I’m talking to myself.
I’m talking to myself.
The lord that I worship, the lord that is mine, Transfigures my spirit from lead to confetti. I meditate daily to reach the divine,— The monster that flies and is made of spaghetti.
Though often I do play a sonneteer,
Please think of me as not less cavalier;
And know I follow well the goodly cleric,
And live a member of the Church of Herrick.
There’s nothing that makes me more afraid
Than a number, because it wasn’t made;
And though I resist
The thought, I can’t shake it:
Something can exist
Without a maker to make it.
Did you hear about Barrack Obama?
Turns out he was the homosexual lover of Osama;
And Osama gave those 9/11 hijackers an extra push
Because he was rejected by George W. Bush.
And new research has found the answer:
It’s actually oxygen that causes cancer.
And beware of any H2O based lemonades
Because water can actually give you AIDS.
And climatologists say we won’t have summer this year:
Earth’s rotation is stopping then going in reverse gear;
And global warming will now become global freezing.
It’s bad news for humans, but it’s polar bear-pleasing.
And the CIA has confirmed that Earth is full of aliens from Mars.
They go to work. They get drunk in bars.
They pray in mosques, temples, buildings with steeples:
The aliens from Mars are actually Earth’s peoples.
And the Pope has come out and made a startling claim,
And Protestants say it soils Jesus’ name:
This is a direct quote, from the Pope, that I cite:
“Jesus was a Satan-worshipping hermaphrodite.”
And scientists have discovered the strangest of curiosities:
Rabbit turds are hallucinogenic if eaten in large quantities.
And, also, it’s been discovered in medical trials:
Marijuana’s actually the cure for a bad case of piles.
This world is indeed a weird, wild place:
Physicists have discovered that there’s no time or space.
In fact, they now say there was once just one lonely you,
So you created a “reality”, but really there’s only you.
These stories are so strange they almost don’t even sound true,
But they are. I swear it. I promise you.
Honestly, I promise, these stories are no hoax,
But they’re so bizarre they almost sound like April Fools jokes.
“Dear God, I thank you for this bread,
This glass of water rusty, red,
And of course my friend the little mouse
With which I share this drafty house,
Since if I don’t you’re likely to spite me
And smite me. Ya know what…fuck it…BITE ME!”
My God: It loved me just enough to bring
My ass from out of nowhere—nothing-land—
Into this world wherein a bird can sing
A pretty song cut short by a playful hand
That loads a jagged rock into a sling,
And holds the tension on the rubber band
Until that time the rock’s sent rocketing