As I view this 62 rambler
Once pristine, shiny paint
Purred like a kitten, sort of
New car smell
A bat out of hell?
But she served a purpose
No Nova. No corvette
But heads she could turn
Miles she travelled
Yet seriously flawed
So time did wear
Paint faded to dust
Sun, rain and snow
Stole her sparkle, glow
Scratched, dinged, dented
Bumper too heavy
Laden with rust
Left more than right
Torn seats, tattered rug
Up on the blocks
To sit in the field
Fall apart more
Springs seizing up
Holes through the floor
A home for a mouse
Is her lot in life now.
No value, no use
Just to rot, decompose
The right thing to do?
Your time should be up
To the scrap heap with you
In Pontifical Profundity
And political profanity
A pose, puritanical at best
The vagina is procreational
And never recreational
Except at god-like penis’ bequest.
It says here in my Bible
So bite me, it ain’t libel
Sex for only procreation is allowed
So tighten up that belt so chaste
For there is no time to waste
Our purity the clergy has avowed.
So despite that little nit
That every woman has a clit
Intended solely for her joy in passions’ thrust
In sex she must not partake
Without intent to procreate
In the honor of our clergy we must trust.
But curious am I
Bound for hell, I won’t deny
Where’s the logic in this edict so profound
Men can do it round the clock
With no thought of babe to rock
My discrimination case is very sound.
One more way the church conspires
Oppress the women, threaten fires
Hell and brimstone are their futures without doubt
Beaten, raped and degradation
For one reason – elevation
And the excuse to let your fucking prick workout.
While sitting in my happy spot
A spot I sought to sit and rot
A spot where i could not be caught
Where perhaps a thought just might be wrought
I reached out for my friend.
Jose was sitting at my side
I was for him a blushing bride
His golden fingers reached with pride
Caused toasty warmth deep down inside
But that was soon to end
Upon a branch it did alight
A fright it gave while ending flight
A mockingbird not very bright
With voice too shrill, I wished it might
So a message I would send
Of my plight he seemed to mock
Took delight in how he liked to talk
I wished that he would take a walk
To find some other drunk to stalk
He would not shut up at all
To his voice i tried to close my mind
And hoped some other he would find
Jose and I, here to unwind
Just solace and peace for us sublime
The fucking bird had too much gall
For disturbing all my thoughts profound
While still reposing on the ground
Dearest Jose my hand had found
I downed the rest then aimed around
His ass --
I launched my love with heavy frown
And found the target, true and neat
Knocked said bird off fucking feet
Upon my head he sent his shite
The crap and fall, caused his heartbeat
Another tequila sundown.
Fucking feckless coward
Touting self-righteous privilege
Justifying crap as earned dues
For imagined wrongs and
Paranoid picayune perceptions.
Janus reflects, two mouths talking
Paying forward pretend pain,
Wallowing in self-serving slop
Pity pig, play-pen personality.
Stand up and piss with the big dogs
Or haul your pathetic ass to the corner.
When Life Gives You a Fucking Lemoen…
“It’s a fucking rattletrap!”
Yeah, that’s what the asshole said.
Dash finally crossed the line
It was time to squish him dead
Like a fucking bug
He was talking ‘bout my wheels
My steed, well, deux chevaux
Just an itsy bitsy car
But hell, that thing could go
Like shit from a loose fucking goose.
So the challenge had been made
Time and place were fixed and set
There was just one last detail
Get Steve… then win the bet
And had Dash his fucking ass on a platter.
Steve loved these little babies
Kept them polished, purring, fit
With him here riding shotgun
Fucking Dash was in deep shit
But what the hell else was new?
Steve-o greased and primed and oiled
Dropped the hood then pumped some gas
“Now get yourself right in there
Cause we’er gonna kick some ass”.
Dash ass… finest fucking kind of ass to kick
But then, to my surprise,
Old Steve-o gave a shove
And climbed behind the wheel
Pulling on a racing glove…
Just one though… sort of a cheap little fart (I know… he got his parts from Fred’s Junkyard)
He stomped down on the pedal
Made my poor Lemoen peel
The glint there in his eye
Sorta made me feel
Like I was about to puke. “What are you trying to do? Make me sick?”
Two wheels round the corner
Then gunned it, made me cry
“What the hell is wrong with you!”
I thought I was gonna die.
For sure I shit my pants… eww. Won’t that be a wonderful fucking thing for Dash to have to clean.
“You crazy fat-assed nutcase!
What did you think I’d think?
You took my red Citroen
And changed it into pink!
With rolls of fucking duct tape, no less!
So here is our NEW deal
For my sweet Roseanna car
She will live in my garage
And you will now stay far
Away from it. Look at what you did to the suspension? And here… the damned steering wheel is twisted up because of your fat freaking ass. No way, you are NOT doing this to one of my babies again!”
So now I have no wheels
And Dash, yeah, he lost the race
So both our little Lemoens
Are parked at Steve-s place…
With a fucking wire fence around em… razor wire… and two god damned huge Rotties standing guard, like he doesn’t trust us or something. Geesh.