An Even Newer Deal

I loved the new deal
the old school new deal
the ballsy and brassy new deal
the fuck the depression new deal
the one that paid you to take photographs

to make a dam
to tell stories
to lay some goddam pipe
and now it's a new day
in a new millennium
and we need

nay, we demand, a brand-new deal-of-a-deal
a succulent tax-free-fact-free-guilt-free-for-all doozy whopper of a d e a l
a better newer maxed-out whacked-out white whale of a freaking deal
a happy deal with bells and whistles and chrome and sugar and magic mushrooms
a plumptastic islamo-judeo-christo-tao-shinto-bhuddeo
immaculate juicy tantric consummation of a d e a l

Rick Wagoner Goes to Washington DC

hitch-hiking on the pennsylvania turnpike,
a GM Chevron Algonquin Stevedore Hybrid Suplex
flops to a stall right where my thumb stands tall

thanks, I said, where ya' heading?
as we silently merged into mad traffic
washington, d.c. he said
meeting with some fuckheads
in a giant room
with some shitbirds
and a gaggle of dickwads
and you know the kicker? he said

no - what's the kicker? I said

the kicker is I'm driving there making 10 mil a year
and when I drive back
I'll be making one stinking buckito per annum

the Pennsylvania countryside rushes by
hills and trees and cows and amish
all see-saw on green landscapes
the Chevron Algonquin Super Sport de Ville Stevedore Hybrid Suplex
hurtles down the highway like a turbocharged mosquito on steroids

I stare at the funky, beige faux leathereen dashboard
you're like the president
of general fucking motors, right?
and he says yeah, I am, man

I gotta tellya, Mr. Wagoner, I say
I used to drool over the grooved metal stallions
galloping off your assembly lines
the idle of a small block V8 was the sound of life and lust

I gotta tell ya', Rick
you had a fine company
your people loved to ride
your people were pro-motion
so what happened, Rick?

Rick adjusted the rear view
so he could look himself in the eye, and opined
the spread sheet power point guys took over
they liked calculators better than cars
they fucked it all up with their fancy numbers

you hate this car, don't you Rick?
you hate the bumpy vinyl
and the not made for human hands
the cranky sloppy gearshift lever
and the aluminum pushrods and crazy chromium camshaft
the ache in your curved back
the seat belts digs into your shoulder
what is that about?

Rick surprised me
he didn't scream or shout
didn't kick me out
he just said
yeah, I hate it
I really hate it

Notes On Music

bottom of the ninth
one-run world series game
two on, two out, two strikes
D minor rises
from the bullpen and mother earth
minor D fills the ballpark
the mystery and the pain
of the minor key
focus my fingers
unlocking the perfect strike
for a perfect strike

I get the third out
in a one-run world series game
the ground vibrates
and hurls a major chord
all the way home
through the major roaring stadium
all the way home
through my toes and fingers

You Swing, You Ride, You Rest

you swing slowly in a cotton rope
hammock
under the fulgent white barked lemon leafed
sycamore
eyes mystified
the stars incomprehensible
emerging from the ocean, dripping brine
and sand
tickled by the tide and stung by a
jellyfish
you are the flag of your nation,
waving

riding your bike through thirty weight rainfall
thick, viscous water falling perpendicular
biking slow motion all wet perfection
the putty puddles and the liquid air,
eyes mystified
the rain incomprehensible

resting in the green grass
hollow
under a giant water oak
the sun brilliant and solemn
an inscrutable warmth bathes
your crazy legs

the hawk and the squirrel

rakish young red tail hawk
dapper and daring on a lofty branch
all piss and vinegar and ignorance
opens his raptor beak to the sky and screeches
yeah! i can do this predator shit
i'm gonna pluck my protein from the larder of the living!

like that first time
i parked the car at neptune beach
killed the motor, made the move
french kissed kathy mozena
with all the french kissingness I possessed
hormones pouring from every pore
hands fumbling at the back of her bra
swearing by the dashboard light
yeah i can do this
this is actually happening
i AM this
whatever this is
whatever this roaring
boiling blood, this
pulse of sex and survival

in the tree
rakish young red tail hawk scowls
raptor head swivels
pops and locks
pupils swell, zoom in, zoom out
teenage talons clutch and itch
for a wet dream of furry warm-blooded flesh

like that squirrel
(lock)
down there
(zoom in)
scuttling in the hedge
the hedge by the new music and arts building

first hunt, first kill
red hawk
spreads f16 wings
banks once round the campus green
circles the spires of higher learning
dives straight down to the bloodwarm gray target on the lawn

squirrel sense triggers, squirrel freezes
sprints leeward then treeward then upward
squirrel jukes and dodges
red hawk shrieks, wings flare
claws open and reaching
talons clutch a beating heart for the first time

squirrel locked helpless
hawk ascendant
squirrel frantic as oak and acorns recede
struggling twisting wriggling yearning

we're in the back seat now
kathy mozena loves me and i love her
my fingers still fumbling madly at the goddam brastrap
the prize is in my fingers
but my fingers aren't working

young red hawk screams and soars
tries to squeeze the ribcage in his claws
but his talons aren't working
young claws open in confusion
and the squirrel pops free
warm grey fur alive and
freefalling
flailing helpless
into the arms of the ample oak

another rebirth into this crazy life
wild alive free and chattering
sprinting down and round the oak trunk to the ground
safe in the shadow of music and arts

the hawk screeches above
spent by the lesson of life and death
hungry, student of instinct
wings on high
raging
avid for warm flesh
high above this institution of higher yearning

POETRY ADVERTISEMENT

tired? bored? psoriasis overtaking your eczema?
out of three cent postage stamps?

feel like you're on the ground floor of a USDA slaughterhouse?
perhaps just your usual grumpy horny miserable self?

and the job sucks even though you were fired two weeks ago?
and the toilets overflow with the failed promise of your youth?

Hmmmmmmm???

may we humbly suggest
as a balm for the udder of your discontent:

A Poem

a poem
you ask?
what good will a rhythmical composition
of elevated thoughts do?
well,

allow us to promote the salubrious effects
of iambic pentameter
the guaranteed psychic enlargement
from a plump dose of pithiness
the bottom line net gain
from a simple allusive rhyme
a bit of obtuse doggerel
a bit of undulating verbal vibration

so relax, enjoy your moccachino
and let us make the pitch
just calm down and let us
sell you

A Poem

learn the secret stroboscopic cadences
hidden in silence between stanzas
be a better lover, or at least throb eloquently
excise clunky halting coagulated clumps of speech
swirl your syntax like a connoisseur
magnify your probity
reel out rhythmic syllables of suchness

alliterate your welcome mat, hiptaphy your innerwear
all guaranteed to sliptify sensitive sensibilities
ninety-nine days same as cash
scattered haiku skull tattoos, taboos we do two - wahoo!
in the darkest recesses and folds where whole words
and lurid letters curl in cortical caves
waiting to be drilled, dug or dynamited, direct to
the conveyor belt lane of your smart heart

style comes and goes but a solid stanza is forever and a lay
verify and versify, my tongue-tied little droogies
you're the breast-shaped ladle of inspiration
or at least the manly handle of the lady ladle

so step right up and remember
two roads diverge in a wood
you can take the one less travelled
or you can take the one with a money back guarantee
either way

a rose is a rose is a rose

and I sing the body electric

if it does not fit you must acquit

and the raven still quothes

but there is always - more

Three Years of Spanish

(whisper)
welcome to the tour championship
we're here at the east lake golf club
high in the grandstand
overlooking the 17th hole
as the drama unfolds

(from the grandstand)
Wahoo!! Go Tiger!!

he is yelling it like it is
for him
and for the girl sitting next to him
and for everyone in a two block radius
whether we like it or not
the hot sun and the cold frothy booze
speak through him
like some ancient greek beer oracle
please zeus, tell us he's not like this all the time
tell us its a temporary lapse
but no, it continues nonstop
artless balderdash
decibels spewing higher
than a Phil Mickelson flop shot

I love Woody!

he's blabbering about Woody Austin now
blurting blustering and blabbing
Christ.

Woody is great
good guy
Calc too,
Calc is great, yeah
the best
a little hefty, but he can play
yeah

the crowd is hushed and glaring, but
the guy won't shut the fuck up

look at Garcia
wearing that orange shirt
orange and white
orange and white, yeah, go clemson, right?
the girls love him
don't you love him?
he's pretty buff
he's a stud,
but he's wearing
an orange shirt
and white pants, yeah
see through white pants
what do you think?

I think you should shutthefuckup

you think he's a stud?
ooh, he's a stud,
ouch, missed the putt
he's a stud but...
he's no tiger woods

and you're no bryant gumbel

hey, look coming over the hill
it's that young guy from colombia
you like him? he's a stud
his name is Veeyaygus

it's Villegas

i mean Veeheyjus

it's Villegas

or Veelayus

it's Villegas

Veegeesus?

it's Villegas

Veehoojitz?

Villegas!

shit i took three years
of high school spanish
it's that double "L" thing, y'know?
I remember my teacher was so hot
is it veelyayjus?
anyone around here from Spain?

it's Villegas, now shut up

meniscus, meniscustan

dozing deep in a strange bright room
laying on a metal antiseptic bed
an hour passed like a brick in the head
my knee gets mugged on the sly
somebody stole my meniscus
the crucial buffer tween femur and tibia
someone snuck in behind my patella and absconded with
meniscus, my meniscus

I wake still woozy from the scalpeled theft
of consciousness and connective tissue
what sorry society would foster
such blatant de-ligamentation?
i've been pilfered and am at a loss
where art thou, my meniscus?

my gauzy anesthetic armadillo planet mind
snakes down shiny hospital corridors
my body rustling in a paper gown
casually open in the back
a little on the sexy side, n'est ce pas?
I don't see my meniscus
but I do see a womaniscus, oh yes
floating sultry, sexy, serenely
always one gurney ahead
perchance I dream
perchance something more sinister is afoot

what if I don't wake up
what if this is forever
what if . . .
they didn't just take my meniscus
in that weird bright room
what if they lifted me out of my body entirely
injected me into another body entirely
yeah, I could live with that

the person whose body I now inhabit
features double jointed knees
a world-class trouble-free slippery translucent meniscus
one more lozenge of percoset is indicated
to complete the transfer

I am rotating far above the earth
i'm very large or perhaps everything else shrank drastically
floating above my own salty peninsula
and by clever rapid sideways glances
i zip back in time
until i hover above myself in a brilliant white room
draped in a crinkly paper gown
on a clean metal table
- born again -

I am now the tennis ace from CIA bureau, Meniscustan
tuning up for a grand slam smash
the doctor flashes a large bag of radioactive government money
a rat skitters across my open belly and leers at me
i smell everything that could possibly be smelled
and I know exactly what to do

with my good knee i crack the bad surgeon's clavicle
grab the large bag of government money
make a mad hopping dash for the escort services
on the banks of the prone river
that separates meniscustan from godamsterdamn
an old wooden rival from madhatterstan
emerges sludge-draped
glaring from a green algae-choked canal
with my bad knee I smack him upside the head
and hot foot it outta there
beelining for the Independent Republic of Freaking Meniscustan
boiling for freedom and a cushy catered corner to be born again - again

Free Gratis Thoughts for the Week

October 8, 2007: These are the Free Gratis Thoughts Lifted from my review of the Words. Not that we need more material right now . . . but they're too good to ignore for later or sooner or whenever . . .

- - - JM

Note to self: I was preparing something. I don't know what it was. I don't know what the fuck I've done.

We're sorry we just bombed your nation. We didn't know you were there or even using it.

The president is almost as incredible as this loaf of bread.

A man's gotta do what he was made to do.

Seize the Crap Daily

I am like and so unlike the weather. But who's counting?

It feels like we just worked fourteen hours straight. Good thing we didn't.

How can you be impaired alone?

We're skirting the tangent so you and they don't have to.

I can't get it together to go to sleep.

Or

The air around here is better than a menthol cigarette.

You look great out of focus.

A fuckin' trio has only three people but four fuckin' letters.

And now, to sum up life itself: Cliffs are more mysterious than hills.

The world would be a better place if everyone were sleepy.

Free Gratis Thought for the Week:

He's repeating whatever I say and now I'm typing it.

Free Gratis Question of the Hour:

Is it better to be a complete idiot, or an incomplete idiot?

Free Patriotic yet Sensitively Macho Declaration:

God bless all the groovy chicks in America.

We'd like to think we are where we think we are but we don't.

Free Gratis Thought for the Week:

Our chaos theory is currently a complete mess.

Free Gratis Palliative for the Fortnight:

Don't worry; there are only two things to be afraid of:

the known and the unknown.

So true, so true.

Free Gratis Question for the Week:

If a tree fall in the forest and hits you

in the head, will it still hurt?

Free Gratis Thought for the Week:

All that cleaning up made me dirty.

Free Gratis Thought for the Week:

Don't mind us. We don't mind you.

Free Gratis Thought for the Week:

I'm twilled to be wearing cotton.

Life is brief. Don't buy underwear.

Free Gratis thought for the Week:

If you can't control your own brain, how can you control your stretch socks?

Free Advice:

You should love yourself, but don't go marrying yourself.

Thanks to Leo Buscaglia - the Looooove Doctor

Free Gratis Thought for the Week

Never take the high road. It'll come back to bite you in the ass.

Free Gratis Thought for the Week:

If you want to know where you are, just look at your feet---twice.

Free Gratis "Policy" for the Weak:

Don't Ask, Don't Tell, Don't French Kiss

Free Gratis Thought for the Week:

I was fucked by my own personality.

Thanks to Colin Powell.

Free Gratis Thought for the Week:

We'll lick your problems, one lick at a time.

Thanks to your cunning friends at Hurled WetQuarters

HQ's Free Hostess Tip of the Eon:

For fun socializing at home, install a salt lick. And be generous with the salt.

Thanks to Slim Pecker

Free Gratis thought for week: We don't shun, we eschew.

Free Gratis Hyper Thought for the Week: We can't change the past, but we sure can fuck it up.

She respects me for my soulium, but she loves me for my helium.

There are certain undiminishing tendencies which, if they continue to fail to become manifest, will likely require certain indirectly implied remediations insofar as this "body" is likely to do anything about anything even if it could or so much as gave a good goddam.

-- Galan Reenspan

Only man creates stuff that only man hates.

Thanks to Buffet St. Marie, Eden Prairie, Minnesota

The Swiss are Cheesy (but they think they're holey).

Thanks to Feta Jarlsberg, Geneva

Free Gratis Thought for the Week:

Rich people aren't funny but they laugh all the way to the bank.

Free Gratis Suggestion for the Year:

Try getting high and calling tech support.

Thanks to Junior Biggs at Clewless Packard

Free Gratis Thought for the Week:

Did you know you were 80% boullion?

thanks to David Allen Coe

Relying on Impulse

theories of the human mission
rise up like waves from a placid inscrutable many-fathomed ocean
they gather and curl elegantly
organize syntactically
and crash symphonically
absorbed mutely
on the slow sandy beach
of what actually is

Buzz Aldrin and Frank Zappa
skipped our last cosmic canoe trip but showed up after dinner to talk
when the campfire attained wisdom
we rose up with the sparks
became giant ghosts
hovering over a glowing
deliriously hot metropolis

it might be late, tonight
under the cypress and stars
but it’s way early in a baby millennium finding its legs
relying on impulse
leaving traces of carbon, raw energy and theory
for the human mission

by the boy poets camping out by the everlasting flame

a r t i e


artie would be so pleased
that we scored some new material
at his funeral today

the reverend reverend clay pheenspurgen
laying on the jesus maximus
how he raised the dead and his own dead self
healed the sick, freaked out the romans
and just generally made a clean break
with the laws of physics and biology and causality

artie could've perfectly impersonated
reverend clay pheenspurgen
artie would have done pheensburgen
better than pheensburgen
his sonorous pompous baritone explicating the miracle of it all and
life of course is a miracle but he has no clue why it is
the reverend talking jesus cause he never met artie
but wait - he never met jesus, either
so there you go

but that didn't prevent his accusatory stare
as he spoke of christ's perfection
we all knew he was looking at calvin who was sittin right next to me
calvin shifted a tad uncomfortably in the "bleachers"
and I shifted away from him, just because

the reverend reverend clay pheenspurgen
insisted that artie wasn't really dead
even though he actually was really dead
that's why we were all in the room together
and pheenspurgen didn't know artie
but we did

artie loved cats
was the best pheenspurgen
could conjur
but we all knew artie loved guitar
cats and guitar and the way things are

eternal life blah blah blah
paul on the road to damascus blah blah blah
but when the rev finally wound it up
and looked to the side for the music to take over
artie's wife Barbara flipped the switch
and the loudspeakers blared, "everybody must get stoned"
and artie was, yeah, there and over there too

we noticed smiles in the crowd
the first fully human response
noted in patterson & sons funereal home
in a long long time

thanks, artie, we owe ya' one
or one more, we should say
thanks for the music you made
thanks for the harmonies
thanks for battling demons
to the death

gag reflex

you'll thank god later
for this effective reaction
to gastrointestinal adversity

it's so easy
to learn through heaving and hurling
blowing chunks has taught us more
than spinoza, descartes or larry the plumber

however, we should further study
the speed at which some
from deep pleasure learn
they seem so very eager
to learn
and learn
and learn
some more

the first thing
number one
the top of their list
conduct a lot of sex
the second:
avoid the
gag reflex

I Got a Bullet in My Brain

Giant Women of Sandusky, Ohio

The horses are normal size
12 hands high
The women are giants
48 hands high, legs long and strong
It’s not a trick of the lens or the light
The females grow LONG AND STRONG in ohio

THEY outfox men on a regular basis
MAYBE IT HELPS THAT THEY TOWER OVER THE MEN
IN OH-HIGH-OH

Tall women Residents of sandusky ohio
Tend to their twelve HAND
clydesdale stallions
PRANCING HANDsOMELY
in the women’s large palms

THE LARGE WOMEN DWARF THE POWERFUL STALLIONS
THE WOMEN SEEM QUITE PLEASED
AND SO DO THE STALLIONS
THOUGH NEITHER PARTY WILL SAY
I AM QUITE PLEASED

The AVERAGE-SIZED Clydesdales
TWELVE HANDS HIGH AT THEIR POWERFUL SHOULDERS
Obey the WOMENS’ whimS
March! Stop! Whinny! Laugh! SNORT!
Show your teeth! BITE YOUR ASS!
The SUDDENLY tiny horses do as they are told
And like it when the women
Pat their behinds and stroke their long necks
THE CLYDESDALES LIKE THE GIANT
WOMANLY FINGERS ON THEIR LONG NECKS

In the evening the gigantic women
Read large print books
About asteroids and quantum physics
THE HORSE NEBULA AND SINGULARITIES
THE GIANT WOMEN GET all the inside cosmic jokes
THEY Wink knowingly
At each other
Not wishing for anything
Being everything
PALMS OPEN WIDE, FINGERS OUTSTRETCHED

Shunya at the Krog

A series of still photographs put to music. In this one Shunya makes a cup of tea that transports her to the Krog Tunnel and back.

continental breakfast is not real breakfast

continental breakfast is supposed to be refined and cultured
the very best your continent has to offer
in the form of a splendid breakfast

like if your breakfast was a car, it would be
a 1948 double cowl phaeton lincoln continental
with air-conditioned-deep-flow-rubber-leather seats
and an ultrabore hyper-tuned solid sandog v-16
algonquin condor matador motor
it would be all that plus you could eat it on your knees
a grand continental breakfast should be
a lincoln continental divide yosemite canyon experience
and of course, complimentary

unfortunately, on our continent
a continental breakfast
is presented in the corner of the lobby
the innkeeper, as they call her, stares at your back
you pour coffee in your styrofoam cup, it’s way too loud
you spin to catch her looking but she won’t make eye contact
you turn back to the three foot display in the corner
pink slices of chilly coldcuts, rice krispies, bananas
a bright red strawberry
several nice dry donuts . . . what if you take them all?
the innkeeper drives you crazy
you rage in silent loathing at each item on display
everything’s on a goddam lettuce leaf
she’s still staring at your back
but this time you refuse to turn around

if you have a continental breakfast
in the lobby of our continent
you will not need a real breakfast
on our continent
a continental breakfast
is not a real breakfast
but it’s a real continental experience


by the boy poets and a glazed donut

i have a great idea for a movie

opening scene everybody would die except
just two or three would survive, to live
gruesome scabby yet riveting lives
the survivors would have cleft chins
and perfect breasts that heave on command
or off

and they, the stars, the beautiful stars
would repopulate the earth in 90 minutes
make it a better place for kids and golden retrievers

the movie crests into naked euphoria
in the first two seconds
when bill o’reilly explodes in a deluge of magma
surging up from the earth’s core
directly into fox studios

the remaining eighty-eight minutes
with the movie’s perfect pacing
of cliffhanger rescues followed by frenzied fucking
feature nancy grace, the former prosecutor
whose southern accent
with its bitter yet come hither edge
makes me and all other female cinematic
dorky ass viewers of cable tv cringe
and lust mightily at the same time
her full lips feverish and shiny
her open thighs ready to receive
the burning priapus of the sub-plot

anyway i digress from my movie idea
of the people who recopulate the world
and for a brief time live happily, so happy
in utah, where the mormons used to practice posture
before my movie sent them all to kingdom come


in the denoument, just before the climax
a really horrible thing happens, finally
after reams of crazy deaths and ecstatic coupling
but strangely, it seems rightly horrible
you might even say – apropos of
all the things, the death, the life
the well-hung dialogue, the rippling tears
the crippling laughter laced in the sacral bone
the very emulsion of the film itself
all melting together – beguilingly
a strange comic relief, a last straw
in the unending beverage that is my movie

by the stunt boy poets, recopulating

loose words

SHAGGY, JUICY, GROOVY
SHANGRI-LA AND SAN FRANCISCO
MEDIUM, LATER, SWAMP

FRENCH, JAZZ AND JERSEY
BARBEQUE, CRAZY, NEATO

RIGHT-ON, MAYBE AND MONTANA
FUNNY, SURE, SOON

THEM, THOSE AND TEXAS
ANTS, PANTS AND FRANCE

SAUTEE, PARTAY, LANGUID
SQUID, BIDNESS AND SHAMPOO

FULMINATE, SPARK AND ARMADA

LADY GODIVA, SALIVA AND UNCTIOUS
SUMPTUOUS, BUMPKIN AND BUPKISS

TREVOR, TREMOR AND TENNESSEE
STYLE, SUAVE AND SHEMP

CARTILAGE, CABBAGE AND CANADA
LOSER, LANGQUID AND DJ

TONE, TREBLE CLEFF AND CALIFORNIA
GOOSE, GONG AND GLEVELAND

FLORIDIAN, QUOTIDIAN, ROUSABOUT
TAXES, FAXES, SNAPS AND PABST

MARMALADE CLICKETY-CLACK
ALICE IN WONDERLAND SCRATCH MY BACK

BOARDWALK, BLATHER, BE FREER
MOON, SWOON, JUNE FREE BEER HERE

BASTIONS, FASHIONS, DAGGER AND SHEATH
CASTLES AND KINGS, RIVER RUN, RIVER BURST

BOARDWALK PLANKS AND INSULATION
HELLO SO SLOW, LAMINATION

Researchers from Cloyola University, in Huffakers, NV, divide themselves into control groups and found out that crankiness is no more than suppressed horniness.
After months of constant pounding sexual gratification, one group of volunteer researchers found themselves engaged in dry yet disturbing discussions of profound intellectual and moral fetter. While able to disagree about the swampier aspects of global warming, prayer in school, flag-burning, abortion-bashing, bush-busting and other bombast, the group did nevertheless maintain a degree of civility not found outside over-priced restaurants.
The placebo group of researchers, who were told to discuss the same subjects but without the raunchy, compelling and fulfilling sexual activity were soon mired in dead discussions that soon lapsed into recriminations and for some, loss of tenure, or even better, loss of life.

Eau Claire Defendant Cites Intelligent Design
Judy Wanamaker, accused of first degree misdemeanor assault, claimed an Unseen Hand or Spirit Force or Something Weird was responsible for a major melee knockdown catfight with neighbor Judy “Moody” Huff.
"I knew she wasn’t sleeping with my husband", explained Wanamaker, "but the combination of the love letter signed in Moody’s name, her lipstick on Harry's strange penis, and the way he, in a swampy sort of way, shrieked Moody’s name during our yearly scourge of love-making . . . the strange combination directed me to her kitchen where I linserted into her left buttock a swiss army fondue fork accessory.
“I knew nothing’s going on,” continued Wanamaker. “I have utter faith in Harry and Judy. I mean he's my husband, she's my best friend, so all I can conclude is that an Intelligent Designer arranged the evidence in such a compelling fashion to teach me a much deserved lesson in humility and love and some things I may never fully know.
“I apologize to everyone involved from the bottom of my heart. I am sorry for the pain I caused to Harry, Judy, my children and the community, and most of all, to Calvin Klein. He is such an intelligent designer.”



Homeless man refuses to work for food
Jethro Tullnitz, resident of Ponce de Leon boulevard, Anywhere, USA, proclaims, "I'm a bum and proud of it. And as they say under the Auburn Ave Bridge when the mood strikes, if I may paraphrase: Fuck you and Fuck working and Fuck the fucking do-gooders. . .but in a good and life-denying sort of way, of course. . .”
Tullnitz, who claims to have a resume “as long as a donkey’s stiff dick,” offered to appear in “meaningful or erotic independent films for a modest stipend and some decent personal grooming services.”
When asked to comment on any personal philosophy that sustained him in his endeavors, Jethro just smiled and took another swig of Thunderbird before muttering, “Trickle down, baby. Trickle down.”