It should surprise no one that when I was in college, I was a smartass. I would go out of my way to cause trouble, but in a non-traditional way. I was not so much a class clown, as a class instigator or irritant. I'd often find a way to incite disruption but in a funny. That way of doing things always seems to become a part of any project I do.
I once teamed up with a buddy of mine named Steve Raymond to create a one-shot fanzine as a way to annoy one of Detroit's classic a-holes (a long story for another blog entry). Thus Fungus Rodeo was born! It contained cartoons and sick pieces and if you have a copy, you're one of the few since we only printed 800 of them. (In fact, if you do have one, please contact me since I don't even have one myself.)
One of the pieces contained in this raw art-punk 'zine was a poem simply entitled "My Favorite Things." It was written by Steve, who I've since lost touch with -- although I was shocked to see him on HBO's series Real Sex doing one of those man-on-the-street interview pieces. I'd heard he'd moved to NYC and even done stuff for MTV at one point.
In any case, when I was in college back in Detroit, there existed an art scene populated largely by a contigent of annoying and pretentious jackholes. If a sense of humor even appeared near anything called "art" or "literature" or "film," these snobs would recoil in disgust. In fact, they seemed to enjoy sneering at anyone who might laugh at this bizarre trip called life. Y'know, someone like me.
So, when Steve wrote up this poem, I took the first chance I could to read it allowed at an open poetry reading. To stunned silence followed by, uh, nothing, I would read this poem as if whispering a beautiful sonnet to my lover. Before anyone thought to goof on folks with a video camera and turn it into a reality TV show, I was getting my kicks being a jackass in public as a way to entertain myself.
After that first reading, I took any chance I could to read this poem at coffeehouse and public events where "art" was being worshipped. I have to admit that I enjoyed getting a rise out of art nazis by reminding them of life's ugly realities. I recently happened upon a copy of this poem and thought I'd share it with you.
When you read it to yourself or aloud, be sure to appreciate the blissful rhythms provided by Steve's careful word arrangements. And, if you are one of those easily offended folks, you'll really enjoy hating it. Now, it is my pleasure to present to you...
My Favorite Things
Booby, weiner, jelly roll...
Smegma, spoo and gloryhole.
Lesbo, faggot, spy, molest...
Felching butthole, hairy breast.
Hershey squirts and dick zucchini...
Axle grease upon my peeny.
Syphillis and open sores...
Feeling up hermaphro-whores.
Titmilk, testy eager tongue...
Parasites infect my bung.
Doggy style with fat black hookers...
Dangle crank in pressure cookers.
Flog and smack and crank and beat...
Love milkbone and eat my meat.
Swell and suck, swallow spit...
Tickled pink and crusty clit.
Rooster cock and puppy love...
Big black spike and leather glove.
Lovely perky little boys...
All bound up in bondage toys.
Oral sex without my dentures...
Gerbiling and other ventures.
Throwing up and munching craps...
Big red welts from leather straps.
Jerking off in backs of cabs...
Fondling my hermit crabs.
God my mind it never stops, thoughts of joy and lemon drops.
These are words I like to say, when sun is out and I feel gay.
These be words I like to thunk, when I eat and when I drunk.
I once teamed up with a buddy of mine named Steve Raymond to create a one-shot fanzine as a way to annoy one of Detroit's classic a-holes (a long story for another blog entry). Thus Fungus Rodeo was born! It contained cartoons and sick pieces and if you have a copy, you're one of the few since we only printed 800 of them. (In fact, if you do have one, please contact me since I don't even have one myself.)
One of the pieces contained in this raw art-punk 'zine was a poem simply entitled "My Favorite Things." It was written by Steve, who I've since lost touch with -- although I was shocked to see him on HBO's series Real Sex doing one of those man-on-the-street interview pieces. I'd heard he'd moved to NYC and even done stuff for MTV at one point.
In any case, when I was in college back in Detroit, there existed an art scene populated largely by a contigent of annoying and pretentious jackholes. If a sense of humor even appeared near anything called "art" or "literature" or "film," these snobs would recoil in disgust. In fact, they seemed to enjoy sneering at anyone who might laugh at this bizarre trip called life. Y'know, someone like me.
So, when Steve wrote up this poem, I took the first chance I could to read it allowed at an open poetry reading. To stunned silence followed by, uh, nothing, I would read this poem as if whispering a beautiful sonnet to my lover. Before anyone thought to goof on folks with a video camera and turn it into a reality TV show, I was getting my kicks being a jackass in public as a way to entertain myself.
After that first reading, I took any chance I could to read this poem at coffeehouse and public events where "art" was being worshipped. I have to admit that I enjoyed getting a rise out of art nazis by reminding them of life's ugly realities. I recently happened upon a copy of this poem and thought I'd share it with you.
When you read it to yourself or aloud, be sure to appreciate the blissful rhythms provided by Steve's careful word arrangements. And, if you are one of those easily offended folks, you'll really enjoy hating it. Now, it is my pleasure to present to you...
My Favorite Things
Booby, weiner, jelly roll...
Smegma, spoo and gloryhole.
Lesbo, faggot, spy, molest...
Felching butthole, hairy breast.
Hershey squirts and dick zucchini...
Axle grease upon my peeny.
Syphillis and open sores...
Feeling up hermaphro-whores.
Titmilk, testy eager tongue...
Parasites infect my bung.
Doggy style with fat black hookers...
Dangle crank in pressure cookers.
Flog and smack and crank and beat...
Love milkbone and eat my meat.
Swell and suck, swallow spit...
Tickled pink and crusty clit.
Rooster cock and puppy love...
Big black spike and leather glove.
Lovely perky little boys...
All bound up in bondage toys.
Oral sex without my dentures...
Gerbiling and other ventures.
Throwing up and munching craps...
Big red welts from leather straps.
Jerking off in backs of cabs...
Fondling my hermit crabs.
God my mind it never stops, thoughts of joy and lemon drops.
These are words I like to say, when sun is out and I feel gay.
These be words I like to thunk, when I eat and when I drunk.
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
runelateralus:
Such good favorite things.
debrajean:
you know, i thought and get the wtf look when i say, that waterboy was beautifully shot. those swamp scenes? wow.