THE SHADOWVILLE MYTHOS: Ode to My Slurp-puppet PART FIVE

[Michael Pendragon]

THE SHADOWVILLE MYTHOS: Ode to My Slurp-puppet
PART FIVE


A Donkey Bible thumps:

"Zod,
You know the phrase, 'Whither Thou Goest?'
It actually means that my lawn you will mow-est
and after that's done, me you will blow-est
because I can't pay even the cheapest ho-est
and there are bills, child support and taxes I owe-est.
What else can you do to make me some dough-est?
Dirty Mike is by the river playing his banjo-est,
luring you down to where the water flow-est,
but let's pretend we are row, row, row-est,
then feast on some rats and we'll up, up, throw-est.

"I wrote filler for fish wrap for twenty-odd years
But fish wrap's ephemeral -- my crap disappears
To languish in landfills in spite of my tears…
Hey Ilya, let's jack off to Britney Spears.

"My column was titled 'The Magic Store'
It had something to do with the Mystery Tour
That inspired Charles Manson and family for sure
To go knocking on Doris Day's son's former door.

"It opened with quotes from books I haven't read
But pulled from my internet searches instead,
They'd nothing to do with my column, that said,
They showed the enormity of my fat head.

"But fish wrap's forgotten, my columns have gone
The way of the Edsel, but my verse lives on
At AAPC where I post round the clock
In hopes a sock puppet will slurp on my cock.

A Donkey recapitulates:

"Zod,
I can't help it but I repeat, repeat, repeat
repeat, repeat, repeat and mistreat
the English language and I am a cheat
'cause I know 50 words and count with my feet.
I learn nothing new because I start to bleat
anytime anyone asks me to complete
a sentence or book or work time sheet.
I do know how to eat, eat, eat,
but Dave's check was sure a monthly treat
and dirt nap means he has no heartbeat
even though he was propped in the old loveseat
for a few months with Ma in the South's Summer heat
so I asked Sarah to GoFundMe so I could retreat
from making money through walking the streets,
and she'll repeat, repeat, repeat while I meet
the demands of Usenet day, night and Tweet
my greatness in writing about eating dark meat,
which has a different texture and is bushy and sweet,
then I go in the backyard and excrete, excrete, excrete,
hair balls and chicken bones and swallowed gametes.

"I don't know much words, and folks claims them is wrong
But no one complains when I'm braying a song
Three a.m. at LeGents I just whips out my schlong
An' those what ain't passed out can all sing along.

"I burnt Dave for kindling, and scattered his ash
Costs less than cremating and I ain't gots cash,
I tried to sell pictures, but folks called me 'trash,'
And wished that my pecker'd develop a rash.

"And so I just sits and repeats and repeats,
I'd starve if my daughter didn't have donkey-teats
Or sell 'feelsies' to strangers she meets on the streets.
It sucks… but a Donkey has got to have eats.

A Donkey dreams of the Pulitzer Prize:

"Zod,
My newspaper column earned me a press pass.
I attended the shows and I reached up my ass
to get quotes from Shakespeare and all the low class
people I knew so that I could surpass
the NY Times in my column though I wrote it on grass,
and there wasn't much writing, just copy and fats.
When the paper was sold, we were fired en masse,
and no one wanted me to write for them as
they knew what I wrote was intestinal gas,
so now I eat an occasional bass
that you catch from the Hooch in a net of crabgrass,
and I've nowhere to write crass but AAPC, alas.

"Yeah, back in the day, I had ten thousand fans
And they all read my poems and said I'm Da Man,
Then they brought home their fishes and fried them in pans
Tossed my column and poem in their garbage cans.

"Still one must admit I was a household name
At least in the kitchens where I gained my fame
Glimpsed through fish scales and entrails I found my acclaim
As 'the fish wrap guy, Willie,' -- we're one and the same.

"I was 'fish wrap guy, Willie,' housewives all agree
There was never a fishier fella than me,
I've got fisheyes, I'm whale size, and folks could all see
The big fish in the small pond was Will Dockery!

"But all good things they say have to come to an end
And although I'm forgotten, I still can pretend
That I'm a still celebrity like way back when
And know, like the 'deep South,' I shall rise once again!

A Donkey dreams of the Green Eyeshade Award:

"Zod,
Everything in this town smells bad like fish.
My hair, my clothes, my current ho bitch.
I think it's left over from my column on which
people put fish bones and threw them in a ditch;
I never do that but I step on turds -- squish --
but my writing is great, according to Ibish,
and he knows just how to scratch an itch.
He'll get me a column that will greatly enrich
you, me and him and together we'll defeat that femi-niche.

"Ah! The smells of Columbus! My Shitholeville home
Oh town that inspired my poetry tome!
Oh town where a man doesn't need pheromone
For Gay Clay to suck him like trailer hitch chrome.
Columbus! Columbus! Your fish-fragrant air
Is sweeter to me than a pig's derriere,
Folks say you're a stink hole, I say 'Au contraire'
The scent of our air is, well, beyond compare.
We've got armpits and buttholes and pissbums to spare
And we shit on our lawns like we don't have a care,
But our steel mill shut down and we haven't a spare
So our air's just as fresh as the air anywhere.

A Donkey mourns in his own way:

"Zod,
Ma has been haunting me in our ramshackle house.
She looks like a Great Dane who hooked up with a louse,
and her dried up old boobs are hanging out of her blouse
like Sarah DonkeyTits, but Sarah has to douse
her clothing with water to get money thereabouts,
and she learned that from Ma, who also now flouts
DirtNap Dave in the garden as he has started to sprout
scales and a tail very close to a trout
but he has stiff bristles and a short little snout,
and Ma charges to see him on the Columbus tourist route,
but I really miss her check, 'cause I'm totally cleaned out,
living on nothing and waiting for the talent scout
to discover me, and Dylan and me would hang out,
but Ma needs to stop her moans and her shouts.
Rochester, please send fifty for 3 at the steakhouse!

"I'm missing my meals since DirtNap bought the farm
And my rumbly tummy's a real cause for alarm;
I tried 'busking' on Broad Street, but I've lost my charm
For the five-dollar johns who'd want me on their arm.

"Sarah DonkeyTits told me my moobs are too large
But if I wore a bra, I'd be able to charge
Kids and pissbums for peeps. Or wear pasties in bars
But G-strings won't cover butts big as a barge.

"So DonkeyTits started a 'Go Fund Me' scam
For a G-string that fits men as big as I am,
But try as I might, it's so hard to go glam
When your butt is an eight-hundred pound can of Spam.

"Sarah DonkeyTits told me she thinks NancyGene
Who made up the name 'DonkeyTits' is awfully mean,
But her boobs are balloons, people think it's obscene
When she flaunts them in public just like an old queen.

A Donkey considers sacrificing a body part:

"Zod,
If a zombie ate my brain, he'd get Prion Disease --
of course I'd do my best to run or just appease
a zombie but I don't need no brains as long as I sport these
giant moobs that a great big hive of hungry honey bees
can't resist when I do my outdoors striptease,
but brains are overrated since I drink my antifreeze,
and Barfly always said that he sho-nuf guarantees
my IQ will go up to the low to mid 70s
if I drink a jug of Prestone with a side of cottage cheese,
and he always said that kindly when I was on my knees,
but my brain's been on decline -- what are the ABCs?
So, if I was attacked behind the rotting apple trees,
they could take a great big bite, those LeGents walking zombies.

"Someone did eat my brain, Thursday night at LeGents
It sounds crazy, I know, but it's hard to dispense
With the all-too-clear fact that I lack common sense;
How my head now feels hollow where once it was dense;
How I woke up on Friday to find thirty cents
Jingling round in my skull as if to recompense
Me for gray matter gobbled up at my expense.
As bad as this sounds, I've got no apprehens-
ion as to my survival, although the suspense
Would drive lesser men batty, but my comprehens-
ion was always quite poor that it hardly needs ment-
ion, for now I'm a shoe-in for government pension
-- My SSI stipend is bound to commence
Any day now, and so I say with no pretense
That my brain may be gone, but my hair's still immense.

A Donkey admits guilt:

"Zod,
I confess that I stole your new pink ear buds,
stuck them up my ass -- I thought it said rear buds --
and I hear the gurgling of my guts and bad blood.
When I take them out, there's a spill of milky duds,
and I guess if I bathed there’d be a few soap suds.
But now the ear buds are covered with my crud,
which is talented too and can play local clubs,
and cover my songs that you'd hear through ear buds
if I were to give them back and stop chewing on my cud.

"Hey! Hands off those milk duds, they're mine, don't you know
They ain't no damn Skittles, they're homegrown cocoa,
I pooped me a pile, just look at it grow!
If I had me a hopper, it would overflow.
I'm a cornhole of plenty, a copia Joe,
I'm a spunk-monkey Donkey who'll do you for blow,
A real dung-hole delivery boy, always gung-ho
To try anything new, and I say apropos
Of the topic at hand that I ain't no Jim Crow
'Cause there's no poon like coon poon -- it's my risotto!
Well I've traveled this world from Tyrone to Cairo
Both of which are in Georgia (not so far to go)
For a world-trotting Donkey who's hard up for dough,
And I seen everything, I'm a reg'lar Theroux
So if I tell you something, you know that it's so.
But back to my mild duds, you ain't passing 'Go,'
Coprophagic pissbum! I'll stomp on your toe
Or fracture your skull with my mobile gizmo,
You'll be sleeping with DirtNap instead of LoHo…
While Dirty Mike strums his… excuse me… 'banjo.'

A Donkey reaches for literary heights:

"Zod,
Pen's putting our adventures in a glossy new book,
and 5,000 lines is what it done took
to record all my triumphs, friends and yearbooks.
We're like Hornblower, Columbus and old Captain Hook,
who was real, said Dan Barfly, and frequently shook
Peter Pan and Jordy's Uncle from their light loafers nook.
Pen will even add in when we snacked on then cooked
hos for dinner and lunch when they called us old shnooks,
and you whipped out your dork and nobody looked,
and remember the Phophet's wives' bras you unhooked?

"It beat 'Betty's Hat' -- it beat 'Penny's Hat,' too
And it beat 'Batty's Hat' (PJR, nuts to you!)
It'll make me real famous -- a real big 'to do'
So let's get out a raise a real hullaballoo!
We'll bump it and slurp it, and crow 'bout our coup,
Praise it to the skies, raise a big ballyhoo!
We'll out our guts, shout 'Callay!' and 'Callooh!'
While Dirty Mike blows a tune on his kazoo,
And LoHo and Missy can dance hoochie coo.

"Then I'll win a Pulitzer like Bobby D.
And Rachel can get a fixation on me --
We'll breed fat, happy Donkeys… perhaps twenty-three
And live in a shed with no 'lectricity.
Poor ol' Dirt Nap Dave would be jealous to see
All my fortune and fame and the new SUV
That I buy with residuals from my poetry.

A Donkey suffers from Topitis:

"Zod,
When Pen posts a new UPDATE: SHADOWVILLE MYTHOS (part III),
I need to post one too and it makes me want to pee,
although I always like to write only about me,
but the Update that Pen posts is true, I agree,
but does he have to write it with that clever NG,
who knows my secrets and cries whoopee
when she posts my arrests and the jail house decrees,
not to mention my drugs and my plagiarism sprees,
where I borrowed from poets since they were copyright free,
and my mistakes autocorrected in the phone key of B,
but the issues you bring up sure are weighty
like 'one of your best' and that you've read it plenty.
I'd write something else, but don't know what that would be
No one is as great as I am guaranteed,
and my Shadowville Mythos is at the top, thanks to thee.

"I'm the most famous poet at AAPC;
My threads have the most posts as all here can see
(So what if they're all just the General and me
Saying 'Thanks for the nod' and 'Hello' to Jordy?).
We post round the clock, pretty much constantly,
But we've plenty of time and our time is all free
So we slurp and reslurp to bump my poetry.
Years from now, people surfing this newsgroup will be
Oh so wildly impressed with the post-fests by me,
And you can just bet that they all will agree
That the poetry group was all me, me, me, meeeeeeeeeeee!
That's right, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me
I'm the world's greatest poet -- I'm Will Dockery!
And my posts here will live on as my legacy,
With the record set straight to let posterity
Know the man, myth, and legend folks came here to see…
That's right, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me!

A Donkey considers his place in Linnaean classification:

"Zod,
I'm growing thick hair on my face, moobs and feet.
Does that Monkey Pox know that I've been indiscreet?
After years on the down low and hustling the street,
I'm attracted to Cheetah and his brand of effete
monkey business, swinging and hirsute heartbeat.
As for tails, his is cute and the hos think its neat
I can hang out of windows and never compete
with them for the Johns since I now crave ape meat,
the darker the better and those silverback treats(!)
when we wrestle and spoon beneath North George's sheets.

"I like Bonzo and Zippy and J. Fred Muggs, too
And that Cocodesockmonkey – Woo-woo-woo-woo!
I spank mine when I think of the things I could do
If they gave me a cage in the Shadowville zoo.
O to live in a zoo! All my dreams would come true!
All my wet ones and dry ones and dreams when I poo
(No, I'm not housebroken, but neither are you).

"I am curious, George; you've sailed the seven seas
(You've been 'round the world' and you've been on your knees)
Did you ever do mandrills? Do howlers have fleas?
Are baboons or gorillas more willing to please?
Were you alpha or beta or… what's Greek for 'c's?
Did they know their own strength when they gave you a squeeze?
Did you mate in the grasses or up in the trees?

A Donkey is comfortable in his own body:

"Zod,
There's nothing can beat my lush DonkeyTits --
they bow and they wave and they do a full splits,
they get by on fat and not by using no wits,
and you often have seen my other naughty bits,
but my DonkeyTits are as good as it gits,
and can even be served with butter and grits,
or a light snack of tits tucked under arm pits,
and I show them to strangers as my time permits,
and they're great to include in an auto toolkit,
and they're bigger than Pen's, even he will admit.

"For my DonkeyTits are as big as can be
And because I'm a Donkey, my tits can hang free,
They flap in the wind, anybody can see
My DonkeyTits even in mixed company.
Sarah DonkeyTits claimed she was bigger than me
So we both pulled 'em out one evening over tea,
We measured each other's and Go-ol-ly Gee!
I'm a DDD Donkey while she's just an E.
Heck, I beat Dolly Parton, I'm sure you'll agree
That my DonkeyTits give men fits… right, General Z?
Just ask One-Drum Derundo and Henry Conlee
When I shake 'em on stage doing karaoke
The audience hollers "More DonkeyTitty!

A Donkey vacations at the CDC:

"Zod,
Monkey pox is now an STD
and I think that you've recently given it to me
as I have a strong urge to climb apple trees
and take off my clothes and feel the cool breeze
on my butt without these dirty dung-arees
and I'll do Seven Labors like a fat Hercules
or question and answer like Sam Socrates
and visit North George at his house overseas
in Canada where even in summer they freeze
and a pox on you if you stop the Chinese
from ordering my book translated Ibishese
and it's selling at Walmart like ham and Swiss cheese
but they don't know I've got this monkey disease.
Will that hurt the sales of my poems, My Main Squeeze?

"I've got monkey pox and it's toxic as hell,
My Donkey-stench now has a terrible smell
Of festering boils that spurt puss, as well
As some genital scabbing that's best not to tell
Of in social media platforms like this.
Hey, Lady Bunny, don't look at me funny
My schlong may be runny, but I'm still your honey,
So, Bunny, don't shun me, I've still got some money
And now that you've won me, come give me a kiss.
Well, fuck you, too, drunk, I'll just fuck Jordy's Unc-
le, who finds my carbuncle surpassingly cute.
You toothless old skunk, you've a funk like a monk-
ey, I'll let Isaac play a lick on my skin flute.
But should Isaac prove busy, no need for a tizzy,
George Dunce around, is he? He's good for a blow.
He gets me all jizzy till my head gets dizzy
And gee-whiz! he says that I'm hotter than Mo.

A Donkey sails the sea men:

"Zod,
'Any number of people' have told me my futtocks
remind them of people who exhibit a glut-ocks
or have stringy hair like an urban-ish musk ox
or a spare tire monster truck stuck in the boondocks
and my eating is more of a super-sized family glut-tocks
and my reading has always been defined as a smut-tocks
but where else can I get in my nightly ho-nut walks
than Columbus where there are so many stray mutt socks.

"I'm a supersized Donkey, as fat as can be
There was never a Donkey as chunky as me,
I'm as big as a Mac truck and ho's ride for free
As I trot down the long road to obscurity.
My doc says I'm healthy, that obesity
Is normal for Donkeys… genetics, you see…
Just take Clay and Sarah, they're XL plus three.
I hereby set forth for all posterity
The grand, epic mythos of Willie Donkey;
'The Shadowville Dumptruck,' 'The World's Largest Flea'
Are just some of the praises folks that A.A.P.C.
Fans, and fellow poets, have come to agree
Sum up the great Donkey quite admirably.
And speaking of admirals, my sock-puppetry
Has been known the world over since two-oh-oh-three;
We shut down Georgia's Topix, me and General Z,
Made an internet wasteland of alt R.A.P.
And by great Pickle's ghost, I swear most solemnly
To be last Donkey standing when Eternity
Sounds out her last trumpet, indubitably
I'll be Saint Peter's strumpet, to hump constantly
Till my sins, expiated by butt-fuckery,
Are forgiven, and Heaven calls 'Willie Donkey!'

"Then like camels through needles, I'll breach Heaven's door
And I'll stand before God like a two-dollar whore,
I'll say 'Bring it on, Big Guy,' till my butt's so sore
That I won't ever want to sit down anymore.

A Donkey gets sentimental:

"Zod,
Rochester says he's gonna buy my cherished home
and you and I will have no place to roam.
He'll get all my things like our bed and lice comb,
and the dirt in the back that with water will foam
with E. coli and ammonia and a dangerous zone
that may give him herpes and Stockholm Syndrome,
but for seven hundred bucks he can make this his own
and replicate our canine XXY chromosomes
and sell them to labs for a ZodWillZod palindrome
and he'll get DirtNap Dave's toy -- that wrecked bumper chrome
so how can I pay taxes on this sad honeycomb?
Would NorthGeorge pay for another crap tome?

"If I had me se'en hundred dollars and change
I'd buy me the Donkery home on the range
Where the queer and the mendicant play.
And though it may seem strange
I soon would arrange
That the coffee be brewing all day.

"But at this date, I haven't a cent to my name
And I've not had a cot since the last time you came
When you brought Dirty Mike as a third.
We done shattered my bed
When I's giving you head
And Mike cut loose and squeezed out a turd.

"And the stench was so bad, it took all that we had
To refrain from discharging our lunch,
But with turd number two, we both let go and threw
Up all over the sheet till the turds
Was all buried beneath like the pomes I bequeath
To my kinfolk is buried in words.

"Then we romped in the gunk like a Jordy in spunk
Till our junk was as limp as three wrists,
As we wallowed in spume, my poor cot went 'KABOOM!'
So we blamed it on those feminists
That the Russian guy claims are always to blame
For Covid, Al-Qaeda, and Trump;
But poor Dirty Mike got squashed flat as a bike
Tire when he landed south of my rump.

"Now my bed is in shreds and I'm losing my shed
For back taxes I just cain't afford.
And my nemesis, Jim, wants to run my place in
With a backhoe truck put out by Ford.
Left with no place to stay, I'll soon be on my way
To go glamping by th'old Chattahootch;
You'll be my glamp frau and you'll bark 'Bow-wow-wow!'
While I make like I'm screwing the pooch.

"And my family man-shed, dear Shay Donker-ay
Will low fallow for many a year.
The skunk grass will grow high and the cats will all die
While I cry like a ho in my beer.
I done sold DirtNap's truck and I don't give a fuck
'Bout the prices of tea in Japan;
But before I lie dead, I just want an old shed
Where a Donkey can feel like a man.

A Donkey observes national holidays:

"Zod,
I can't relate to Labor Day --
I never had no job for pay
and DirtNap Dave done died away,
and I can't sleep -- just bray and bray.
I don't want work, just sing and play,
and people laugh at what I weigh,
and soon I'll have no place to stay,
and I have to walk to the buffet
at Safe House where they think I'm gay
because I wear Ma's dress and sway.
Donkeys choose the low way highway.

"I don't have to work, Zod -- you just wait and see
For somewhere there's money just waiting for me;
There's handouts, welfare, disability,
There's busking and begging and housing that's free --
And people like Jim who feel sorry for me
I may even get social security
If Parnello's Pizza paid taxes for me.

"So I'll just sit here like a wart on an ass
And spam-post the Usenet just like passing gas,
Delighting the world with how uncouth and crass
An unlettered Donkey can be when he has
Nothing but time on his hands and some sass…
And know like all troubles, that this too shall pass.

Regular exercise is good for Donkeys:

"Zod,
I sure do miss old DirtBag Dave's car.
Now I have to walk 10 miles to the bar,
and you must admit that distance is far
at night in shoes stuffed with broke Mason jars
as I carry my coffee pot and a few burned cigars.
I just order water and that's not so bizarre --
I may even bring my one-string guitar
to the open mic night and they'll hear a real star
and at LeGents I can wear my new lace peignoir,
but I'm still a large object on police radar.

"For years you've been living the Bharma Dum life,
Glamping with artistes away from the strife
Of workplaces, families, houses, and cars;
And yet you still manage to frequent the bars
(Well the cheap liquor stores) every night.
Tell me how do you do it? This walking about?
When you've nothing to eat and your shoes are worn out --
And there's no Waffle Houses in sight?

A Donkey knows lexicons:

"Zod,
I think that Pendragon threw a hex
at Ma, DirtBag Dave and even that Mex-
ican who stole Kathy and all of the dex-
adrine I gave her so she'd work and I'd get sex
and Ma and Dirt died so I don't get their checks
and now I'm suffering from the awful effects
of starvation and that's affected my projects
just like in high school when I flunked all my subjects.

"I'm going to have to take back my blue tarp,
It came from my roof, so you'd better not carp
Or harp on it like an old harpy from Greece.
It's not like my tarp's made of cotton or fleece!
You've been a good friend, but the night's getting cold
And shivering Donkeys need something to hold
To keep their ass warm, so I'm taking it back --
If you're good, you can snuggle up in my buttcrack."

A Donkey multi-tasks his body parts:

"Zod,
Disney Plus used my schnoz for Pinocchio's
since I lie and my nose just grows and grows.
They didn't want my dirty clothes
and crickets on using my brilliant prose
and they drew the line on my gnarly toes
that haven't seen shoes in heaven knows
when, but I don't regret no highs/all lows
in my life of fail, poor hygiene and hos,
since I smell you better with my elongated nose.

"So come sail away to an island with me --
It's calle 'Pleasure Island' and passage is free,
It's the perfect vacation spot for you and me…
If you stay long enough, you become a Donkey;
With long ears and a snout and short, swishy tail
We can bugger schoolboys till they throw us in jail,
But we'll make our escape, go to see and set sail
And hope we don't get swallowed up by a whale.
I've seen the original Pinocchio, you see --
Read it just like a comic book, easy-peasy!
And there weren't even any subtitles, but gee
We can't read anyway, so what good would they be?

A Donkey does calisthenics:

"Zod,
I jump up and down like a rabid raccoon --
to get folks' attention, I may even moon
the ladies at church and they sigh and they swoon
when I read them my poems and do Conley-backed croons
or sell them my hand-drawn dirty cartoons.
No one on earth can say they're immune
to my art which looks like a well-used spittoon
or my talents which fit into half a teaspoon
and Jordy's Uncle melts when I say good afternoon.

"I sing karaoke -- it's always a hit,
I squat down and strain like I'm takin' a shit,
The boys at LeGents all tell me I've got 'It,'
I hop up and down like I'm having a fit
And though there are haters who say I should quit
I know that they're jealous and just won't admit
That when it comes to talent, I've got half the wit
Of a twit doing splits in the orchestra pit.

"I'm really quite limber as jackasses go,
I hop, skip and jump and I beat the bongo;
I bend over backward and suck on my toe…
Oh no! That's North George and he's ready to blow!
And so with apologies proffered to Mo
I crawl 'neath the bedsheets and say it ain't so…
Who'dda thunk that a Donkey could end up so low
As to fuck a Canuck like a three-dollar ho?"

A Donkey saves the last dance:

"Zod,
I can dance so fast that my feet will start fires;
My Pinocchio wood is pine and requires
No match to inflame -- I make my own pyre,
And I advertise as an arsonist for hire,
But now my finances are scarily dire
Even for me, who was born in the mire
Of Columbus, a town that's due to expire,
And that handsome Rochester has started to inquire
About buying the town and my house, that Esquire,
Who's talented and manly and never perspires,
But I sweat so much that I've drowned ten church choirs,
But you've got to admit that there's tons to admire
About me and my talent for inflating tires
Without a machine, just a blowing desire,
And unlike you, I will never retire
Since my fans know I'm their poem supplier,
But I'll always be your day and night pacifier,
And when I light my farts, I don't need a purifier,
So that also acts as a redneck clothes dryer.

"I dance on the bar at LeGents every night,
The local boys say I'm a helluva a sight
For sore eyes, that is, cause my pants are so tight.
I dance and I prance like a real little boy
Toy, I shimmy and shake, make the hoi polloi
Who frequent LeGents 'Squee!' at me in their joy.
I don't button my shirt, so my man boobs hang free,
They sway back a forth for the whole bar to see
And get filmed on my gizmo by Ellen Horny.
The boys love my beard and my gray Brillo hair
They holler and hoot at me, call me a bear,
I must scare them off because none of them dare
To stick bills in my G-string or ask me to share
A beer with them, though I should make it quite clear
I don't drink anymore, but I'm up for a beer.

A Donkey discovers the source of denial:

"Zod,
Did you ever make love to a Donkey in a yurt?
I know that you usually do it in the dirt,
But a Donkey can bray and kick up and spurt.
I spell it spirt but that just makes me pert
To the sheep and the goats and the rats when I flirt
With the barnyard creatures or take an upskirt
Picture at LeGents where no one is hurt
If the sex is consensual when I take off my shirt
And show that I'm wild and not a pervert,
But we always have to be on alert
For the cops to arrive and then I revert
To a Donkey on stage just doing concerts
And the spotlight's on me, a true extrovert,
And I'll feature you too, as my River Dessert.

"Yeah, I've cornholed cows and I gave a horse head
I've choked a goat's chicken and boned dogs in bed,
I've diddled a duck and goosed gaggles of geese
I raped I rug rat till he called the police,
I've shtuped oodles of poodles and sodomized sheep
I once buggered a bull when I caught him asleep,
I've reamed rabbits, creamed chickens, porked ponies and pigs
I've humped heifers, boinked beagles, boffed bands during gigs,
I've banged One-Drum Derundo, scarfed piles of shit
Backdoored Rachel onstage where it scored a big hit,
Pounded bloodhounds, felched gerbils, pumped pussycat fur
Rumpy-pumped Jordy's Uncle, he's a connoisseur
When it comes to pig poking, gob gobbling and such,
(Although nailing his nephew I think a bit much),
I've spanked wankers, wanked spankers, what else can I say?
Except that I'm bummed cause my son, Clay, is gay.

A Donkey considers his physique:

"Zod,
My priapism's giving me awful malaise.
I haven't been able to eat for 10 days,
and I can't walk to town with my dick all upraised,
and Donkeys get screwed, not stand there and graze,
but you and Mike float in the river sideways
and Sandjobs are free only on 1st Sundays.
Can you give me a hand and not haha and gaze?
This is serious business 'cause what if it stays
pointed to Heaven or that dirt grave of Dave's,
and Ibish is writing a crappy essay
about my old pants and is heaping on praise
for their tent shape (so manly) and I paraphrase.

"Old Ibish is fishin' for handjobs, himself
Tired of bangin' the books on the library shelf,
The students all say he's a jolly old elf
Whose sexual motto is 'Do it yerself.'
Ilya says to pretend I'm massaging my gut
Or pluckin' a dingle from off'n my butt,
The cops couldn't nail me fer doin' you-know-what
Though the students all think that I'm some kinda nut.
But handjobs or Sandjobs, my man-nuts are sore
And I can't afford me no two-dollar whore,
So I'll just sit in front of Dollar Tree store
And salute passersby like they was in the Corps.

A Donkey considers relocating.

"Zod,
I visit London in a trance
and wedgied Dance's underpants.
You grow those marijuana plants
for me to smoke while I still rant
against all drugs and smokes and prance
about sans job and no finance
and can't get no lousy cash advance
to pay the tax on Ma's old manse
so I have to sell off your Rembrandts
'cause Jordy's Uncle now recants,
won't send me dollars -- sycophant!
and those subtitles will help me thrive in France.

"The Frenchies will love me, they'll call me 'très gay!'
As I twerk my tuchus for work and for play,
I'll trot up and down the ol' Champs-Élysées
(I'll prance like a brony, with lessons from Clay)
I'll dance the can-can if they're willing to pay
Jacques will shout 'Enchanté!' every time that I bray.

A Donkey scrambles his letters:

"Zod,
I just now lost on jepurdy
'cause I can't spel that jipirdy.
I don't know a from o or e
or even what that japerdee
means when I write geperdy
to ask Jordy's Uncle for cash for me
and I'm in double jepurrdey
since nine times I flunked the GED.
I don't know Final Joeperty
and how do you spel that pohetree?

"Well I never cud spel, but that's ok with me
Cuz I gets up on stage to bray my pohetree;
An' there ain't no sub-tight-els fer fern'ers to see
Or to read like a comic book on a movie.
I cain't say where all of my old schoolin' went
An' I can't make a dent in composin' a sent-
ence, but still I considers my school days well-spent
Becuz George Dance will swear that he knowed what I meant.

A Donkey examines his ancestry:

"Zod,
You know I'm Native American Muscogee
and African American but mostly just Donkey
since I don't know no languages 'cept for South Honky
and singing my poems, and I look like a monkey
since my beady little eyes make me look wonky
and my ears make me fly when I'm singing honky-tonky
but I'm also Egyptian and my sign is an ankh key.

"I'm also part Mexican, Italian and French
but you know that each time that my ass cheeks you clench
and I shout 'Oui, Oui' despite your great stench
and your hunger for me you daily will quench,
for your lips and no teeth make you my wench.

"For the stench of a wench is a wonderful smell
And I say without pretense I know that smell well,
But the stankiest skanks, I'm delighted to say
All hail from Shitholeville, Columbus, GA --
There's Japoonic Joolie, and sweet Lady K,
There's Lisa the Dank Queen (I think she was gay),
And Sarah whose Donkeytits are on display
At the local Bait shop where the customers pay
For feel or a squeeze -- anything is O.K. --
Be it hand-jobs or boob jobs or just a straight lay,
Cuz I'm Sarah's pimp and I need me some hay…
But if backdoor's your thing, I'll refer you to Clay.

"Yes, the stench of a wench is a glorious smell
And a wench stench is one stench on which I must dwell
But my pud is a mudworm, a brown belt fudge fiend,
A real honky-tonk donkey-punching machine
Always stirring the pudding (you know what I mean)
Ankle-grabbing log splitter, the queen of the scene.
And we Brokeback poo-noodlers are bound to confess
That of all of life's stenches, men stench is the best --
So come on, General Zod, bare your bum bum for me
And I'll breathe in your odor as gay as can be,
Blast your Karma Bomb fart grenade full on my face,
Let you twink stink envelope me like divine grace
As your Japanese astronaut blasts into space…
Yessir men stench beats wench stench, beyond any doubt
But my Donkey-butt's sore, pull your astronaut out.

A Donkey refreshes his wardrobe:

"Zod,
My shoes wore out so I'm wearing my Ma's
stilettos, flip flops and pink mules that Pa
loved and would say, 'Ooh, La La, La'
when Ma would parade in just those and her bra,
which I wear now too and you drool all in awe
of my 99zzzz moobs which roll, pitch and yaw
when we play airplane and I yell 'Hee Hee Haw!'
But I'm dressed real smart in my bonnet of straw
which covers my ears and my eyes and my jaw.

"You root in my pants for Deep South pâté de foie gras
and you drink from my lake navel using a straw,
since I wear Ma's panties that smell like fish slaw
and no one can tell us that it's against the law
for us to wear Ma's clothes or sleep in the raw
in the streets of the town where we beg and you saw
how the cops reacted to my nudes that you draw
every day at the river where we are bourgeois,
and I wear Ma's skirt made of 1000 chihuahuas.

"We flounce down the street like a pair of old queens
I'm draped in your tent while you sport Goodwill jeans
The folks passing by think we make quite a scene
With your shoe polished scruff and your hygiene routine
Of a bath in the river or a Greyhound latrine;
While I twist some t.p. till it looks like a bow
Then spit paste it coyly on top of my 'fro;
Two Bohemian Bharma Dums rocking Skid Row --
We've no bread for threads, but still give quite a show!

"And all of the kids at P.S. 43
Come down from the playground to watch you and me
In flagrante delicto (what e'er that may be)
As we pull out our willies but don't mean to pee.
The cops tell us to get a room and a bed
But bumming won't pay for a roof o'er our head,
So we go for improvisation instead
Tush-pushing in bushes bulls fear to tread.
And for tush-pushing bushes the best bush around
Is the bush on the side of the grade school playground,
Where the cops keep their distance while kids come to see
And get lessons in sex education for free.

A Donkey comes clean about his dating life:

"Zod,
I have been taking daily Orgone showers,
which will boost my sexual energy powers.
I don't use water but just dirt, which scours
away all the gunk that is yours, mine and ours.

"And my mind has two chambers but I'm not bi-
cameral since I really only like guys
like you, Jordy's Uncle and pervert Barfly
and the men at the truck stop with their hunky fat thighs.

"We could go out to dinner on your EBT card,
and you'll be the lady and I'll be the Bard.
We could go to get tacos with a big side of lard,
or a rack of rat ribs that you cook until charred
and no problem with bones since we will discard
all the garbage in your camp which is a junkyard
too and we'll do a threesome with Ma's St. Bernard.

"A bicameral brain is a wonderful thing
For crack heads like me who need something to cling
To whenever folks say that I've got half a wit
Because now I can claim that they're all full of shit
For bicameral minds, though they seem a bit odd
Are the means by which ancient Greeks talked with their gods;
And the Greeks had bicameral wits just like me
But they still wrote the world's oldest known poetry
And one doesn't require much brain to construe
That my half-witted wit means I'm a poet, too!

"But the best part of all I'll confide in you, Zod
Is that as my own Muse I am therefore a god!
And I sing my own verses and write them all down
And post them on the Usenet, and get called a clown
Cause I'm dumb, fat and ugly and have a brown stain
On the butt of my trousers (I crapped 'em again)
When Pendragon caught me in another big lie…
He caught me! I'm screwed, but I still have to try
To pretend it didn't happen, I'll whine and deflect
Until newbies who come here will never suspect
That I've trolled AAPC for twenty-odd years
And so it is worth all my whines, kicks and tears
For when men from the future discover this group
They'll see that my poems are not donkey poop
But word soup that only Mensa minds can digest
Like my editor, George Dance, who thinks I'm the best
Hand-job (oops!) I mean poet, and therefore I'm blessed
For posterity cannot help but be impressed
By the praises heaped on me by you and G.D.
I'll be big as the Beatles -- Oh, just wait and see!
The future is coming -- THE FUTURE IS ME!!!"

A Donkey reveals his innermost thoughts:

"Zod,
My phone is taking over my life.
It substitutes words and might be my wife,
and it's causing me shame, bed-wetting and strife,
so I'd kill myself but how d'you spel nife?

"And I'm attracted to that NG, ME and Ash,
but If I make a pass at Ash, he's sure to bash
in my head like you did with Dave's pipe slash
and I think that NG goes through my trash
to find secrets I have on how I get cash
and she'd find the tubes for my bad diaper rash
and ME could trounce moi without batting a lash.

"Would you mind if I cheated with Jordy's Uncle and the Canuck?
I feel like my international borders are stuck
among the Netherlands, Deep South and old dump trucks,
and I do miss that fine old pervert Chuck
but you can't blame me for wanting to make a buck
'cause you don't pay me for services like for Ma's pet duck
that I let you date and he could no longer cluck
when you returned him to me all covered with guck.

"Now a dick in a duck's worth a dime and a buck
But as you got no moola, I'm shit outta luck,
Now I'm giving it back, 'cause the poor thing won't quack
It'll make a good snack if you give it a pluck.

"On one thing I depend, you're a friend to the end
To my back end, that is, when you give it a fuck,
And I'm treating you good, fresh roast duckling for food
And a chicken for pickin that needs a good pluck.

"I am willing to share, but my barnyard is bare,
Got no chickens, no ducklings, not even a rat,
But Thanksgiving is nigh, and I'll send my reply
To your invite for dinner of roast feral cat.

A Donkey gets stuffed:

"Zod,
Thanksgiving Day sure is coming up fast,
and I'm thankful to think of my drug and drink past
that I write about daily, though no one has asked,
about me as the hero and Romeo cast
as the suave ladies' man who was having a blast,
even though I've been vilified, beaten and sassed,
by NG and ME, though they know not the vast
repository of knowledge that you and I gassed
when we went to Waffle House for our freebie repast.
But your RatCatDog showpiece, never half-assed --
how you cook them so tender, SVPCA is aghast --
and I'll devour six drumsticks, four breasts and flabbergast
all the Puritans, Indians, bums and outcasts
and set the record straight as the dinner is passed
to the shed, on Twitter, Instagram and simulcast
to prove on Thanksgiving that my crap's unsurpassed.

"Our Thanksgiving Dinner was one for the books
Folks would be surprised how fast feral cat cooks;
We stuffed it with bread from behind Au Bon Pain,
The Bharma Dumb rulebook says 'Scrounge what you can'
From the cans and the dumpsters, the river, the dump
For as Dirty Mikes says, the rats grow big and plump
On the refuse we re-use to keep ourselves fed --
And there's no spice like mice spice for stuffing, it's said
Up and down Chattahoochee where Bharma Dumbs roam
(And I'm soon to become one when my family home
Goes to auction for back-taxes I can't afford).

"Still I feel I'm in luck when your improved 'turducken'
(Said RatCatDog showpiece I'd mentioned before)
Stuffed with all sorts of muck that has everyone suckin'
Their greasy bum fingers and begging for more,
Is just fruit for the pluckin,' while our soup du jour
Might taste a bit brackish, and look somewhat blackish
It's one tasty package that tickles your gums.
Our Thanksgiving dinner was really a winner
And quite the delight of the hobos and bums
We partook of our feast like a ravenous beast
-- In their wild feeding frenzy, one bit off my thumb! --
But the smiles on their faces erased any traces
Of anger or vengeance -- let His will be done.

"And now that it's over, and November's sun
Doth shine down on our heads like a 'thanks' from above,
Turn your gaze up and down 'long the old river's shore
Where the fatted bums lie as they burp, belch and snore
And thank God in His Heaven for banquets like these
As we puff our cigar stubs while taking our ease
And we list to the crow-songs that waft on breeze
Over landfills and valleys, past smokestacks and trees,
Shed a tear for the suckers with families to feed
For the Bharma Dumb's life is a blessed one, indeed
As the good Lord provides us with all that we need
So we'll pick at our scabs, and we'll smile as we bleed
And give holiday thanks for His undying love.

A Donkey considers his DNA results:

"Zod,
You know my Ma was a tough old bird.
On Thanksgiving Day she would fake having GERD,
then straddle the turkey and scream out curse words
about me and Dave, and the rest was just slurred
on dogs and love and what had occurred
when she found the Great Dane had gone, been transferred
to an animal shelter, on which he concurred,
since living with her had produced a poor herd
of mongrel male mutants (Dave was the third),
but she did not want us and that was absurd,
since our ears and tails were long and ensured
that Great Dane dad's genes would be the preferred
look for the Donkeys unless men were lured
to stand in for canines, but all have demurred.

"When Ma died, the dog pounds, for miles around
Were rife with the howling, of mutt, whelp, and hound,
The mongrels in mourning kicked up such a din
To drown out the whorehouse, where locked fast in sin,
Sarah Donkeytits' moans had been heard far and wide --
Every day 'cept that morning when Ma up an' died.
The Great Dane's complaints were heartbreaking, it's true
(What heart can hear Scooby-Doo 'boo-hoo-hooh-hoo?'),
While the sounds from the Bloodhound rang mournful and sad,
The Bulldog just muttered that he was my dad;
But the truth is that somewhere in back of the barn
Ma danced with the Donkeys on grandfatther's farm;
And it's said that my long ears and stubborn streak come
From my daddy the Donkey, as dumbass as dumb
As the dumbest horse heinie you ever did see --
But the dumbest dumbass on the planet is me!
"It's always good to be the best at something.

A Donkey surrounds himself with quality:

"Zod,
My friends are liars, beggars and quacks,
plagiarists, braggarts, pissbums and wack-
os like the frail and dumb and not so Big Mack
who lays on the cheese, has old buns and facts
don’t mean nothing to him and he simply acts
like he is SMRAT but he constantly yacks
about himself and we know he is lax
in quoting people so is stealing syntax
and has no degrees so can’t tenure track
and you hit him on the head with an iron pipe smack,
but he’s in my corner so I’ll try to relax
if he gets all the heat while I hide in my shack."

[NancyGene Andjayme]

[Michael Pendragon]