Category Archives: Poems and Literary Peccadillos
You were naked, wet, primeval, beautiful by jungle pool
And I offered what I’d made with crudely fashioned tools
Strange nights by that strange new fire
As the crescent moon rose higher
Golden were your oiled shoulders under the Egyptian sun
I served you hauling boulders and was crushed when bearing one
Peaceful in in the sand infernal
For your glory was eternal
Once, in silks, you waved farewell as I rode to the crusades
And I screamed your name and charged on unbeliever’s blades
I was true to you, by hell:
I’m not that kind of infidel
I recall you were resplendent when they tried you as a witch
And I loved you, independent of your philters in my dish
I could not break the stockade’s bond
To save you from the ducking pond
I remember at Versailles, in that bergère chair
Your powdered wigs & perfumes, and all that underwear
The worst thing was we never wed
We simply went and lost our heads
On ancient evenings, in ancient times
I would have wooed you with silvered rhymes
I would have sung you this ancient song
Our days are precious, the night is long
“Follow your dreams & do what you love!”
Cried Melva Wisconsin, unheard above,
Folding an exquisite newspaper boat,
Treading wellwater and barely afloat.
“Do what you love & follow your dreams!”
Wept Charles Golightly, stitching the seams
of a velveteen brocaded satin-lined vest
In which his pet oyster refused to be dressed.
“Follow your dreams & do what you love!”
Intoned Suzie Nackvirst, pulling on gloves
and building a castle of catpoop and spittle,
and nobody liked it, not even a little.
“Do what you love & follow your dreams!”
Sighed Pierre Fiero, who sculpted, in steam,
For a moment, a seascape with narwhals and ships,
That drifted away as he died of the grippe.
The trip you take to get there is the dude you get to be
The trouble is you’re chained before you know that you are free
The thing is that it’s not so wrong be completely wrong
The thing is that the destination has to move along
The place you get kicked out of is the place you call your home
And you know your greatest lover’s one that leaves you all alone
The things you did unthinking are the smartest things you did
And all the stuff that shows the most is all the stuff you hid
The problem is the punch line never varies with the joke
No matter how you fire up, you dissipate in smoke
The thing of it is that you’re gone before you know you’re there
And the thing that is the worst thing is the only thing that’s fair
Corporko Inporcorated, one of the five parent companies that own you and everything you’ve never known or imagined, has adopted a groundbreaking business strategy that may be providing a distinctive market advantage over the other four megaconglomerates that own you and everything you’ve never known or imagined. Corporko’s stocks are through the roof, boosted by a groundswell of consumer support, following the announcement that all of Corporko’s nuclear steamships, abbatoirs, chemical trash incinerators, carbonated corn soda factories, widget firms, pharmaceutical pushers, financial obfuscation firms, Roller-Phood factories, shell companies, nearly-realistic media outlets and synthetic yogurt stands were going to be staffed with only only cage-free, locally-sourced, non-GMO, organic employees.
As the term “cage-free, locally-sourced, non-GMO, organic employees” is completely devoid of literal regulatory meaning, this move was not as dramatic as it might seem- pay was increased to allow employees to attain a standard of living slightly in excess of that required for bare subsistence, egregious physical or sexual abuse was discouraged, some additional vegetables were provided, and employees were required to sign an agreement not to allow mad scientists to experiment on them so they could grow tentacles or whatever. Employees have verified that they no longer have to be in the cage all weekend.
“Nobody was more surprised than I when people started buying our worthless consumer goods, instead of the competitor’s completely identical worthless consumer goods, just because we quit torturing third-world children and demolishing the middle class in the U.S.” said Beelzebub O’Satan, CEO of Corporko, “It had long been Corporko’s corporate strategy to assure that our employees were at all times on the brink of physical and emotional collapse, and unable to provide basic necessities of life for themselves or the children, in the understanding that this would spur them to improved work performance. This strategy, while morally gratifying to those us who enjoy seeing lower life forms writhe in agony while we lounge in silken robes and indulge debauched appetites, has proven ineffective for long term growth. For one thing, few of our employees could even afford our Roller Phood until we increased the baseline pay.”
The ability of employees to actually purchase the goods and services that they provide does provide a minor boost to Corporko’s bottom line, but the primary vertical profit source is from sanctimonious entitled faux-liberal precious twits like Lotus Aishwarya O’Malley, a celebrity phrenologist that we interviewed at one of Corporko’s Ayurvedic Vaping stands. “Cage-free, locally-sourced, non-GMO, organic employees are important to my practice of appearing human. When I pretend that I really care about things like Carlos here,” Ms. O’Malley said, gesturing towards the Vaperista, “it gives me the affirmation that I need to continue in my useless life of self-examination and elaborate onanistic indulgences. Paying a little extra to have this kind of apparent ethical high ground additionally gives me improved social traction when I gather to gloat about my magical life of undeserved successes with similar powerful, wealthy wankers, who, like me, mostly inherited their money or sometimes stole it.”
Rumors are that other megaconglomerates are looking at Corporko’s strategy with interest, as industry analysts project that, absent some thin veneer of social responsibility and engagement from the ruling classes, the entire flimsy facade of wealth and power may be endangered. UniBloat’S CEO, Torquemada MacAzrael, commented, “Sure, sometimes when I sit at home in my walled estate, enjoying some hookers while counting my gold coins, guarded though I am by robot machine-gun dogs and heat-seeking drones, I do feel a little like a wicked anthropophagist living in a house made of candy, with 7.4 billion hungry Hansels and Gretels emerging from the woods. It can be unsettling to worry that all the human pain and suffering that I’m responsible for might somehow result in a less-than optimal outcome for me personally. But paying workers fairly is cost-prohibitive, especially if you want to maintain the important advances we’ve seen in executive pay. The question is whether I can afford to let go of even a little of the wealth and luxury that I deserve, as a man who has wealth and luxury, to afford the unwashed masses some modicum of dignity and hope. I’m inclined to doubt it, but if Corporko continues to sell more worthless consumer goods than my identical companies, well, we’ll do anything for money. Anything, do you hear me?”
(Note to editor: I made the first line so that you can post this ANY TIME)
With these latest reprehensible killings, it finally is evident that the mere proliferation of guns is not adequate to provide safety from being shot. Ever since the Days o’ the Wild West, our understanding as Americans has been that: allowing that the people are provided with enough guns including spy-pen-guns and AR-67’s, and those things with the giant bullets that can kill a moose at a thousand yards, allowing sufficient rapidly-reloadable ammunition in case of attack by an entire Bedouin tribe or every cop in town, allowing that weapons can be carried openly over one’s shoulder at the diner or through the GINORMART or secreted blithely in a brassiere holster in public schools and movie theaters, allowing for these quantifiably significant risks to public safety, MAGIC GOLDEN SHOOTERS will emerge that will shoot only the bad people -instead of all of the perfectly good people that currently get shot all the time- by whippin’ out their Magnum .47 MeatMaker and unloading a clip of hot lead into the INEVITABLE bad shooters, who cannot be controlled with any kind of gun control legislation.
That is our understanding, right? I think that’s what we’ve been going with.
But gosh! It’s not working. I have examined the numbers carefully and regret to inform you that although the people killed with guns should be: terrorists, home invaders, rapists, those bankers with the waxed moustaches and black tophats that tie blondes to traintracks, supercriminal scientists, guys that try to shoot you first, pederasts, people that try to take your stuff, street gangs that threaten with switchblades and cigarettes, etc. -instead of those “perps,” mostly, as Americans we just shoot ourselves or our family or some teachers & kids or the receptionist at our office. That’s too bad!
I put it to you that as Americans, we aren’t training shooters- we’re training gun holders. The establishment of OPEN SHOOTING ZONES, which I recommend as standard for all American Downtown/ Main Street Areas, would allow us to address this absurd oversight in gun safety policy. As I hear it, there used to be a time a man could yank out his six-iron and fire a .53 bore pure copper slug across the tip of his cheroot to ignite it. A lady might choose to get the disrespectful waiters’ attention by spinning his toupee upon his pate with a carefully-aimed pellet from her derringer. In old movies we can view the lost art of shooting so skillfully that very little injury occurs: bad guns are shot from the hands of malfeasors, hats are perforated as a gentle warning against poor behavior, bottles of alcoholic libations in the horny hands of surly hobos are shattered by the bullets of those who would recommend temperance. As I hear it, in the old days, kids as young as four years old used to have tiny, cute guns that they’d use to shoot frogs and cats. That’s great practice! As I hear it, when a gang used to ride into town and hang old Mr Lipthwaite from the trainhook and shoot up the saloon and rob the farmers of their corn payments, a single man in the middle of the street who’s been PUSHED TOO FAR could unzip his zipgun and fan the hammer to blow away like twenty really despicable individuals that society wants dead from behind rain barrels and up on balconies with fragile railings. As I hear it, two people with a minor disagreement used to be able to agree to attempt to shoot each other to death by way of settling the argument, and sometimes they’d draw and the bullets would collide exactly between the two of them and neither would be hurt and they’d be friends again. That rarely happens anymore.
Sadly, our modern”gun holding” public is not prepared to serve up the righteous rain of heroic leaded Armageddon that our movies and media try so valiantly to model for us. They’ve been ruined for the fun of real-life Rootin’ Tootin’ Shootin’, trained as they are to fire weapons only occasionally at sad sterile shooting ranges, under some supervision, and that don’t give you the true urban experience. If you know what I mean.
OPEN SHOOTING ZONES: Because we need to be able to express our guns freely as Americans! To fire them off to make a point, or for the intrinsic humor value inherent in a chunk of metal travelling at 2,500 feet per second. We need to practice shootin’ tin cans off the top of the fence behind P.S. 37 and never mind what Widder Jankens says. We need be prepared to sometimes take a small calibre bullet in the buttocks as a good-natured joke. We need to practice quickly pulling our guns and waving them around and shooting and using them to threaten everyone, the cheesemonger, the maid, ESPECIALLY the police, the boys at the bar, the gals at bridge club, your boss, the kids at breakfast, shoot out the tires of that bad driver, shoot the prissy concierge in his shiny shoe, shoot! Shoot! WAHOO! Shoot! Kapow! PopPOW! WHEEHAW KaBOOM Peeoww! OBVIOUSLY WE JUST NEED MORE PRACTICE AND WE’LL GET THIS RIGHT
Interested sociopathic monied parties in the Gun Industry are welcome to contact the author to pay me billions of blooddollars to frame out some scalable model legislation to promote OPEN SHOOTING ZONES in downtown America: Because people can’t be safe unless we shoot more people.
I’ve been greatly gratified at the purchases by my friends of my recent book “A Slim Volume of Worse” . Also for people historically willing to immerse themselves in Piggleyland’s dysphoric text. And as always, for those who purchase Exquisite von Borax Prints on Paper or Canvas from Imagekind and Stunning von Borax Cards and T-shirts from Zazzle.
I am keeping a list, and the terrible things I threatened probably won’t happen to you people, now.
“A Slim Volume of Worse” compiles poems, correspondences, and short expository prose pieces of a satirical nature. I guess. Selected works have frequently appeared for free as a public service here on nitrovonborax.com, and now here they are in their final, polished form: as a handsome adornment to your erudite bookshelf, I offer 233 pages of dysphoric hilarity, 36,629 words, for money. Please buy 1 copy for every friend you have, and 2 for each enemy.
What’s in it?
82 Heart-Healthy Ingredients:
- My Doctor Sucks.
- The Visitation
- Work Diary Day 89,237
- Internet Proposition 3,496
- The Cap’n’s Wafers
- Weird Dream
- The Amazon’s Mouth
- Parent Diary Day 1,243
- The Druid
- My Evil Twin
- Intellectual Property 4,215: The Family Tub
- Please Don’t Kill Us, Phyllis
- Feel Kinda Weird, for Some Reason
- Stolen Fruits
- The New Equipment
- Internet Proposition 5,214
- The Lament of the Spoons
- Southside Restaurant Review #1
- Murgatroyd’s Edible Hats
- Internet Proposition 7,298
- There is a Man
- Intellectual Property 5, 222: LatteBucket
- Spacegirl & Caveman
- Internet Proposition 12,651
- Wayne Upon the Wooftop
- So Here I Sit
- Intellectual Property 6,534: Hospicetarian
- Fat Ass on Couch
- Intellectual Property 7,110: Clown Porn
- In Solemn Tribute to the Tortured and Exploited Action Figures of My Youth
- Squidboy on the Ceiling
- Every Creeping Thing
- Dream Diary Entry 3,217
- From the 34th Floor
- Disappointing and Creepy
- Intellectual Property 9,937: PorFu
- What God Likes
- Intellectual Property 11,279: 7 People 1 Bathroom
- Intellectual Property 24,005: Correspondence 2,146
- Correspondence 4,111
- Not My Friend
- The Cereal Killer’s Interior Monologue
- My Children Hate Dinner
- The Way it Ends
- Intellectual Property 25,011: The Kreekside Grille Jingle
- Home Improvement Diary
- Ready for Action
- Ones and Zeroes
- Captain Sugarbeard
- Internet Proposition 87,433
- Dig that Giant Clam
- Parent Diary Day 3,218
- Work Diary Day 23,674
- Dance of the Jungle Girl
- Intellectual Property 32,323: Hobo Couture
- Vomit Boy
- Southside Restaurant Review #2
- She Found her Ex-Boyfriend’s Paintbrush
- Karp’s Scoop ‘n’ Bake Frozen Gourmet Muffin Batter
- My Mistake
- Get ‘em While They’re Hot
- 2 Similes and a Metaphor
- Gas Station Rose
- Internet Proposition 88,766
- Mechanically Separated Human
- LAND OF THE GIANTS
- Her Watery Lair
- Notes from the Whine Cellar
- A Pirate Poem
- Rodent Station Number 9
Isn’t that enough for you, already? I should rather think it should be.
(Piggleyland’s still available, too)
I’ve sailed hot seas of chocolate,
The bane of lolly-boats,
The truffle-barges yield their freight
(So they can better float)!
I’m maple syruptitious
When the waffle ferries pass:
They’re ambushed, then delicious
When I ravage them at last!
My appetite’s voracious
For plundered carrot cake,
I tend to wax loquacious
Over tartlets, freshly baked,
My crew and I have pillaged
Salted caramels by the pile,
Our hideout is no village,
But a secret dessert isle!
I have drunk an egg cream ocean
And a lake of malted milk
Filled with furious emotion!
Clad in fruit leather and silk!
The Captains of the donut ships
And galleons of jam
All know to fear these frosted lips-
The Captains know I am:
The dreaded Captain Sugarbeard!
The scourge of seven sweets!
The bonbon Barons quake in fear
At thoughts of ravished fleets!
The stolen bales of macaroons
And casks of lemonade
And danishes with sugared prunes
They’re right to be afraid.
Surrender, candy clippers,
For my Jelly Roger flies!
(But the dolphins clap their flippers
For I share the cherry pies).
The dreaded Captain Sugarbeard!
The ravening Corsair!
Your nougats shall be commandeered,