I love it when You brush your arm against mine And then sit on my face
If your dog is stretched out on the floor With his eyes closed It’s always a good idea To check if it is breathing Unless you’re into dead dogs

You were understandably hurt When I stopped mid-coitus to say “I’m not feeling it.” But it wasn’t you- it was me. I was wearing a condom with a numbing agent.

I could write a million poems About how beautiful your body is But when it comes to your intellect Not so much

After registering my plethora of chocolate candies into The System, the twentysomething behind the counter handed me a receipt and said, “Have a good night!” My rejoinder was, “I will. Talk to you later.” I never made good on my promise.

I shot a gun yesterday. It was really quite impressive. Guns are notoriously difficult targets to hit.

i wish i could sleep With somebody Or by myself Whichever is easiest to arrange
Until you I’d never met a girl With such beautiful flaws
I envy my roommate Jon. He, being from the generation just above me, lacks the constant need for instant gratification that is ubiquitous in my own peers. If he wants something, he doesn’t need it immediately. He’s patient, and he puts timely effort into his projects. Like the fruit and vegetable smoothie he’s making right now.  If I want a fruit and vegetable smoothie, I walk to the grocery two blocks over and buy one. But not Jon. He bikes three miles to Whole Foods in preparation of this smoothie. Not to buy a prepackaged smoothie. No. To buy the ingredients. Drinking a smoothie to him is delicious, but it’s the journey and hard work that’s even more delicious to him. He gets home, sets his Whole Foods bag down, and begins laying out the raw fruits and vegetables he has purchased. He turns on the vociferous blender. He grabs a knife and proceeds to chop up his pomegranates in a lackadaisical fashion. Chop… Chop… Chop… Next the cantaloupe. He hears the blender roaring and surely his belly is jonesing for the finished product, but he still takes his time as he cuts slices from his melon. Slice… Slice… Slice… Pineapple next. He’s enjoying this laborious project so much. He knows that at the end, he will have a delicious concoction, so he lets his mind wander elsewhere as he cuts the pineapple. Cut… Cut… Cut… Seven or eight more vegetables follow. He methodically prepares each one, as the blender screams. In half an hour it will be done, and as he pours it down his throat, he will take pride in the time he has spent. As the blender whirls with great volume, I become covetous of Jon’s patience. I sit upstairs in my loft, my iPad just inches from me. I know that any information I want is five seconds away. Any food I want is two blocks away. I want to learn to become like Jon. I want to take long journeys, knowing that the payoff will be so much better because of it. And then I think, Jesus Christ, Jon. It’s two o’ clock in the fucking morning and I’m trying to sleep, you stoned asshole.


I wish I could gently place my finger in your mouth While you sensually suck on it The only problem is The worst You’re a Republican

part about

showering Is that one part Where you shower

Sometimes when I’m really down And want to kill myself I take solace in the fact that there was a movie called Hotel For Dogs
I don t do cocaine. But I do like to snort it.

I masturbated to a page of the atlas. I came all over the map.
One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.

Especially if the latter man is homeless
One evening in San Diego, I left an eventful rooftop party with an attractive female I had just met at said party. The ostensible impetus to leave the party was to go get a slice of pizza together, but, you know. “I’d take you back to my hotel room,” I finally mentioned. “But I’m sharing it with two other guys.” “I’d take you back to my house,” she retorted. “But I have a dog.” The dog was not an issue that evening.

In preparation of the new season of Glee, Lea Michele did a promotional interview a few weeks back on one of those cursory showbiz programs. You know the ones. The interviewer asked her,“What is something even your biggest fans probably do not know about you?” “Well,” Michele leaned in closer to the camera.“I have a bit of a sweet tooth, but shh.”She placed her index finger over her lips. Why is that a secret? Why does she not want people to know she likes candy? Candy is a delicious treat. Candy is manufactured for the purpose of being enjoyed. Everyone likes candy. I could get behind her if she was shushing the fact that she did not like candy. That is truly something to be ashamed of. I feel strongly about this. I feel that people who do not like candy should have their own restrooms, water fountains, and schools.  If I ever had a son, I would refuse to let him date girls who do not like candy. In fact, now that I think about it, people who like candy always be walking like this. And people who do not like candy always be walking like this. I butt-dialed the number 2 the other day. I bet he gets that a lot.

I have a cum stain on my jeans I would say it was self-­in icted But it was sponsored in part by you

Hotboxing In theory, a truly great idea But, seriously, man Your car is going to smell like marijuana You blew me in the back of my car It felt great Great enough that I use your name For all my passwords Except I usually add some numbers at the end

When I was growing up There were two types of kids The kids that wore earplugs at the pool And the ones that didn’t

I’m an extremely safe driver. No matter how short of a distance I’m driving, I always wear my condom

Last night, either two of my roommates were having sex, or someone was slapping a wet bag of steak against the sink while farting.
I don’t know how many of you guys have heard about my grandmother yet. For those of you who have gotten in touch with me, I thank you immensely. It’s important I remember that no matter how traumatic the experience was, she’s in a much better place now. It was so sad, you know? Right before she got her infection, we’d just put her in what we thought was a perfect Assisted Living Home. We’d visit her as often as we could, and she’d tell us how much she loved it there. They’d recently acquired a Wii and set it up so that the elderly could play Wii Bowling every Thursday at 2:30. My grandma would go on and on about how good she was getting at Wii Bowling. But things took a real turn for the worse last week. The staff told us that she had an infection that was causing severe dementia. And sure enough, when we went to visit her, all she could talk about was how, late at night, a giant penguin and a bank robber were sneaking into her room, dragging her to the basement in a wheelchair and stealing her blood. Just crazy shit. The kind of stuff you really don’t want to have to hear your grandmother say. You know? We could tell she was getting further and further removed from reality. Three nights ago, I decided it would be in my best interest to stay the night with her and sleep on the couch by her bed. I didn’t know how many more nights my grandmother would be with us, and I wanted to spend as much time as humanly possible with her while I could. My parents dropped me off, and my grandmother and I stayed up until midnight. We watched TV (Jay Leno- her favorite) and reminisced about all the good times we shared. It was truly an emotional night, and when I finally went to bed, I was almost in tears. Around 2am, I woke up to go to the bathroom. My grandmother was fast asleep. While in her bathroom, I heard a noise no one should ever have to hear. It was my grandmother. Screaming. I ran out of the bathroom and witnessed a sight I would never wish on my worst enemies. A man in a giant penguin costume and a man dressed as a bank robber were forcing my grandmother into a wheelchair, telling her that they were going to steal her blood. I called the authorities immediately. My parents rushed over. It turns out we had inadvertently put my grandmother into (what the police called) an Evil Assisted Living Facility. If it wasn’t for me staying over that night, God only knows how much longer they would have gone on torturing the elderly. But everything is so much better now. We put her in a different Assisted Living Home- she’s in a much, much better place. They have two Wii’s at this one.

Whose humps are these?

I love how I can see The outline of your ass In your skin-tight leggings But seriously, though Leggings are not pants

The perfect girl for me Has a tight stomach Medium-sized breasts And can explain Donnie Darko to me

You are perfect 100% of the time Even during that week When you shed your uterine lining Heavily
The outline of your nipple Underneath your shirt Is ambiguously transparent Much like Obama’s Drone policies

Do you want me to cum when you cum? If so, just tell me But just to warn you I’m not a great standup comedian My timing is a little off I told you I didn’t want The television playing in the background While we fucked You were riding me Everything was going we! Then I heard “Caution- you are about to enter the No Spin Zone!”
Trailmix is a delicious treat. I was in the Boy Scouts when I was younger, so it’s a snack that was ubiquitous when I was entering puberty. Everyone has their favorite trailmix ingredient. Some people feast on those peanuts. They’re crunchy, and short of eating a spoonful of salt, there’s no better way to make your salty taste buds burst with pleasure. Others like the raisins. People may cite the distinct sweet taste as the justification for the choice. Others simply love the chewy, wrinkled texture.  Sometimes there are bits of cereal in the trailmix, and if there are, those gluten-filled hollowed treats are a favorite. It evokes the guilty pleasure of eating cereal right of the box (and who doesn’t do that when no one’s looking?) When it comes to me, I like the M&Ms. I love them. They’re multicolored and underneath that distinctive shell is just the right amount of chocolate to satisfy any sweet tooth. I would give anything in the world for a box of trailmix that contained solely M&M’s.

To make a long story short, just do lengthy revisions.
Sometimes people ask me I’m 420 friendly. My answer to this is “Yes. I’m more than amiable to multiples of 210.”

I feel at ease In the con nes of my room I also feel at ease In the con nes of your vagina

I am not allergic to cats I wish I was So I could say Fuck You to them With reasonable justification

Your mother’s so hot/Your mother’s so loose/Last night I was stroking her hypotenuse You see, she had a problem/She was wearing a bra/But I solved that with the quadratic formula You know how that formula’s all over 2a?/Did you also know that your mom thinks you’re gay? I threw in some angles just to crank up the juice/And it was plain to see that your mother was obtuse. Division, Addition, Multiplication, Subtraction/Your mom didn’t care, she just wanted some action I was trying to find divisors/It was taking up time/But it turns out there were none/Your mom’s pussy is prime If you add 69 to 69/What’s the sum?/I stopped caring when your mom made me cum Did you know your mom is a function machine?/I put something big inside of her, and it came out lean Your mom came, too/Both her and me/When I left that night, I said ‘Q.E.D.’

Who would want to hang out with a lady who has a baby in her tummy? Not this guy, for sure. People often wonder if there’s a magic phrase they should use in their cover letters to potential employers. Try this one- “I can send you a virus.” If I make love at all like I brush my teeth, I finish much too early and I skimp on the lingual side of my molars.

I have a hemorrhoid the size of Billy Budd Dear Men’s Magazine, Not a huge novel But we’re talking about something on my I like women rectum. But women don’t like me Is there a Harry Potter spell for this? I’m a muggle with a hard-on.

There is a place Between average and above average That provides a comfortable home For your boobs
While wandering through the heartbreaking turmoils of everyday life, there are certain skills to be had that are more crucial than others. Being able to determine whether or not the subject of your gaze is an Olympic Swimmer is a skill of the utmost importance. One of the ways to do this is to examine the attributes of that at which you’re staring and compare it to those of an Olympic Swimmer.  For instance. If you’re looking at something that contains a switch labeled AM/FM, you are probably not in the presence of an Olympic Swimmer- such athletes are not able to change their method of carrying radio waves with something so convenient as a single switch. If what you are looking at has webbed feet, again, you are probably not seeing an Olympic Swimmer. Olympic Swimmers may aspire to have webbed toes, but in reality, they do not. In all likelihood, what you are looking at in this scenario is a duck. Ducks, though frequent swimmers, are winged, bipedal, endothermic birds, and as a result, are not qualified to compete in the Olympic Games. If you encounter a person named Travis or Ryan, there is a substantial possibility they are Olympic Swimmers, but there’s an even greater possibility that they’re just assholes. If a man approaches you with a firearm and instructs you to Give Him All Your Money, you should. But while you do, note the abundant possibilities of the situation. The costs of training for the Olympics are excessive, and one should not be surprised if an Olympic Swimmer resorts to brandishing a handgun to ascertain the funds. While obliging the man, do not be afraid to inquire whether or not he is an athlete. If he is, ask him what sport he participates in. If he answers, “Swimming” instead of Blowing Your Fucking Brains Out, congratulate yourself. You have officially located an Olympic Swimmer. !

I want to write and direct a ten second film called ‘Ejaculation.’ If only for the Making Of documentary that will be on the DVD.

Sign up to vote on this title
UsefulNot useful