.
Ode to a Mammogram
For years and years they told me, "Be careful of your breasts."
Don't ever squeeze or bruise them, and give them monthly tests.
So, I heeded all their warnings.....and protected them by law....
Guarded them very carefully, and always wore a bra.
After 10 years of careful care, the doctor found a lump.
He ordered up a mammogram to look inside that clump.
"Stand up very close," the nurse said, as she got my tit in line,
"And tell me when it hurts," she said. "Ah, yes....that's just fine."
She stepped upon a pedal....I could not believe my eyes,
A plastic plate was pressing down....My boob was in a vice....
My skin was stretched and stretched from way up by my chin,
And my poor tit was being squashed to Swedish pancake thing......
Excruciating pain I felt, within it's vice-like grip,
A prisoner in this vicious thing.....My poor defenseless tit......
"Take a deep breath" she said to me. Who does she think she's kidding?
My chest is smashed in her machine, I can't breathe and woozy I am getting!
"There, that was good" I heard her say, as the room was slowly swaying.
"Now let's get the other one."........"Lord have mercy," I was praying.
It squeezed me from the up and down, it squeezed me from both sides,
I'll bet she never has this done to HER tender little hide.
If I had no problem when I first came in, I surely have one now......
If there had been a cyst in there, it would have popped Ker-Pow!
This machine was made by a MAN, of this I have no doubt.....
I'd like to get his balls in there.....for months he'd go WITHOUT!
Ode to Spam
by Charlie Johnston
Oh SPAM! Oh SPAM! Gourmet delight!
My food by day, my dreams by night.
To carve, to slice, to dice you up -
pureed in a blender and sipped from a cup.
What shining deity from Olympus knelt
down to the earth and hog butt smelt?
Creating then man's eternal desire
for swine entrails congealed by fire.
On some corporate farm, a pig has died.
Eyes, tongue, and snout end up inside
that cube of SPAM hidden in the can
I now hold in my trembling hand.
More than mere food, SPAM is for me
a hedonistic expression of gluttonous glee.
Mottled with pork fat, the pink cube engrosses.
My mouth takes it in, my intestine disposes.
Long have my arteries clogged to the sound
of sizzling SPAM when there's no one around -
furtively chewing or swallowing whole.
Triple bypass by forty, my medical goal.
Other processed meat products I've tried or declined
Vienna Sausages, Treet, even pig's feet in brine.
Though each may be tasty in different ways,
none matches SPAM for gelatinous glaze.
That glistening pinkness beckons me
with gristle, fat, and BHT.
Oh Spam, my Spam - the taste, the smell -
The sacred meat product from Hormel.
Dirty Old Hag
Here's to Mag that dirty old hag,
That slick and slimy old bitch,
From her nose green matter flows,
And from her toes green maggots grow.
Before I climb those scaly legs
And chew those festered tits,
I'll drink three quarts of drunkard's puke
and die with the drizzled shits.
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