Eating Habits

I don’t

think my cat likes

it when She’s trying to eat Her dinner

some brown slop

spooned out of a can

onto a porcelain white dish

set a few feet away

from me

while I pee a strong golden stream into my own porcelain dish

She looks at me

upturned whiskers and insulted sensibilities

I don’t desist

because it’s my 2 bed 2 bath apartment

cheaply carpeted with barren walls

couch with unmatched chair

used chest turned coffee table

cat tree beside the wall

where She reclines on high, waiting

for me

to leave

to resume

Her daily feast.

Stream of Conscious-piss

First things first, in the morning, stand up, Achilles pain, should stretch my calf while I graze grass and suck at the power teat of my milk-producing moo mom, my moomy,  Mumm-Ra was the bad guy on Thundercats which surprisingly hasn’t been made into a movie, they’re remaking The Mummy, the Brendan Fraser one, now with Tom Cruise, but no Thundercats, no Voltron, no by the power of grayskull I have the gray matter remember that from Breaking Bad, Walter White and the other guy’s last name was Black, combined it was gray, which reminds me of Clear & Present Danger, not black or white, right or wrong, and I told about equality and it’s true either you’re wrong or you’re right, Bob Barker spinning the big wheel, sexually harassing chicks, but he’s old and white and privileged, what do you expect, I like the spinning tea cup ride at Disney or maybe I don’t, maybe it’s too spinny, from parade pinwheels to kids doing cartwheels, fart-meals fart-meals fart-meals, breathe in the sulfurous eggs, my soul-Fast-and-Furious, along with my tinkles in the toilet like a porcelain piccolo staccato Chicken Piccata topped with the Great Muppet capers and some Lemony Snicket, that’s another book/movie I don’t care about like oxygen and air and breathing and flush it all down, flush away the toxins, flush away the memories, flush away the flesh, the weak flesh soft and pliant and compliant and giant too many giants, Andre, the Iron, the BFG, that James Dean movie from the 50s, he’s dead, I haven’t seen it, anyone want a peanut?

Target Market

In the bathroom at the last movie theater I went to there was a vending machine. In addition to breath mints and Ibuprofen, the machine had table top footballs for sale; those pointy triangle things that you made yourself and played with back when you were in middle school.

You could buy one. In a movie theater bathroom. On your way to or from a movie.

I would’ve figured condoms.