Alex said: "Write a pantoum of N----."

Just so you know, N---- is Alex's coworker who is a mess and can't do anything for herself and is basically one of those irresponsible, pathetic, complaining, inept, and stupid people who spend their work day dealing with personal problems no normal person would have, leaving early, and dumping all their work on their coworkers, who in this case are Alex. Oh and she's French.

N---- Pantoum

Another day of tragedy surrounding,
The Franco Mistress wails her piteous wail.
Lost, forlorn, bereft of all who loved her.
A plague unto her cohorts; she infects.

The Franco Mistress wails her piteous wail:
"Ooh la la, baby, I need your help."
A plague unto her cohorts; she infects
With scorn and malice towards this hapless mess.

"Ooh la la, baby, I need your help."
The witless plea that that brings to one's attention,
With scorn and malice towards this hapless mess,
The shame and failure others keep inside them.

The witless plea that brings to one's attention
How sweet t'would be if only she were silent.
The shame and failure others keep inside them
Instead to those around her she bestows.

How sweet t'would be if only she were silent!
Lost, forlorn, bereft of all who loved her,
Instead to those around her she bestows
Another day of tragedy surrounding.

Alex said: "Ok. A sonnet (petrarchan please) on Mr. Rupert Giles. jenny calendar optional."

Puncture

A man of words fell victim to the fates.
A battlefield of horrors rank and fell.
This global war they fight with sword and spell,
And he with knowledge of what hell creates.
Through all of this he fears he mirrors the traits
And memories of terror that befell.
A single light redeems him from this hell.
He gazes wistfully; above she waits.
But woe, an impure beast has her embraced.
Opened her throat, devoured what he found.
Her heart was drained, her body left defaced,
Their young affection by his darkness crowned.
So she was entered, yet their love erased,
Consummated and at once unbound.

Alex said: "Write a series of three haiku about laundry."

I used his fav'rite.
Never sure if he loves me
Or spring fresh scent.

A hole in my soul
From a hole in my wardrobe.
Where is my left sock?

The cycle of life:
Infinite revolutions
On 'tumble dry low'.

Alex said: "Write me a poem about Jean-Claude van Damme."

Jean-Claude, Jean-Claude,
Your waist is thin, your chest is broad.
When you kick ass we all applaud.
Jean-Claude, Jean-Claude.

Van Damme, Van Damme.
Where were you during Viet Nam?
Stronger than a battering ram.
Van Damme, Van Damme.

Jean-Claude, you fraud.
Your awesomeness forever flawed.
As my heart melts, yours can't be thawed.
Jean-Claude, you fraud.

Van Damme, ladies man.
You treat me like an also-ran.
Threw my love in the garbage can.
Van Damme, ladies man.
I'll save my heart for Jackie Chan.

An Act of Contrition

Remember how I spent 13 hours watching the "New Year's Slay" Buffy the Vampire Slayer marathon on Logo the other day? Apparently it angered my friend Ryan that I'd watch a Buffy marathon without him even though everyone knows New Year's Day is all about sitting around the house doing nothing all by yourself. Regardless, by way of apology, I offer this poem I'm about to make up.

Sorry, Ryan : a poem after Lady Gaga

I want your snarky, I want you to grouch.
I want your butt imprinted here on my couch.
I want your 'tude.
'Tude, 'tude, 'tude,
I want your 'tude.

I want your drama, you know it should be,
Liz, Max, Veronica, Maia, you and me.
I want your 'tude.
'Tude, 'tude, 'tude,
I want your 'tude.

I want your Bud and I want us to binge,
You and me could write a bad bromance.
I want your Bud and a good weeknight binge,
You and me could write a bad bromance.

Pee-pee-ee-ee-ee
Pika, pika-pi.
Phoebe, it's all me.
I want your bromance.

I buy you wine and I feed you my food,
Because you'll call me out when I'm being rude.
I want your 'tude.
'Tude, 'tude, 'tude,
I want your 'tude.

You've got my number, you know what to say,
No matter which Housewife I act like each day.
I want your 'tude.
'Tude, 'tude, 'tude,
I want your 'tude.

You know that I want you.
You know that I need you.
I want your bad, bad bromance.

I want your Bud and I want us to binge,
You and me could write a bad bromance.
I want your Bud and a good weeknight binge,
You and me could write a bad bromance.

Pee-pee-ee-ee-ee
Pika, pika-pi.
Phoebe, it's all me.
I want your bromance.

Hot, hot, supersonic.
Come on, baby, drink your tonic.
Hot, hot, supersonic.
Come on, baby, drink your tonic.

I want your Bud, and I want us to binge.
I want your Bud, I just wanna be friends.
Je veux ton bière, et je veux boire avec te.
Je veux ton bière, I just wanna be friends!

Pee-pee-ee-ee-ee
Pika, pika-pi.
Phoebe, it's all me.
I want your bromance!

Robotomy

Liver, liver, spleen, spleen,
All my parts that can't be seen.
Please acknowledge my dismay,
That you'll all melt down someday.

Appendix, brain, and beating heart,
I'd like a few replacement parts.
New intestines made of plastic,
Tasteful muscles, nothing drastic.

A dura-stomach, that'd be neat.
With all the crap I tend to eat.
But skip the kidneys if you please.
(A robot hybrid never pees.)

Computer brain hooked in accord,
With wires for a spinal cord.
A stainless steel cranium,
My power source: uranium.

Toss the heart, and don't replace it.
All these changes? Time to face it:
Plastic nose and metal bones,
Guarantee a life alone.

Though to the world I am a freak,
At least I know that I'm unique.
A walking, human-shaped tin can,
The world's only bionic man.

u no u <3 me: a poem

like omg!
like ttly!
like rufkm?
uh-uh!

o rly? ya rly!
no wai wtf!
im srs! ur srs?
well duh!

!!? ik, r?
!!! goi,
its so no bd!
cha 4 u!

gtg cya mwah
ok fine ttl
xox u r kewl
<3 u 2!

Legion of Lesions: A Retrospective

Hi guys! You'll never believe the good news! I'll give you some hints ok it starts with S and ends with E and has TY in the middle.

YES! Another entry in a long line of ugly benign growths on my face and body. I don't have a picture of it yet, and I don't know if I will because it's so small and will be hard to capture.

The thing I love about it is that not only is it a gross red bump on the inside of my eyelid that obscures my vision like a cataract, but it also adds a bit of swelling to my already dark and puffy undereye area! I only wish I had a date tonight!

I was going to name it Tyler, but I know a few Tylers and didn't want them grossed out, so instead I'm naming it Skylar because it "clouds" my vision. Get it?

This isn't the first disfiguring mark my body has displayed in recent years. You all probably remember the gross cyst-like thing in my abdomen region that had to be frozen off. Ice cream anyone?

And then there was this spider bite or zit on my face under my eye that was so aggressive that I deleted the photo instead of subjecting people to it.... I wonder if I still have it somewhere... Anyway, I told everyone I was busy that weekend but really I was just hiding from SHAME.

But none of those were the worst of all, and now I get to use my favorite caps lock sentence ever:

DID I TELL YOU ABOUT MY CYST!?

I probably didn't because it happened in grad school before I decided the world should know all about my problems. Anyway it was over my right eyebrow, and at first I thought it was just a gross zit so I dealt with it but after like a MONTH of it not going away I finally saw a dermatologist and he [REVOLTINGNESS DELETED] and now I just have a scar in the area that I hate when people ask about because unlike most scar stories that are awesome like "I got in a car accident while fighting ninjas riding unicorns" mine is "Oh, you mean I NEVER TOLD YOU ABOUT MY CYST!?"

Anyway, this stuff happens to me more than it happens to anyone I've ever met, so like all decent emo sac-wranglers who feel so alone in their problems, I've decided to express my feelings in a poem.

Protuberance Exuberance: a poem
Stye, stye in my left eye.
I found my vision gone awry.
I wondered how, I wondered why.
Stye, stye in my left eye.

Cyst, cyst, the usurpist.
Men look at you with interest.
And when they do, I shan't be kissed.
Cyst, cyst, the usurpist.

Zit, zit, I'm in a snit.
A chronic bane, up there you sit.
You start a bump, you end a pit.
Zit, zit, I'm in a snit.

Stye, stye, why won't you die?
You make me weep, you make me cry.
With all that salt, you still won't dry.
Stye, stye, why won't you die?

Cyst, cyst, I'm super pissed.
My face has a disgusting twist.
I'm warning you, you're on my list.
Cyst, cyst, I'm super pissed.

Zit, zit, I'm over it.
You think you've won, you're full of shit.
You're here, you're gone, and that is it.
Zit, zit, I'm over it.

L'envoi:
Facial growth,
You serve to both
Mar and frighten,
But I'm loathe
To scratch and pull
And squeeze and pop.
Facial growth,
This has to stop.

Rubber Boobs

i bought you a house
i bought you a car
but the thing that i bought that
you like most by far
are your rubber boobs
and i hate them

your boobs were just B's
but they knew how to please
all bouncy and smooshy and pert
but god knows why
you wanted to try
to get boobs that were rigid and hurt

you told me they'd help you
recapture your youth
but they've only helped me
to chip a tooth

they are ugly and
they are yucky
so i want to say
"No fucky fucky!"

when your hooters were cuter i wanted you pooter
but now those huge knockers are only cock blockers

they're bags of jelly
that perch on your belly
and now that you have them
i'd rather watch telly
than play around with your
firm
immobile
eternally perky
most unsavory
completely inanimate
gross
rubber
boobs

Trix

hey, boy
let's get surreal

this Cap'n Crunch wants a piece
of your pirate booty

i'll jam it in
shred your wheat
and tickle your fruity pebble
til I cherrio-oh-OH!

then i'll reach around
loop your froot
and apple jack til you honey nut

Weekend, Tonys, shittiness.

I was supposed to do this big hilarious post about my weekend and the Tonys, and you were going to laugh, but I'm soooo beyond tired. I didn't sleep last night because I went to bed at one and my body said NO YOU CANNOT SLEEP UNTIL THREE and then my cat said NO YOU CANNOT SLEEP UNTIL THREE THIRTY so I put my cat in the bathroom and she said IF YOU KEEP ME IN HERE I WILL ROLL AROUND IN THE LITTER BOX AND YOWL AND SHRED THE TOILET PAPER AND YOU WILL NEVER SLEEP AGAIN so I murdered her in my head over and over and counted them until I finally got to sleep, bludgeoning one decapitation two gradual starvation while I dangle raw fish just out of reach THREE HOW'S IT TASTE BITCH!?!?!

So I'm in a crappy mood and I don' thave much to say about the Tonys anyway. I learned a lot about Christine Ebersole and how awesome she is. (Link to YouTube. I'm a work, so I can't watch this and find out what it is, but it leads to all sorts of Grey Gardens clips.) No power on this earth will keep my from this show.

I also learned that bland performances are considered acceptable and that people can be tricked into liking Spring Awakening when shown the only 3 minutes of the show that were actually bearable I PROMISE YOU NO MATTER WHAT YOU THOUGHT OF THE PERFORMANCE THE REST WAS SHITTY FIVE BILLION AWARDS OR NOT except ok, that guy who won for best actor in a featured role was good, so he deserved his award and also maybe I want to have sex with him a little bit.

I'll try to stop using caps lock run on sentences to express myself, I'm more refined than that because I have so much class.

Other features of the weekend include, but are not limited to the following:

• I saw Knocked Up and it was good and true to life and hilarious except the part with the yucky thing.
• I had brunch and it took infinity plus forever minutes to get our food, but it was super fun and there were important mimosas.
• I passed out in a bar because I am either irresponsible, date-rapable, diseased, or a starving orphan. It was really embarassing, but I felt fine right after. Don't worry, nothing bad happened, I did a scan. Two kidneys, two testicles, in-tact rectum. No harm no foul.

That's all, that's the recap. Also, I invented a new genre of poetry today during the Boringest Meeting in Boresville. The genre is called "shitty poetry" and it goes a little something like this:

Shitty Meeting : a shitty poem
This is the boringest meeting ever.
If you wonder when it will end, it is never.
This woman will not shut her mouth.
She makes me want to migrate south.
This man sounds like an ass.
I will make fritters from his hulking mass.
If this meeting does not end soon,
I will set off fireworks in this room.
The new presenter is really hot.
Ugly and boring he is not.
I am imagining having sex with him.
After the meeting I will say "Stick it in!"
But other than that, this meeting is snore city.
And that is why it is shitty, shitty, shitty.

I guess I'm a great writer after all. If you like the poem, you can set it to music and we can have a campfire sing-along.

Bounce your Bubis

Another rampantly immature day befalls me as I catalog music by Anton ("One Ton") Titz and books of the photography of Bubi Heilemann. All I need now is more vocal music by Richard Cumming, and the years will just melt away. I know there's a certain age when we're supposed to get over such stupid, juvenile, peverted humor, but apparently that age is not 23. Then again, I'm also not laughing or really finding it funny.... just noticing. Does that mean I'm humorless?

Is that why I don't have any friends? Right, so despite what I may have said in the past, I don't really have any friends out here yet. Whatever, I'm not really worried about it. Plus, things are looking up because a guy I didn't know in high school called me out of the blue, and we're going to a Gay Jew Party on Thursday. Hopefully I won't get asked out by a guy with a name from a fantasy novel and a guy who is entirely too obsessed with Sylvia Plath like I did at the last gay function I attended. Though I plan to wear the same outfit because I looked super cute. I hope eating an entire meat lovers pizza in one sitting last night doesn't have an effect on that.

Making friends is harder than it looks on TV. I thought my life would be just like that show... what's it called... I dunno, something like "Hot 20-somethings in New York Who Are All Friends and Date a Lot and Have These Awesome Apartments Even Though They're Just a Waitress". But instead, it's more like the show "I Guess I'll Do My Laundry Tonight and Maybe Rent a Movie Again."

Nah, I'm kidding, I go out. I've met lots of people, I just don't stay in contact with them. It might be a pickiness issue, but it might be also because I'm humorless and boring now that I'm a real librarian with bills to pay. I need a haircut. Maybe if I get a haircut and look prettier, I'll have more friends. Last time I got a haircut.... oh right, I was dumped. But I also slept with this really really beautiful and charming man afterwards (not like right after, I'm not that pathetic, it was a few days). He looked like a rockstar. I'd give him a call, but he was kind of a weird kisser and he bit my ass, which was jarring and strange if not entirely unpleasant.

Maybe it's a pickiness issue after all. Whatever, who needs friends NOT ME! I like being alone with my cat watching Charmed and eating ice cream every night. Whine bitch complain, why don't people like me?????/ omgwtf avral sucks at least my blog reeders wil alwayz b my friends 4-eva! i <3 u guyz!!!1!

Don't you like the way I transitioned from people with boob names into not having friends into talking like a r3t4rd? Seamless! I'm such a genius writer. I think I'll write a poem about that and about how you should read my blog every day even when I don't write in it.

Untitled

I am such an awesome writer
I spin webs better than a spider.
I know all of these great words
That you don't know because you are nerds.
But I don't use them so you don't feel dumb
And then go home and drown your sorrows with rum.
You may think I write really crappy
But at least I don't go on about my stupid, sappy
Feelings unless I'm being ironic.
Those lame-ass blogs make me want a colonic.
I have so many important things to say.
You should read my blog every day.
My blog is green, pink, yellow, and blue.
And it tastes just like beef and vegetable stew.
If you do not read all of my blog now,
I will stampede you with a flock of cows.
No, of course I did not read your sucky blog today.
I am too busy for something so gay.

L'envoi
Read my blog, it is the very best.
It will put lots of hair on your chest
Kinda like tabasco sauce.
You will look like Who's the Boss.
So don't shave it.
I'm your favorite.
I am fun.
Git 'er done.