The last outlaws of Hello  had rode long and hard.
And after leaving the brothel finally hit the road.
Wild Turkey feuled ****** Amigo stop touching my ****.
Dear lord man how many times can we listen to lady gaga

Get your minds outta the gutter really just who
do ya think your reading?
I dont write **** like VK rowling or Miya Angelou  or was
her last name Cyrus anyways who in the state of Hannah Montana
gives a **** anyways?

Just over the border we finally landed in the land
of masked wrestlers hostoric sights
yes who doesnt like a donkey show?

The cantina hot as usal my amigo looking around
confussed like a young  Ricky Martin  befor
the rockstar life of menudo ****** him all up.

Drinks flowed music played  dam macdonalds was great down here.
well cept for the clown who wore his red nose in  a diffrent place
bad touch kids.
Least my uncle was fitting in here lord help his boyscout troup.
camping in uncle Ronnys bed taught you a lotta things
like never to sleep on your stomach.

But enough with the foreplay children.
We were on a mission.
But not one from the big guy.
Although im not much on worship
besides  Bill Gates was a tool anyhow.

We spent the night drinking dancing not togather
that is.  Although Jack was a great kisser
but enough about are fishing trips
Gary was already jelouse as it was.

It was great fun till the dam hangover kicked in
it hurt so dam bad it was like Justin Bieber had
caught me asleep and ***** my ear like his mother
had sold his soul so she wouldnt have to work.

The pounding in my head,the drunken Brit in the sambero
Bouncing up and down on the bed singing paparazzi
but enough bout Goldie were the hell was Jack?

And who the hell killed the ****** and put her  
in the bathtub?
Jesus fargone Phil must have been here
no wonder I was missing a kidney thoose naughty Brits get me every time.


After diposing of the body thoose blind kids
will have fun with that pinyatta.

I was off leaving no stone or  whiskey bottle or brothel unturned.
I interogated so many senoritas.
Finally I figured I should ask where Jack was.

Finally after a good session with a older woman
the sixteen year old finally gave it up.
And then I remembred to ask the question how much?
Im kidding I asked that way befor the umm interogation.

******* the tatoo from fantasy island sounding woman replied.
Lord woman no time for a puppet show im not uncle Ronny.
No senior *******.
Lord dear woman  what you didnt get to watch the muppet show as a kid or something?

Finally ****** the starnge sounding woman blurted out.
Look ******* Jack's off he left with some weird little guy earlier.
they took a plane.

All a sudden from the sky I herd a sputtering
noise and like a bald eagle  who had a affair with a unclean vulture.
Im just saying.
It emerged from the coulds a small plane  the door flew open
Jack appeared with another man why was it yes it was Eliot.

Why you ***** ***** you!
Ouch **** miss I was talking to Jack.
Oh my bad senior but you desserve that just for writting
this ****.
everyones a critic.

Seems my amigo was taking Eliot sky diving dam great way to bound.
well it was cept thoose Brits seem to not use parachutes
but hey you really cant feel much with them on anyways.

Eliot like a well.
Like a guy threw from a plane screamed  worse
than a teenage girl  at a Jonas Brothers Concert
Hey my wife wanted to go okay.
Thank God the house broke his fall.

There lay Eliot crying like Tiger Woods after
his divorce hearing.
No worries my friend  I called a ambalance.
Three hours later the horse and bugee finally pulled up to
the hospital.

Im joking it wasnt a horse it was a donkey
And it would have been sooner if it wasnt busy
being Mr show bueisness.

Later at the bar.

Gonzo and Jack  sat with there full body cast friend Eliot
sipping drinks telling stories.
Wondering why we were ******* fire.

Gonzo no wonder you love it here
what part of Mexico are we in?
Dear lord man were in mexico?
Seems my friend was a bit confussed
but then again after reading this you probaly
are two  untill next time kids  greetings from
New Jersey.

Stay Crazy Gonzo

I'm the irreverent boyscout you can't trust that's no help
Cowardice and gluttonous
But hell can I start a fire.
I don't listen, I'm not nice
purity I don't recognize.
I do my own thing,
I never courtesy.
Oh **** can I scream at wrongs.
I'm the grungy kind of disloyal,
You know the sin of the unclean.
My face is never cheerful
And I'm rude to everything.

Father can you listen to me
Will you listen to me for a minute
I don't feel loved by you anymore
You were never home
Mom practically raised me
Everything I learned as a man
I learned by another man
Who took me under their wing
You didn't even talk to me about ***
I learned what I was doing as I kept on having it
I didn't know what an STD or *** was
I learned that in *** Ed
I had no idea on how to change the oil in a car
My boyscout leader taught me
Father we never spend anytime together
I wish we could play catch
I wish you could teach me how to ride a bike
But wait I forgot Rafial's dad did
You were always gone
No wonder I'm half a man
No wonder I'm emotionally distant
I have nothing to offer anybody
But half dead poetry
Based on killing myself
Because secretly I don't have a father
Even though he sits right next to me
I wish you would listen to me
But you're not here for me to tell you this
I hope you can forgive me
For resenting you all this time
I'm leaving in a year
And you still make no effort
In being here to see me off
Fine
I made it this far without you
I will make it farther without you
Hello father nice to see you
Goodbye father sorry you just got home
But I'm leaving

A less thankful of things to track down
In dark woodlands, one's flashlight.

she had mornings
(still does)
where she'd not talk to anybody
so i'd get on tumblr and check,
finding the familiar phrase
she used on these days
"i'm such a *****"

and between classes
i would find her and wrap her in my arms
and tell her she wasn't
she never believed me,
always disagreed with me

so isn't it ironic
that those words-
"you aren't a *****"
are the ones i hold on to now
everytime i start thinking she is
i tell myself i was right,
that she's only had a hard life
and thinks differently than me

but then she cuts me off walking in the hall,
she gives me emotionless stares on the bus
(where i sit 8 seats farther from her than ever before)
and i almost call her a *****
but i hold off, knowing i was right

i walk an extra three blocks
to and from the convenience store
to avoid her house.
i spend lunch in the library
to avoid hearing her voice.
i walk home from the elementary school
to avoid her presence.
and i don't go swimming
with my brothers boyscout troop
to avoid the memory
of the first time she said she loved me.
but when i'm about to call her a *****
because avoiding her
only makes me remember what she did to me-
i stop
because i know i was right

those words were probably the reason
she left for the last time
the reason she says nothing to me now
becasue she always believed she was right.
i only hope i'm right,
but i try so hard to convince myself
because i don't want to, someday
get so ******* that i scream at her
that she's a *****.
because that will break her
and she'll think she's right
that all her insecurities and anxieties
are true
are righteous,
and she'll be hurt forever
thinking that she's horrible.
she isn't

she isn't a *****
just misunderstood by herself.

when i look at her,
i feel no anger
and i supress the sadness
which may create anger.
anger only fuels my thinking that word
and i can't bring myself to hurt her

no matter how much she hurt me.

not a *****...
not
a
*****




©Brandon Webb
2012

Sitting – well, slouching
Parochial ticky-tacky chair distorting sprawled alignment
How does a piece of paper weigh so much?
How do I extrude a greater weight from it into another page?

Fumbling with knotted headphones
My eyes drop into the inked Times New Roman
The page intones my fumbling succinctly, “I try to find something, anything.”
What boyscout, boatsmen, or climber crawled in my bag and tied this interminable knot?
My eyes turn to the knot -
Still fumbling with the toner’s entombed dance

I grew up in this slouch, in this tangle, thinking in Times New Roman
Etching knowledge into or from 8 x 12 reams
Does the paper weight I feel in the paper’s request equate to the weight of a neural connection ascertaining chemical knots?

Call it a catch-22, cause I've caught catharsis, and my conch shell has run out of clues
I've been eating away the cost of everything I pick and choose
Why is the coast so blurry, every time I'm taking my midday cruise
Trying to metabolize my surroundings, but all the people around me are just empty calories, even the closest few

They're all cheap, cheeky, circuited *****
That's why I've trained myself to be calloused, bruised, collected, and blunt
But you cannot make yourself all that you want to become
You can only intend, to spend, your chronic currency to coherence
I burn my pockets so I don't have to carry your candle
I'd rather be illuminescently bent, then hiding my head beneath a tent
With your boyscout projects, and afro-engineered beligerence
But I will be your calm cashier, I will take your money if you need to conquer your fears
And I do concur, slur your slew of words, I know you're just holding back the real tears
Beneath that cartoon cardigan and cyan crew
You're the carpenter, you didn't have to just paint every part of your body in denial and blue

I know you are the way you are, you don't choose
Somewhere deep in my cynical carcass I know you don't have to choose
Sometimes it's not what you choose
But sometimes it's who

Look deep in the culture of narcissism
You cocky carpenter, you have more purpose then simple cytogeny
Cut into your carcass and pull out something new