Idea for a T-Shirt 2

Idea for a T-Shirt

The N in Jalapenis is supposed to be an enye, but the font I chose won't allow it.

R.I.P.

Bye, Ratty. I'll miss ya.

Summatime

Sam Bakken and Friend

Another Email to the Owner of JohnMorse.com

LOL ok so I watch last unicorn with my dad tonight an he be like all say I AM NOT GOING TO PUT UP WITH THISand i am getting hit so i say MOM COME PLEASE HELPT and she is goign to come inLOLOLOLand she come IN and dad is asleep from beer and i am bleeding but only a bit coz im strongand my mom she made POPKORN AND WE ARE SWATCHING NARNIA RIGHT NOWAND AFTER HARRY POTTERHAHAHAHAHHA

HAyurrr best friend,
JOHN MORESE TOO LOLOL

PWS

IA MDE A FRACTOOL LIKE ONES ON YOUR SITE FOR YOU MAYBE you xcan POST IT??? I TRIED BUT i dont think it verrrrrrrrryyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy goooddd LIKE YOURS LOL

here she IS BOY!!

YOURS HONESTLY,

MORESE

Ratty's Poem

999999999999999999966666666666666666
66666666666669999999999999999
9999999999977777777777777777777
7777777\\\\\\\\\\\]]/G(Oobnnn
nnnnnnnnnnnnnnlllllllppppppp
pppp=------77777777777777777778

v[vyyyyyyyyyyoooo
oooooooooo2+000007744666666666
6666666666667+ggggg, ,,,bkoooo
oooooooooooooooo4
444444444444g

To the man
who
folds,
fills,
and fries
my Crab Rangoon
at
Chinese Express:

You smell good.

The woman
couldn't remember
how the cactus got there,
But
she could remember
how she got it out
the last time.

This Shit's Fuckin' Triflen (Or, The Most Honest Post I've Ever Made)

In the elevator,
The the fat man read:
"Maximum capacity 3000 lbs."

Frowning,
he headed for the bathroom.

She Got Them Dick-Suckin' Lips

She wasn’t mad
Because her husband gave her
A half-eaten Ring-Pop
For their anniversary;
She was mad
Because he was wearing it
On his penis.

To the owner of JohnMorse.com, via Email

He hasn't responded yet, so I guess I'll keep sending them...

Email 1:
Subject: HAI!
------------------
hi john morse i just want 2 rigt cuz yur fractils are so neat! and also becausem y name is also john morse!!! LOL. we should share website or sumthin!@

have a g00d d4y!!

-john morse also LOL


Email 2:
Subject: agin!
-------------------
againe ang again I am sending U an 3-mail and you are nt evr r3sp0nd. I think im very lucki to have you as a name partner!!!!!1 fhow do you spend yur fr33 time? i like to draw and paint and im tryin out to make yur fractils! there VERRRRY hard LOL!

LOL hhahah i love it all but it makes akym reallyl safd when you donat respond to 3-mail bekuz im a slower type an this takes me very lopng and im at the public librar and people are screeaming about use this comp to search for books LOL IU DONT REALLY READ HAHA DO YOU?

anjyway if you want me to help outw tih the site i cna do that for you because LOL we have thee same name we shud stick together u kno??

write back becaue im very so lnly !

-john morse also agin! LOL

Evan Sadler (Or, Bad Santa)

Antu Xie (Or, The Clown)

More portaits to come...

God-
Damned
Romantics,

Always
Fingering
Mother Nature.

Wash your hands,
Grab me a beer,
And mow the damn lawn.

“The light’s on,”
Observed the morbidly obese detective,
“But no one’s home.
Hhhh-uh…
Odd!”

His partner took a deep breath, lit a cigarette, and
Spat.
“For the last time, we know that no one’s home.”

“Come again?” questioned the detective,
More puzzled than ever.

“You ate him, you fat mother fucker.”

“Right!” chuckled the
gigantic detective,
wiping the blood
from his cheeks.

“I’m going to kill myself!”
Shouted the acne-ridden
Teenager
As he tripped over his own
Braces
And landed in a pool
Of Urine, vomit,
And barbed wire.

“You’ll do it and you’ll like it, woman,”
Screamed Carl Hott
At his daughter.

The Coitus Collection, Pt. 2 (2006)

Coitus fuck
Up my ass
If you love me.


Coitus!
Screamed the librarian in rage
As she simultaneously spilled her coffee
And started her menstrual cycle.



Coitus
Toothpaste
Makes me want to commit suicide.


Coital
Drawings
Were discovered on man’s
First erection.

Coitus
Signifies
The Times.


She thought it was acne
But the doctor knew
It was coitus.


Coitus
Master
Flex.


Coitus Gymnasium.




Her name was
Coitus Penal-Hemophiliac McItchyscrote
And she was dating Dick Richardson.





Coituses
On a plane
Starring Samuel L. Coition.



He was overwhelmingly
Comfortable
With their coitus…
It was the circle of grizzly bears
That made him nervous.

Masturbation
is to Valentine's Day
as
Incontinence is
to roller coasters
with vertical
loops.

The Coitus Collection, Pt. 1

I can't believe
it's not
coitus.

Coitus
Coitus
Coitus
Ka-ka-ka-ka
Coitus-Coitus.

Fuck your diversified portfolio
and your future projections--

I've got my coitus.

Latte $4
Mocha $4
Double Espresso $4
Coitus $4
Santa Coitus $4
My Little Coitus $4
Clown Coitus $4
Coitus Flambe $4
The Criterion Coitus $4
Coitus Painting $4
Coitus Monster $4
Special Agent Coitus $4
Fuck My Coitus $4
Reverend Coitus $4
Spring Coitus $4
Coitusophoclesian Philosophy $4

If causation
is just
constant conjunction,

then coitus
is just
constant coitus.

("<3>The Natural History of Coitus, vol. 1, pp.1-878)

Sticky
itchy
coitus hoodie--
no thank you!

Found: Coitus gremlin.
V. irate
V. cute
approx 18" in height
300" in girth.

DO NOT FEED AFTER MIDNIGHT.

For Sale: Vintage Coitus (circa 1965)--
camper van
and
paraphernalia
for display only.

Coitus
in the sky-yyy
with Coitus.

Paper made from
the coitus tree
smells like
salmon.

<3

Happy Valentine's Day.

I'm sorry for eating you.

If it's any consolation,
you tasted great.

To be fair, though,
you aren't sitting too well
with the chocolates.

I hope you don't give me
the runs.

What a crappy Valentine's Day
that'd be, right?--

the runs
on Valentine's Day.

Un-frickin'-believable.

Advice to the Weary

When I'm about to ask someone out,
I make sure to leave my fly undone
so they don't
think that I'm prude
or boring.

Typically,
I avoid staring
directly at a woman's breasts,
but if I do,
and if she catches me,
I'll tell her that they'd look like eyes if she took off her shirt--
and then who'd be staring at whom?

I make a big deal about men with breasts
and hairy chests;
I call these sorts of racks
camel-backs--
they're much more frequent
than the testicular camel toe,
which is a premeditated sort of thing,
or a thing for men
with very tight jeans
(or very large balls, I suppose).

Several years of failure have taught me
that you shouldn't ask them if their face is swollen
even if it actually is.

Really, don't remove a flask
from your jacket
and pour vodka all over your salad
unless you think
they'll think
it's funny;
if they don't,
laugh about it--

"It's a joke! Ha! Ha! Ha!"

--

And immediately order another salad,
"This time, no olives,"
even if it didn't have olives to begin with.
Tell them,
"Olive you,"
and repeat, slowly,
"Ah-luv Yiu!"

Aw Hell Yeah

Gold chains
Are to fat men with hairy chests
As
Oxygen is
To the rest of us.

When I opened
The Blithedale Romance
by Nathaniel Hawthorne,
it sprayed diarrhea
in my face

and shouted,
"Now that's a spring breeze,
mother fucker!"

I don't think that I like
Nathaniel Hawthorne
very much
anymore.

Human After All?

The Engineer is a very serious man who commits himself wholly to his projects. He rents a two-bedroom apartment and lives there alone. He spends most of his time at the lab. At home, at night, he cooks himself pasta and pretends to be an alchemist. He watches the Discovery Channel every night before bed.

The Engineer is a very serious man, indeed.

* * *

The Engineer is annoyed with his neighbors. They’re having sex like elephants and they’re enjoying it like Roman emperors. They’re making it difficult to hear the Discovery Channel, which, at present, is showing a special on robotics. The Engineer stomps on the floor. “Get a room!” he shouts, spitting a little. He stomps again. “Get a different room is what I meant! In a different apartment!”

* * *
The Engineer was inspired by the special on robotics. He is inspecting engines in an automobile graveyard. A hungry-looking man in blue overalls owns the lot, and he has jokingly offered to pay the Engineer a dollar to figure out which engines still work.

“What do you mean you’d pay a dollar?” the Engineer chides. “For God’s sake!”

The owner laughs and flails his arms and rattles off a series of expressions that escape the Engineer’s understanding.

“Shit,” the Engineer hisses. “What good are you?”

* * *

It has been six weeks and the Engineer has constructed a robotic slave. Its body is the tower of a Macintosh LC3, and its head is an LCD monitor. It can express nine emotions, which are indicated by pictures the Engineer drew himself in four minutes’ time. It has never been activated. The Engineer is sweating. He extends a fluttering hand and pokes the slave’s power button. His second bedroom—which he warmly refers to as his “private laboratory”—takes on the delicate odor of heated plastic. The slave beeps four times. Its monitor-face flickers into a smile.

“Howdy!” it shouts, and the Engineer’s body becomes very suddenly erect.

* * *
The Engineer is sitting at his kitchen table, opposite the robotic slave.

“Fetch me a glass of wine, slave!” he commands.

“Mur-lawt er’ Pee-nawt No-wurr?” the slave questions, eager to serve. The Engineer is visibly jarred by its “butchered words.”

“Must you speak that way?” The Engineer steals a glance of his tools. “You sound like fucking Slingblade!”

* * *
It has been six weeks and the Engineer has not been able to “fix” the slave’s slow, southern drawl. At present, he is disassembling his creation with terrifying intensity. The robot’s monitor-face alternates between panic and despair.

“Cain’t yuh’ lub me? I serves ya’ good ‘nuff! Cain’t yuh’ lub me?”

The Engineer pries the LC3 processor from the robot’s chest. The robot’s voice warbles away. The Engineer stares coldly at its monitor-face, now fading quickly to black. For a moment, the Engineer is still. He checks his watch and retires to his bedroom. He turns on his televisions and begins to watch the Discovery Channel. His royal elephant neighbors are at it once again.

In six weeks, the Engineer will die of a heart attack and his coworkers will boast of his accomplishments.

To shock the girl sitting next to me (at the pubic library)...(Draft)

How do you feel

When the short Asian man
at the urinal to your left
begins to twitch like a vibrator
and beat off,
screaming,

"Yeah momma-momma!
Momma yeah!"

?

Or when the guy sitting next to you
in lecture
suffers a sphincter rebellion
and audibly lines the inside of his trousers
with a frothy mix of Chic-Fillet and Natural Light

?

Or when the drunken homeless man
succumbs to gravity
face first
and spits a brownish-green tooth
into your triple espresso

? ("Goal!" he shouts
with his hand on his forehead.)

I
feel
like writin' some poems.

My shadow ran off
with another woman.

It scribbled a note on the back of a receipt
from Movie Gallery--
something about takin' off for the equator
and my lamp being too dim.

What a fucking slut.

(Draft)

I'm walking down the sidewalk

and I'm thinking about:

1) How cold it's been the past few days...
in weather like this,
I can't really get much thinking done
outdoors.

2) How quickly my dick would shrink
if I removed it from my pants
(like a time lapse of a dying flower, I bet--speedy!11!)

3) Oddly enough, the size of Socrates' dick.
Did Socrates have a big dick? A big ole' honkin' dick?
And if he did,
did he know that he had it?
Did he ever stop at a pond
and casually admire its reflection?

I want to laugh so badly!
My desire to laugh is tethered to all the bodily tools I need
to produce the sound,
quick-release and all.
Just flick it or something--
fuck if I know.

Art (Draft)

I.
The artist could tell that
he'd worried the crowd.

II.
The elderly couple clung
to each other desperately
inside
the large, black cage,
which hung from a tree
ten feet above the ground.

III.
Why the hell are they naked?
Was the most popular question of the day.

It frustrated the artist
that people were missing the point.

"This way we know they're not carrying any weapons.
A full cavity search was performed
before the show,
so don't bother asking."

"Are they dangerous?" asked an overweight man
in a Hawaiian shirt.

"Only if you get too close," the artist chided.

"And if the cage falls?"

"Then we're in trouble.
Their bodies are withered,
but their spirits are strong.
They'd drag the cage across the ground, I bet."

The artist pointed to a four-by-four array of toilets below the cage.

"But I've attempted to mitigate this danger.
You see, none of them have been flushed in quite some time."

From the back of the crowd,
a woman cried,
"I should hope that you'll refund us
if excrement gets all over the place!"

The artist glared.
"Absolutely not.
I told you to bring your raincoats!"

IV.
The activist wanted to know
if any animals had been harmed
preparing the exhibit.

"Only one," the artist responded.

"Oh? Which kind of animal?
Oh, don't worry--
I forgive you!
Everything was..."

"A dog," the artist interrupted.

"Good heavens!"

"He was in the road,
you see...
and,
well,
when I got this idea--
the idea for this whole thing--
I lost control of my car."

The activist cleared her throat.
"Was it
an Afghan Hound?"
she asked, spilling coffee on her blouse.

"Of course not."

V.
Stagnant urine
begins to glow
in a month or so
because of all its phosphorus.

The artist discovered this after the show,
sipping tea.

The pond froze over
with the geese still in it.
You can see their heads poking out.

Doeg (or Ruff Times)

Technically
your life
ended with that not-so-loyal dog-

That bad ow' doeg

But really,
your life ended with the newspaper's pun-
Ruff Times.

I hate to laugh at the dead,
but really,
who knew a dog could shoot a pistol?

Don't you wish it had been
Dog the Bounter Hunter?

My Loyal Pet

I do
Keep a pet rat,

So

It’s not only safe
But fair
To say
That I am involved in rat fancy.

And she is a very fancy rat,
What with her top hat
And her taste for raspberry-flavored yogurt chips.

But she does eat her own shit.

Grandpa Morse
Managed
To spell

P
R
I
V
A
T
E
S

In our game of scrabble,

And

After much

Hep-Hep-Heping

…

He said:

“It works on two levels” –

And it does.

He was an
ARMY MAN

(BOOM--
BOOM--
KABOOM--
BITCH!) . . .

ZOMG
Za-ohm-guh:
“Zo” my gawd.

Or…

Zoomg
Zoom-guh:
Go, gawd! Go!

Lenny the Crackhead
Is a man
That lives every moment of his life
As if he has,
In a forest,
Stepped on a twig
And been thrown
Suddenly
Off-balance.

For Christmas,
He received from his brother
A certain
Manila folder—
One which
Contained
Several hundred parking tickets
And a letter explaining that
“Things
Have simply become
Too complicated.”

And by too complicated,
He certainly meant to say
Too Expensive.

He paid his brother’s
Fines;
Drained his bank account
And
His fish tank (which cost him
Nearly $19 a month
To maintain).

Now
His interest in rocks
Is strictly
Stratigraphic.

If
Dropping out of college
Is in style,
Then I
Am most certainly
Not
In style.

I am,
However,
In
Some rather
Comfortable
Panties.

Obviously
You meant something
Completely different
When you asked me to purchase
A social lubricant
For the party.

Now
What am I supposed to do
With this
Pearly-white jug?

If
Christmas ornaments
Come
Out of your twat
When you queef,
Then
Your problem
Is much greater
Than mine.

Grandpa
Always

Wondered
Why the penguins
In Antarctica
Never froze solid
Like popsicles.

He went there
To figure things out for himself.

He returned several months later
Tormented
And
Confused
And
Assured us
That it had
Nothing at all
To do with his penis

Which had broken off
On the third day.

It Do It Good Like

You say
Can't teach a ho' the internet

But I beg to differ.

I done it four times!

But maybe
It doesn't count
Cus' it was the same ho' all four times

And she puts all those trojans
on my 'puter

Instead of
my penis.

mmmmmmmmmf

Learn about recent discoveries in
drunken mature moms with dildo?

Must you?

A reliable method of
mmmmmf mmmmf mmmmmmmmmf
interracial sex
with
pigtailed teenies?

You need it?

Girls Gone Wild: Farm Edition?
Girls Gone Hog-Wild??

I don't need your
[sic]
balck dcik cuoplse!!!!!!!!!

I've got mouths to feed
AND
A house to pay for
AND
a whole trunk of good, clean
shit
in the attic.

Must I?
And by the way,
Mr. T.S.,
if he won't eat that peach,
some of these guys most certainly will.

Aya!!

Aya!!
Shouted the ninja.



Ungh!
Groaned the fat man
as he battled

A BIG OLE' TURD!



And the stalls came

Crashing

Down.