Playboy published some of his more ribald stuff, but I love it all. The dirty, the clean, the funny, the sad. I grew up reading his work and modeled my poetic style after his.

---
The giant three-phallused phallus of Uzbekistan will one day squirt the cosmic jizz of revenge all over Canada.

The Tale of Colonel Colostomy Bag

--------------------------------------

The tale of Colonel Colostomy Bag
Is one that's rarely heard
He wasn't a jock and hardly a fag
He certainly wasn't a bird.
While sailing the ocean in search of a key
a key made of shiny bright gold
He caught the crap infected in me
He also caught a cold.
He puked and he pyaked and vomited stuff
and had to take a long rest.
He watched JFK and other fine snuff
He also saw Hepburn's breast.
Then he had colitis and started to die
He was sure this was the end
But high! An angel from the sky
caught his crap like a very good friend.
And so goes the story of CCB,
the story I've finally told.
Did CCB ever find that key
the key that was made of gold?
The answer is no, I'm sorry to say
But here's some uplifting news:
Colostomy Bag had gotten his way
Now patients don't sing the blues.

Stop it, I'm bagging you.

Get it? "Bagging", as in "colostomy bags."

---
Legend, oh legend, the third wheel legend...always in the way.

Yes, you used that term an unhealthy amount of times in "From Bags to Riches."

There once was a man named Phil
Young girls he loved to kill
He slashed their wrists with a butcher knife,
fucked them as they lost their life

now some haikus

Hartman and Farley
are dead, but Carvey is not.
But his career is.

The Cubs will win it
I am lying, the cubs won't
The Cubs always lose

I hate you asshole
You are a fucking dicklick
kill yourself shithead

---
I think it's time I had a talk with my kids. I'll just tell 'em what my daddy told me: YOU AIN'T NEVER GONNA AMOUNT TO NOTHIN'

I HAVE TO GO URINATE
by biped

I'm getting that feeling, that won't go away
I know I must go, though I'd much rather stay
I don't want to rise, from this nice, comfy chair
But I'm starting to fidget, and they're starting to stare

I have to go urinate
It's ever so urgent
The act is impending
The result is emergent
My bladder is bursting
I'm starting to fret
If I don't do it now
Then my shorts will be wet.

This internet porn, is commanding my actions
It somehow emits, such magnetic attractions
Yet not even this thing, which I find so compelling
Can distract from my bladder's voluminous swelling

I have to go urinate
I cannot deny it
My innards, in turmoil
Are starting to riot
And if I remain
And continue this dance
There will be a huge stain
Down the front of my pants.

I'm enjoying this movie, that I've waited to see
But pause it I can't--it's on cable TV
My mind conjures visions, of a welcome commode
If I tarry much longer, then I fear I'll explode

I have to go urinate
It's long overdue
I'm far past the point
Of a stroll to the loo
So sprint now, I must
As a person aflame
And the sign of my passing
Is a trail of my shame.

---
Legend, oh legend, the third wheel legend...always in the way.

bending
the nail cannot obey the carpenter
having bit so far and struck a knot
still the hammer falls
the nail, caught between
wood and iron
can only yield
itself
"if my ear was a pussy, I'd fuck it"
burma shave

---
What others say about boorite!

THE PUPPIES ARE NOT BEAUTIFUL

by biped

You told me to come over
To your house, at once -- you said:
"Our Woofy just had puppies
Of auburn, black, and red."

And how you gushed about them!
With gusto, glee, and fussing
For they, you said, were so beautiful
It was beyond discussing.

So hastily I showered
And donned my nicest duds
I didn't want such puppies
To think me raised by cruds.

I leapt into my Volvo
And drove as one insane
With thoughts of beauteous puppies
Cavorting through my brain.

And when, at last, I reached your house
And pounded on the door
I crumpled to my knees, and wept
For I could wait no more.

The door was opened, you appeared
In robe and fuzzy slippers
I grabbed you by the hair and screamed
"Where are the little nippers?"

You led me down a darkened hall
Into the laundry room
And there, inside a basket lay
The fruit of Woofy's womb.

Frantically I pushed you down
Expecting to see beauty
Instead, my bulging eyes were met
By walking piles of doody.

Alas! The ugly puppies
That greeted me that day
Were so horrible to look at
I had to turn away.

To behold them was a nightmare
A visual offense
Their overwhelming ugliness
Assaulted every sense.

And so I set your house on fire
And hung you by your pecker
And stomped on all the records by
Your beloved Chubby Checker.

I shaved your wife Delores bald
Which seemed my only option
And then I rounded up your kids
And put them up for adoption.

Buffy went to Uruguay
Biff Junior, to Peru
The twins, I dressed as pandas
And donated to a zoo.

And with your house burnt to the ground
And your family dispersed
And you hoist by your own petard
As though by voodoo cursed

It suddenly occurred to me
The pups were kind of cute
And I, with growing joy, declared
Each one of them a beaut.

I danced around the smoking ruins
A puppy in each hand
And screamed: "You're right! These puppies
Are the cutest in the land!"

And so, I took the puppies home
With Woofy in the trunk
And gave them bowls of whiskey
Until all of them were drunk.

I put the puppies in the trees
So they could fly around
And with each dawn, they sing to me
Oh, what a joyous sound!

---
Legend, oh legend, the third wheel legend...always in the way.

the all caps title made that for me. plus it didn't hurt i read it to the beat of Twas the Night before Christmas. nothing like someone getting hoisted by their own petard in rhythm to a seasonal favorite

---
what if nigger meant kite

Yes, that's exactly the effect I was so fervently striving for.

---
Legend, oh legend, the third wheel legend...always in the way.

I'm writing this poem for you

On account that you're feeling so blue

To make this thing rhyme

And keep in its time

Is something I can't always perform

---
You can take the heart out of the hooker but you can't take the hooker out of the heart. -- Frankenhooker

PHYSICAL BURT
by biped

Burt's not a ghost, he's physical
And also very quizzical
He yearns to know the story
Of the girl named Hunky Dory.

Burt has not the skill to fly
Nor spooky cry, as of a ghost
He's physical, our hardy Burt
He's just as real as Donny Most.

Burt tracks down the vital facts
The hidden truth, the background scoop
Of Hunky Dory's hack attacks
That turned his precious files to poop.

"Hacky" Jack will well attest
That Hunky Dory is the best
At hacking into your computer
She's an information looter.

Burt's not made of ectoplasm
Poke his knee, he'll have a spasm
Ghosts, of course, cannot orgasm
But as for Burt, he sometimes has 'em.

Burt would never haunt a house
Nor scare your spouse, as ghosts are apt
Quite solid is our Burt's physique
And safe within, his spirit trapp'd.

"Hacky" Jack has talked to Burt
And placed him on a red alert
That Hunky Dory's still at large
And lurks offshore, upon a barge.

And now, whenever Burt's online
He seeks a sign, of things amiss
But any evidence of this
Is lost across the salty brine

Where Hunky Dory's barge sets anchor
There, her cyber deeds to plot
And fill Burt's aching heart with rancor
With each taunting forum bot.

---
Legend, oh legend, the third wheel legend...always in the way.

biped wrote:

---

What the hell is that kid in back of Barney doing?