In the mid-1990s I worked as a bartender
on the second floor of a local hotdog joint
near the University of Pittsburgh.
I poured beers and mixed simple drinks
for working class drunks.
The felons always had a game or a magic trick
they’d use to milk rubes for a free gin and tonic.
College students mostly stayed away,
but the ones who stumbled in ordered drafts,
paid for by daddy’s allowance
or the petty drug rackets they ran on campus.
In the summer, the best ***** came around,
**** pushed out of their tops,
*** cheeks crept below their skirts.
They knew how to find action
every single night.

Except one overweight girl named Susie
from the all girl’s school down the road.
She’d come to the bar alone,
her lips caked with dark red lipstick.
Like many students, Susie wanted to be older.
She’d order ***** martinis,
drink quietly, and she’d patiently wait
for one of the older drunks to make a move.
It never happened.

Sometimes Susie complained to me
about other girls at her college,
that they were aggressive lesbians.
All of them wanted to eat her ******.
‘Those ******* are as bad as the men,’ she’d say.
But then she’d laugh it off.
‘I really love ****,’ she told me.
‘I think about **** and *** all the time.’

One night Susie owed the bar $27.50.
She always tried to flirt her way past the tab.
I never let her get away with it.
‘Do you like me?’ she said.
I laid down my trademark response,
‘You’re the best.’
‘No, do you really like me?’
I figured she deserved a real compliment.
‘You have the sexiest lips here.’

She climbed off the barstool
and walked to the backdoor, the fire escape.
She then curled her finger at me to join her.
Outside on the small rusted iron landing,
above the roach-filled dumpster,
Susie crouched between my legs.
Both of us worked to unbuckle my belt.
A swarm of hands pulled down my jeans.
I looked up at the few stars between buildings
as those red lips and soft tongue became my drug,
a back alley escape from a ******* life.
When I unloaded, she refused to let go.
She swallowed it all. $27.50 paid in full,
plus tip.

That’s how we went for a while.
I gave Susie small escapes from lesbians.
Susie gave me small escapes from life.
Eventually, she stopped coming around.
I figured she graduated.
Perhaps her classmates finally got their wish.
Either way, I never saw her again.

When I was just a boy
I had this dream of aliens and green things
My mother wasn't home
She had to work so my sisters and I could eat
She hired a babysitter
In her teens
She was mean and
  
My, My, My Ba- Babysitter ***** me
My, My, My Ba- Babysitter ***** me
She bit me on the ear
She licked me oh so dear
But, she ***** me
  
And then my mother beat me
And then I grew too big. see?
I lived inside a bubble of my dreams
And then I learned of airplanes
bllsht!, With their war games
That's when I took the only way to see
  
and that was
My, My, My, Ba-Babysitter ***** me
My, My, My, Ba-Babysitter ***** me
She took me to the sea
Left me with broken dreams
'Cause she ***** me
         and that's not funny
  
My babysitter ***** me
And now I've learned to live with broken bones
My babysitter ***** me
I've been the king, I was the pawn, I'm clean
When my big sister teased me
It could have been a daydream
But what I know, life's been mean to me
  
and I'm tellin' ya
My, My, My Ba-Babysitter ***** me
My, My, My Ba-Babysitter ***** me  
She bit me in the ear
She licked me oh so dear
And she ***** me
  
I told my mommy Dee
About her new employee
That babysitter worked this week for free
She took off to Missouri
Forgot to say goodbye to me
She can live there
I can live with me
  
but I don't know why
My, My, My Ba-Babysitter ***** me
My, My, My Ba-Babysitter ***** me
Why oh why oh me
Spank me spank me please
'Cause my babysitter ***** me
ooooooooh she ***** me

You bought your ex an expensive ring.

She’s having a tough time

You bought me a card.

But I love you.

Well, woopsie woopsie woo.

I’m not feeling the sympathy here.

I’m not wearing an expensive ring, unlike somebody else I won't care to mention.

I would do the same for you.

Okay, there's a jewellers down the street.

Just take a step back, look into your conscious, this is not the girl I fell in love with.

That’s because I’m not feeling the love, unlike your ex.

Will you stop going on about the ex.

I will, when you buy me a ring.

Is it all about the material things for you.

Fine. You just wait

- week later-

You bought your ex a car?!

He was going through a tough time

You bought me cookies

But I love you. And also I ran into your ex at the flea market. She sold me the ring you gave her for £12. You have good taste in jewellery.

Also I called your mother and explained the situation. She wants a chat with you today.

Why would you call my mum?

Oh you know, we're such good friends and she never hears from you so I thought I'd catch her up

What did you tell her

Well you know about the ring and the car thing was actually her idea and the ring ending up in my hands was just good fortune.

What did my ex say?

She said she thought it was pathetic and that during your relationship she was just using you for *** anyway.

What did your ex say.

Well nothing unusual. He wants me back more than ever.

Paul Gaffney& Lily Nurmi.

He thwack no metronome to kick oneself
Thwack his **** sucker
With his monolithic flaccid trunk rubber
Me and my Dalek doped
And my excrement unsweetened
Copulate in the open without my jockstrap
You shat encrusted to what you deflowered
So at arm’s length ****** from all that we excreted in the wind’s eye
And I bounce a bedevilled backwash
My incredibles are shafted
I’ll **** **** to Arab

We only jabbered hasta la vista amongst homophones
I croaked a hundredweight arsonists
You **** posterior to her
And I **** **** to…
I **** **** to myself

I ****** you powerfully
The body beautiful’s not enough to go round
You enjoy spanking and I wallow in *******
And ***** is like a tobacco teabag
And I’m a bijou **** coming the corsets in custody

We only jabbered hasta la vista amongst homophones
I croaked a hundredweight arsonists
You **** posterior to her
And I **** **** to…

Arab, Arab, Arab, Arab, Arab, Arab, Arab
I **** **** to…
I **** **** to…

We only jabbered hasta la vista amongst homophones
I croaked a hundredweight arsonists
You **** **** to her
And I **** **** to Arab

there's something vulnerable
about your *****:
babe - whenever
I watch that pepper bush
I become vulnerable
and all I want to do
is to finger the moist bases;

there's something vulnerable
about your buttocks:
babe - whenever
your warm ****'s in my palm
I become vulnerable
and all I want to do
is to dig into the honey vases;

Numbed dumbed thumbed
he returned home
to her *****


Charles touched her bumhole
but Diana shoved off his fumbling hand


he wanted to lick her *******
but she didn’t agree


the prince held her buttocks
slowly bumping into her
he slowly moved her bottom around
continuing to bump


but as the lady asked him to repeat this particular move
he left it alone

I have a tiny ****
Like a crooked little finger
Everybody else's ****
Is inevitably bigger
If six inch as an average
Can truly be believed
Someone here in this room
Must be twice the size of me
If you can do your algebra
Already you will know
Four inches is the maximum
My **** will ever go
For the engineers among you
I'll express my ratio
My little one inch wonder
Up to four times it can grow
I'm glad to hear you laugh
It shows you understand
These are such the shortcomings of
A very short **** man

My ***** they can grow longer
Into a comfy little nest
With a little acorn sat
Upon the very crest
Rummage in my fly and
Wish that I were blessed
Searching frantically
I recover just the head
Get a little **** drip
Up on my finger tip
There's absolutely nothing there
For me to get a grip
If I sit to *** I must
Be wary of my jet
The angle of my dangle means
My trousers may get wet
Then dribble on my ball bag
For my **** does not overhang
These are such the shortcomings of
A very short **** man

I **** it with one finger
If you really want to know
And no I can't imagine
The feeling of *******
When I look down I can
Still clearly see my toes
But my little ***** hides
Beneath my belly folds
Sometimes it is inverted
Even when it isn't cold
Like a little turtle
Inside of me it goes
Girls they like to tell me
It is a cute surprise
Until I have to tell them I
Left the ****** stuck inside
I'm hung like Micky Mouse
You've just got to understand
These are such the shortcomings of
A very short **** man

Now why would I admit to this?
By now you know it's true
I'm such a little babydick
Exposed in front of you
But the greater pain exists
In propagating myths
According to the internet
Real men have massive *****
So for anyone who feels small
Let me reassure you all
By bringing down the average
With my little four inch *****
So if you're sat with five or six
Feel the relief
And if you really want to,
Then have a laugh at me
You no longer have to hide it
Give a **** or give a ****
You no longer have to let it
Be the measure of the man
And I guess I kinda like it
When I am being teased
These are such the shortcomings of
A short **** man like me

A seventies child
Born in Wales, one of the four
Countries of The UK.

I remember brown as the colour
of the day.
Fabric embossed wallpaper
all the neighbours names, who married who,
who was carrying on, the alcoholic, the beaten wives,
Even, get this the peadophiles (or kiddy fiddlers as was known)
Dai the milk, Mair the bread, the shop of infinite items.

Rugby practice for dad, baking for mam
(Cake and babies) gossip over the garden hedge
Fish on a Friday a Sunday roast, hot sweet tea.
Bubble and squeak, post delivered before you
left for school. Mist on the mountain, dew on the grass.

Welsh valley life, sounds idyllic
but scratch the surface and a darker colour
than brown emerges. Petty squablings leading to
familial feuds, the Williamses don't get on with
the Joneses, and as for the Pritchards, less said the better.

School, local, no not for me. I was sent to a Welsh
School, taught and learnt the language denied to my
Parents by English politics. Cat amongst the pigeons there.
Did I think I was special? Ideas above her station. That's what
the neighbours say.

Well, you all had the option.
Dr Forbes FRCS
Delivered babies buried men and women
Loved by all, especially his lollipop sweets.

I wasn't a child to get *****, or rip wrapping paper
off of gifts, I liked to go under the stairs (like Harry Potter)
and read. I left the dirt for my sister born 4 years later.
Then in 1982 came my brother, tidy my mother describes it.
'74,'78,'82 poor dad to have to wait I say!

More pubs than chapels, more walking than driving
more rain than sun, more music than ever was sung.
The '80's came, and we had strikes, no electric, candles
toast made with a toasting fork over the fire.
No mines, no steel, no jobs.

Picket lines, dole queues, women in work
latchkey kids, Thatcherism, ******* times.
Falklands war, IRA bombs, Royal weddings
Tory rule

But, the fire in the dragon never went out
and Tom Jones still sings his heart out.
Cymru cysglyd gwlad y gân, deffrwch
nawr, dyma'ch tro.

the CIA will never make the money off ******
it made off *******
******* is for parties
dance clubs
good times in social settings
******, not so much
dark alleys with ***** dealers
selling black tar
to hopeless souls
Mexican mules with **** cavities
brimming
carrying kilos into Nogales
or maybe Calexico
bow legged and sweating
just 35 more trips and sweet little Consuela
can be an American
until Trump gets his wall –
article after article relaying tragedy
the poor, lost in addiction
desperately seeking a coping mechanism
something to stem the tide of despair
and general malaise
dead in their prime
over a twenty sack
and low self-worth….
many friends and family this same tale…
some folks heritage is in ranching,
thousands of head of cattle
driven across the open plains
grandfather to grandson,
uncle and cousin….
others,
political dynasty
papa congressman
and auntie judge
but not mine –
the crest of my tree looks like the biohazard symbol
as generations of drug addicts litter the undergrowth
their weight attempting to hold me
lock me into familial history
unfortunately or fortunately
my will, and recognition of god’s power
flowing within me, as it..
I am my own master
and free to fashion my branches
to whatever my liking desires –
undercover government agents line street corners
whispering illusionary tales of release
stories of becoming void of pain
parables relating a free mind
to personal freedom
through chemical alterations
I whisper back
“I bet my **** is delicious,
wanna taste?” –

She dragged her body across the room
Away from the steamy pile in my studio
“why does your japartment smell like spoiled cheese and
Sadness?”
Her speech sloppy as her movement
“because you vomited on my ******* floor!”
Her head spinning, she lurched forward
“I didn’t do that – must been you.”
She slurred, staring at her mess, smelling the fumes.
Swinging her head round, smacking the wall
She burped.
Why help the helpless? It’s hell.

An hour of her refusing clothes
Forcing her to dress like a toddler in my clothes
“I’m a goddess! I’m a goddess!” she bellowed.
“Yeah, but even Athena wore clothes.”

When you ***** in a toilet, it
Goes in a second – cleaning’s a breeze!
When someone pukes on your floor, it smells like sadness
And cheese,

Interesting how I remember my toilet bowl clearn
That night, resting my head on icy porcealan
Alone, isolated from friends usually there when I’m “unwell” in a toilet stall
After ally, why help the helpless? It’s hell.

Spring's rain and winds have blown away;
Summer has died and Autumn too.
But in the sad emptiness of my heart
Winter beckons me to its cold embrace.
It is now so many long Decembers past
Since I lost the one true love of my life;
No, she did not die, I cast her out proudly
As she refused to leave her unloved spouse.
A victim of religious hypocrisy.
And now we both dread the future on our own,
Self-pitying victims of our idiotic pride.