Home Run Fun

He jacked it. Jacked a huge bomb. Launched it deep and hard to center. To left-center. To right. Upper deck. He creamed it. Knocked a big dong. Smashed it. Ripped it. Crushed it. A huge towering dinger. He’s touching all the bases on that one. He blasted it. He went downtown. He went yard. It’s a goner. He slammed it. The grand salami. Break out the tape measure on that one.

Anyone got a light?

Love in the time of the singularity

Maybe in the future we won’t fuck anymore. Just touch our heads together. Our heads growing bigger and more powerful. Everything tied up in those neurons, all sensory perception barricaded there. All nerve endings migrating to our temples. And when two heads, propped up on mechanical, android bodies because our hollow skeletal bones are insufficient for the task, touch, those ‘beings’ will orgasm simultaneously. Feel united, complete. That will be love. No heartache no despair no cock thrusting and depositing semen. No quivering vaginal walls. Just skin, two patches of skin, residing directly external to the prefrontal cortex, connecting at an atomic level, conducting electrical impulses, messages, communicating infinite adoration.





hello there.




Not the one with

Halle Berry.


I have bursitis in my knee. No doctor diagnosed this.

I went to Google. Typed keywords in the search box.

pain on inside of leg below the knee

It popped up. Autofill. Symptomatic crowdsourcing.

Pluralistic hypochondriac-ism.

Been popping pills, Advils, ad nauseum (looks curiously


A devil)

dissolving in my gut, acids eviscerating

the cinder block molecules into easily


bite-size pellets

And after twenty (thirty) minutes

the pain dulls, the blood warms, the mind slows

I must be cured.

The effects wear thin, the blood cools, the tendons re-fray

biological mish-mash like refried


topped with



Sound the horns, lower the drawbridge

the body idyllic

susceptible to ice pack attacks

leaving the soft, squishy skin as cold as a corpse’s



Fantasy Football

Let me tell you about my Fantasy Football League…

The football is made of frozen Snickers smushed together, and on fourth down teams can stick, punt, or eat the football. Instead of helmets the players wear helicopter hats, which are safe because no one is allowed to tackle, only tickle. The field-lines are made of confectioners sugar, and each goalpost is padded with a million Twizzlers. The cheerleaders roam the sidelines on rainbow colored unicorns during the game, blowing kisses at the fans and flashing them spontaneously.  The coaches don’t bark orders into headsets; they signal messages to the players, like I love you for who you are, with glow sticks.