I find a lot of things poetic. Men missing front teeth, getting my ass beat by a crack head neighbor that i may or may not have had sex with during a "bad time," opiate withdrawal, conversations about/actual anal sex, food, not having money...oh, the list is endless.
It really is endless. The time Renee shaved her pubic hair in the dark and it ended up looking like Hitler's mustache. I got like fifty poems from that pube design. Also, Renee is Jewish.
See? Fucking endless.
Something I don't find poetic? When old people give up, and stop warning me that they will spend the next seven hours farting. Out of their vagina. And I am left to discover this on my own. Painfully. And the fact that I could time each one (32 seconds, except every thirteenth one, which was closer to 53 seconds), was even less poetic.
The death march is painful. And smells like shit.
I need a fucking razor.
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I had to explain those sort of farts to my 7 year old. She finds them hilarious in a knee slapping sort of way. I mean, it isn't really a vaginal fart but sort of a bubble our of proximity, ya know? If you had actual gas coming from your vagina then you have a fistula and poop would follow. I have seen that at the hospital. It is vile.
ReplyDeleteBukowski would LOVE this... So do I.
ReplyDeleteThis is fucking genius. So fucking genius. Love it more than Bukowski ever fucking would.
ReplyDelete