Coming soon, the Willoughby gift shop featuring tee shirts with the thumbs up logo on front for only $89.99.  Made from 100% fabric like material.

  Also a novelty flammable plastic oven mitt from Mustard Joe called," ***** catch-up, I want Mustard"!  Made in Vietnam as a friendly gesture, to the very people he used to shoot, maim, ****. You don't even want to know the things he did over there!

  Anyway, stop by the gift shop. Pendulum Pam works there and she's worth the price of admission on her own (that reminds me, the price of admission is 25 dollars to the gift shop).

   Willoughby is absent this week with an STD which I think stands for "some kind of transmitted disease".  Like the flu or something.

   Subbing in is me, Creepy Ray Ray (Mustard Joe wasn't available due to an appointment with his lobotomist - You don't even want to know the things he's seen or what's inside his head).

                           Creepy Ray Ray life tip #1

   When eating human flesh, and I'm not admitting that I ever have, braise quickly on both sides and let simmer in a light sauce as it tends to be tough to chew and somewhat gamey.  I lost a crown off a tooth chewing it once.

The newsman said there was a lot of angst out there. I'm gonna

break apart the word angst, rearrange the letters leaving "ants"

with a "G" left over.  I'll put the ants on display at the San Diego

Zoo and use the G as a nickname for the punk kid who lives up

the street from here, as in " hey G how's it going".  A few ants and

a nickname and just like that,  no more angst!

Your welcome America.

Mustard Joe told Pendulum Pam that Creepy Ray Ray was

purchasing a human kidney, illegally, on the black market.  We

didn't even know Creepy Ray Ray was sick.  Sick in the head

maybe, but physically sick? We had no idea.

   You may think that it' not right that I should call Creepy Ray

Ray sick in the head but I think you'll agree with me when I tell

you what happened.  Creepy Ray Ray told Mustard Joe who told

Pendulum Pam that he wasn't sick. Good we all said.  We heard

you were buying a human kidney, thank goodness your not. "Oh

I'm buying a human kidney", said Creepy Ray Ray. " I'm buying

it to eat it"!

To my followers ( though the numbers be few) I weep crocodile tears for you (dry as they may be) that you unfortunately didn't get to read my latest poem, "My Wife is a Sheep".  It was barred.  Censored.  Monitored. Deleted. Not posted.  
Oh the humanity! 
  
    Again I crossed some line.  So I'll begrudgingly
acknowledge it, in a gun to my back sort of way, and apologize to the Hello poetry monitors.  Why apologize?

    I don't want the sensors, monitors - **** overlords, here at Hello Poetry to be angry and on a warpath out to get me. So I'm sending them each a box of happy chocolates telepathically to mentally stupify their minds and sooth them in their misunderstanding and assure them that my writings inflict no harm to them or to Hello Poetry. I'm a good buddy. I'm a friend... Love you!

 Give us a little freedom of speech for heaven sake.  After all, freedom of speech is an amendment guaranteed by law.  Your not against laws, freedom, the Constitution, America are you?    
  
I'm one of the world's last remaining shock poets and even I'm becoming extinct. You wouldn't want that to happen would you?
I'm an endangered species!

    How can I reach full realization as a writer if I'm censured. How can I blossom and flower as a poet, and let my stamen dangle in the wind for the bees to land on and take away my gooey nectar (uh oh, could be a ****** reference -- Let's barr it, censor it, delete it, not post it). 

    Ultimately, how can I be the "go to guy" shock poet if I can't be shocking? When a reader wakes up and feels like a dose of shock poetry to start his day, and I'm not around, what will they do?

     My advice to you Hello Poetry monitors is to go out and do something shocking!  Feel it's rush. Roll around in its essence. Revel in its pump.  Then  you'll see. you'll be like me. Liberated.  So free....now relax and repeat after me. I love shock poetry...shock poetry......shock poetry....

Not figuratively, but literally.  It's called zoo. Inter species

coupling.  My wife is a sheep.     But let me tell you how it all

began...

    When I was ten, I knew I was attracted to animals when I put

lipstick on a pig and we made out behind the barn.   Later that

year my uncle started hiding his dog Sadie whenever I came by

because I had to go to the hospital when I put peanut butter on

my ***** and instead of licking it off, Sadie bit it.

Later when I was 12 I couldn't help but admire the hind

quarters of my uncle's donkey.  Such a fine ***, I mean donkey.

Hee haw.

I still keep in touch with Sadie, if a dog can keep in touch.

Needless to say we don't play fetch the stick, too many bad

memories. You know dog spelled backwards is God? So that

helps justify my love for Sadie.

Any way, when I was 14 I got arrested for fence hopping. That's

when you sneak into someone else's property and  f*ck  their

animals.

And it was only later when as an adult, I met my wife the sheep,

who is named Angelica, because of her white angel- like wool.  I

met her on a animal *** farm up North called "Loving Nature".

It's a ranch where there is a whole sub culture going on. Like a

**** Noah's Ark.

A guy on the internet married us so it's bound to be legal.  If she

ever has baby lambs, they will end up with my Irish nose. Just

kidding, ha ha.

So that's how I came to love animals and married  my wife

Angelica, the sheep. PETA doesn't understand  me but I think the

animals like it. I never heard one say no or stop.

It was a perfectly good all-purpose metal trash can. Shouldn't of been haphazardly discarded for the want of a new one. Evidently this was my reasoning at the time as I saved it from oblivion and tossed it in the back of my pick-up truck never knowing the dire ramifications this action would entail.

   Tossed in the back of the truck, rattling around, while Jr. Boy and me mosied down some back road. When our world changed.
That night.
As Jr boy, hiding in the trash can, as the sky fell in firey chunks of read hot magma burning and incinerating everything.  Flames leaping as any thing flamatory flamed, anything burnable burned.  Soon digging holes for water, eating bugs for food But surviving.  
For want of a trash can.
You carry on Jr boy. Your daddy loves you.  The world needs you.

I'd love to peer into that brain of yours and see the actual mechanics of your thinking.  Where those creative juices of yours throb and pulse. Ya, I'll drink to that.

   Maybe use one of them scopes to explore the left ventricle of your heart (you know, that chamber of the Heart that pumps blood through the aorta).  Figure out that sensitive heart of yours.

   Explore the rubber consistency of the lining of your lungs. With that heaving chest and ******* of yours, those lungs must be so healthy in their pinkish hue.   Just some barstool thoughts while waiting for closing time.

   Staring into this shot glass in front of me, my memory harkens back to the time you cut your arm and I ****** the blood from it, so salty and all.  I want to bottle you up in a liquid formula or capsulize your essence in a unique pill form where I can digest and absorb you and grow new cells from the energy I receive from the calories of your precious body.

   Maybe with the power of your bodies flesh I can grow a sixth toe, develop a third eye, build an *****.  I love you so much I could eat you up!

   Barkeep says this is last call so I better drink up and be on my way.  I wonder what your left ventricle really looks like under close inspection?  
   Just wondering, do you have any x-rays of your body I could have?
                                             See ya,   Creepy  Ray Ray