Mods Carve the Pig: Assassins, Toads and God's Flesh
"Of drugs and righteous stupid, no listeners. Lame serious to believe my weak bullshit. Fuck it." Halcyon prick absinthe loaded. Popes moselle in Christ, slurping dead Jim's fat ass wife with shamrocks and driftwood. I'm an articulate man, but the chanty says to fuck. Scrape. Sterilized aqua rectum. Chumly the Walrus. Adventures bloop gumption's "if"? Catholics crust lust my stomach, Jim's dumb tame Moray. How many times, Timmy? How many times, Jenny? Let's rinse and rinse. Scrape. Cheap man's lumbering hulk city bus will swoop me off at nine. 'tards with lunch pails. Bums hacking snot. Some fruit sniffing shampoo. A drunk bus driver. Kill that bus driver. Kill the fucking bus driver. Scrape. "Hey, here's part of my new book. A clever political anthology. It's for the pretentious and cute. So I named it 'America, will you please stick it in and ride?' Fly dove. We fly." Vacillate stance silver Zippo and cotton. My varicolored weapons and wasps. I'm ok. I'm fine. Feel swell. It's neat. Don't bump me. Bang bang delicious. Go bang bang delicious in the bathroom at Crossroads Mall. Scrape. I'm a fucking pop star. Non-threatening music. Chipped meat hunk seen on Fox. Scrape. I'm a fucking pop star. Budweiser sponsored. I've made it. Put it there, chum. Scrape. "I bought a song. Some sort of Neil Sedaka sample. Hey, pay attention to me. It's so damn important. Well, Fuck ya'. So stick it in and ride." Fly Bush. We fly and ride. Free Quayle we fly. Angie's lonely and stinking drunk, with morals like frozen piss. She'll stick it in and ride. Fly Rush, we'll fly and ride. Free horse we ride. "Sweet speaking oft a currish heart reclaims."
Submitted by BloodShrine — Apr 26, 2025
"Hey, man, isn't it amazing how this new political correctiveness has just become a blatent disruption of freedom of speech," said Clueless. "I think it's even more amazing I think I know what I'm saying, I think," chimed Hopeless. They looked at each other, amused at their collective genius; mostly for being munchkins of the mime persuasion. "It was ironic how the mods and the farmboys sat on opposite sides of the bombfire, throwing molten embers into tousled hair; passing stiff drink in jade decanters and forearms of pot. She should have hid at the Speedy Mart, but a cocked smile primed the soap and dirt for this cheap daydream" I) Interstellar Combine Races towards Pluto Milk toast shag scabs greased lips. Propped North ass pastel pillows. Digest tight Valentino damp boxes. Elmer's glazed moron teeth. Squeel rabbits drip baby oil. Cock mainline love malted. Mods carve the pig speared on their spits. Brent was bored, rolling in his vomit on the chapel floor. Lost his bankcard, then kicks creamy stalls urine shit 'gotta headache whore. Permed hair whips farm boys wild. Gnashing groins prim blast hole. Screaming Wilbur's fat dissolves. Nathan lurch. Elmer "pulls out". Chipper New York ska skanks 78 speed. Pork steroid film protection. Dosed Shriner's tiny cars explode. Brent was bored, picking on the fairy on the disco floor. Drowns in gossip, and hears through the "scene" that his girlfriend's a social whore. Forgive her. So punch in her ribs and say you missed her. Fool, you lose. Her life is nothing. Jane's life means nothing. II) Joppa Soy Field (Where's Philip Whalen?) Bullie Jeb beats my ass, and his slut consumes my blue pills. The sand in my bubblegum cracks like a spoonful of ants. Inchworm. Write down. Pen all the trash in my head. Pearl cheek. Tattooed high. Four pastor boys caught in bed. No pants, Senator? Spotted owls rape lumberjacks. Write down, pen all the smut in my forehead. Manure wagons stacked skunk weed. Smoke crack blistered fannie. Helicopter cops mace wheat rows. Drunk beatniks escape in Chevies. Naked man dance bonfire, telemarketing grandma. Duc-tape her mouth, and slit her throat. Brent was bored, calling in a bomb threat to the republican ball. Drowns in gossip, and hears through the "scene" that his girlfriend 's a social whore. You whore. Kick in her face and say you missed her. Fool, you lose. Her life is nothing. Jane's life means nothing to you. "You always were an ass kisser. Thank the Dark Things for Michael McClure. Happy? Yes."
Submitted by johnmansley — Apr 26, 2025
Drip strawberry juice. Open shutters. Death birds. Elated. Elected. Universe. Sedative vein. Whole grain layered. Brightest sunshine. Brightest day. Spills the kitten's milk. Cuts my hands. I place the knife to the ham of her face. Her face. Say you have to die and I'll keep cutting. Say you have to die and I'll keep cutting you. It's a magic world. Swim erratic in the water. Thick as gelatin. No skin. No skin. Mick my friend. Some day our understanding will be described as lovers swapping lies. As how man and dog relate. I'm under the table. Drop the plate. Butterfly. Maggot.
Submitted by Grave666 — Apr 26, 2025
Jane looked gorgeous as she walked her collie down Oakland. Her navy windbreaker flapping like Grandpa's U.S. flag in October dusk. "Come see my new furniture," she exhales cloves beaming through ruby shades and procelain face. "Fine," I slur. "We'll listen to Liszt and pack the Hookah, this Bohemian idiocy won't pay my water bill." She wouldn't stop fucking rhyming. I) July 10th, 1993 Jane's clenched legs writhe. Soot dress dance flannel sheets. Inane lush that can't decide, but I'm snared here. I wake flustered in her bedroom that I can't escape. I weep here's something that can never change. This marriage is make believe. Cook slop meal; and sew t-shirt; and wash my plate; and make bunk bed. I never asked these things, because Jane's now dead. Jane's found dead, long dead. Left me to this lonely bed. Hoard of locust mad. II) September 17th, 1995 Jane floats down the aisle. Voluptuous cream wedding dress. Family and friends tight smiles. Razor near. "I do," and I promise on the bottle lover's grave. She sighs, "our timeless loyalty is branded change." This marriage is make believe. Mow front lawn; and wash sports car; and cut slab wood; and paint garage; but we're not a sexist pair. Because Jane's now dead. Because Jane's been dead. Because Jane's found dead, long dead. Stranded to this frigid bed. Pacific bottom sad. I'll mourn her softly. III) May 3rd, 2043 A-frame by Winchester stream. Trimmed hedge with daisies. Fields. Stained plank ceder fence. My Gramps' ponies. She'll shit a brick. I bet. Our house to raise a family. She'll shit. I bet. We'll grow old together. Snail slow and ancient gray. Racquetball on Tuesday morning. Playing Eucker. Sipping tea; and watch the sun die from our rocking chairs. We'll gum sweet oatmeal holding dishpan hands. She'll shit a brick. I bet. To watch our children married. She'll shit. I bet. To see us when we're ninety, sleeping in on church Sunday. Playing our dated CD's that we bought in my twenties. IV) January 25th, 2051 This marriage is make believe. Now I'm crying on her body as she passed away without me, and left me this bitter old man; because Jane's now dead, because Jane's been dead. Because Jane's found dead. My wife's now dead. My wife's found dead. Jane's left dead.
Submitted by MetalElf — Apr 26, 2025
"Old crust ignorant. Outdated education. Lost hygiene. Snot on sleeve. Eventually all that coffee and stub smokes are going to blow up that browned heart Mr. Hurley." I) Eating Shit as an Occupation Dennis Hurley, guns and coffee. Lucky Strikes. Suede shoes. Polyester slacks cramped posture. Staleman, frail hands. Shake caffeine palsy. Lame veteran Korea grips breasts. Wife's breasts. Gorge bruised nipples. Welted glazed thighs. Half-gallon bourbon. Slit my intentions. Boil. Octopus lentils, leeks, lamb cabbage, spinach, squash pie, prunes, and eggplant, curdled goat's blood milk, head cheese, rye roast. Peel shrimp fetus cold aborted daughter. Mormon. Right wing. House wives swallow Dennis' love Zanex. Wet sleep dead man. Slit my aspirations. Boil. Me be itsy silly fluffy boy. Golly folly. Skippy trippie pixie slippy toy. Lolly polly. Shoot me. Rat squeal secrets. Desade roleplay. Whipped skin hot back. Sidhartha cancer. Tock murders the Lorax. Shower head. Crammed fist. Launch crying children sprint deceptive off chin. Priss grin. Wipe cream crust on the red white blue. L. B.J. kiss me. Slit my occupation. Boil. II) Burning Kalamazoo to the Ground with Zippo Fluid Clear filthy water. Dung campus housing. Slumlord rule. Raise my rent. Pure cutesy water. Strappy vein bulging tight lamp cord. God of love. Don't travel to Belfast, Ian. Arms poked bony skin. Plum badge of honor. War hero. Suck. Stick. Right. Pregnant womb K'zoo. Mud scene pie easy stroking farce. I'm not loyal. "Step down Mr. and Mrs. Politically Correct. It's so easy to be "punk" and "aware" living at home. You can't change shit, you're too self-righteous; you're the bigots you flount to loathe." Cappuccino, Darvans with vodka. Pente'. Zig Zag. Courvoisier. Nitrous. Karaoke. Cornbread Patrick. Albert Hoffman dreams a wind chime. Buck shot. Limbau swill rot champagne. Swill granola holy. Meth sneeze blood hurl. Slit my education. Boil Light. Shoot me boy. Love's a prescription love feast. Let's go sailing Mr. Hurley. "I can swim inside a bubbling volcano, pound tent poles with my hard-on, and shit glazed doughnuts, all while changing the oil in my car." "He would always say shit like: 'Yes, but if you look at it from my perspective...' man, I hate fuckers who say shit like that." (both quotes by) L. DeCastro
Submitted by The Void — Apr 26, 2025
(the shortest opera) Setting: Club Soda (A fine place to drink). Late night. Bad band. Cheap beer. Smoke filled. Cast: Jesus, Brent, Collin the Bartender, Dippy the College Radio Jock, Lippy the Town Gossip, and (of course), the art starved soulless twenty-something people. Brent: Christ, you've toiled hard. So grab a stool. You get to buy the first round. Jesus: Guiness Stout? Brent: I'll cleanse your feet with my beer. We'll have another round, Collin. May I bum a smoke? Thank you. Jesus: Citizens, the proletariat will rise. Marx was right to believe in something new. Dippy: Can I quote that? Jesus: Government, reduced to a momentary guard. I was born just a man within a plan. Lippy: That's with a "J", right? Brent: Christ, the girls are onto you. A godless herd. But I don't believe in God either. Jesus: And neither do I. Brent: Let's pound some shots of Quervo. I'm always thinking wrong loaded. So, damn it, come along. We'll sing. Jesus, Brent, and the People: Tra la la, etc. Dippy: Genius, who's your agent? Lippy: Is that in Hebrew? Brent: I'm outta here. Call me a taxi. Christ, my keys. You sure know how to drink my friend J.C. Dippy: I love you. People: Adieu, adieu, and yes we love you Jesus, too. Please come back to conclude in lost Hebrew. Lippy: Please, don't leave. Jesus: Thank you much. Come meet my wife at the laundromat. "Only idiots and car salesmen believe in God"
Submitted by NecroGod — Apr 26, 2025
This place can kiss my ass. Punk rock." Ian Beatcyberoiboy I) Your Grandma's a Seal Killer Rot disease doc cowers sly. Bigot's Digest blacklist trade. Homophobic? Barb's pro-life? Fist happy conservative. White gold home shopping cross. Vinyl infant nailed Jesus style. Huddled ignorant cult of chumps sobbing. Himmler cops sip raisin rum. Christmas Eve. December bliss. Tossed balloons of Santa paint splash Lovell and South Rose. Watch Grandma's swastika taunt Dad's Foundation walls. She expressed ice nerve and speech, and they know I'm more left than right. Burn the country clubs. Rich white man. Scared white man. This is me, face turned wry. Snow. Electric my passion punch. Sheep test the Artichoke. Kill Liddy. Love Stanley III. Days of Height and Milbrook House; and I wonder of April 16th? Wavy Gravy and Ram Das. And I'm reading the Oracle, and I'm feeling more god than straight. Burned beneath the lids. Hoffman's here. Krassner's there. Kids will play. Load Jim's .44 behind the ATM. Await Mercedes Benz. Sugar man behind the wheel. Shoving cocked piece to his cheek. Have him pull his max in green George called it "War on Drugs", but I call it "War on Love." War on all my friends. Leave us free to choose and be. This is me. Rubbed in shit. Old shoes. Huge clue. II) Who took my Holiday Inn Bible? Protestants. Catholics. Jews. Islam. Baptists. Lutherans. Mormons. Orthodoxy. Christian science. Jehovah's witness. Methodists. Episcopalians are falling down. Blend it, religions crime. Grind it, religion dies. III) I'd rather Hide than be Dead, but I'd rather be Dead than Dumb Humpback slitting sickly. Exxon glaze. Ramming Japs. Blood gushing raw blowhole. Crone whale lambasting death. Sand scraped and forcible shored. Metaphor lays mucked and dies. I laugh, "I know what she's doing. She's choosing her final time. Hemingway like grave. What is land is lost at sea." This is me. Face torn blind. Ribs cracked. Tongue lost. "So you want to mention the cake, and not eat it too?" Evan Smith
Submitted by Corpse Grinder — Apr 26, 2025
"12 years of Republicans. Conservative bullshit. Robbed opportunities. Unaffordable college. Embarrassed nationality. GOP population war. International business over domestic affairs. Made "freedom of religion" into "freedom to be Christian." Maybe this should be called "Republicans in love with themselves." I'm not saying anything new. Just drilling on an old point. So I wrote a letter." Dear Jane, Sorry, I'm drunk dear. It happens all the time. Honestly, I thought I loved you. Too bad you're so damn lame. Scare me with the chance to die by people I would call friends. I guess it's a lovely trick. I probably should enlist. Grind me meaty. Wash me holy. Chew me crust bloody. Spit on me. You know I trust you dead. GOP's oily sudsing. Attempting to wash what won't rub. Flossing gums, then licking bottoms. Nonchalant, they're gropping crotches. Raped green by forty ounces. Shiny bliss. My cocky drunk grin. Pretentious for deceiving you. You're gullible for believing me. Grip cold drink starless starlet. You're the stench that sates him. His zipper's sticky on Sunday morn. Ron's a fist of cement late for breakfast. Emmanuel Kant. Hamshackles, and first and ten. June bugs lick the horses teeth smiling in the grave of summer. Assume texas stance. Moled south for Houston. Toads dismembering flies. Ill-behooved to miss them. I tend to think we are free. Sincerely, Laughing Man "Meat truck keeps rolling. Be a writer, a musician, a loathed music businessman. A creator of product. So much for that dream. Smoke up."
Submitted by Finntroll — Apr 26, 2025
Cremate death, hoards Jews and godless husk. Remember brain ticking as an oiled clock, the coffin corpse. Cruel display. Mom and Dad's last sight. Friends sweating malt. I'll be dressed to impress; sewn tight bloodless... burn it and dump it in the Kalamazoo River. Let the flouride additive at me." Please, Mom, tuck my football comforter in stove warm. Gloss photo Jaworski. I'll slip dreams boy seven. Destroying surface Mars. Camping T. Ben Johnson. Cub Scout tames autumn Michigan. We'll sleep, troop eleven catching snipes. Flashlight. Jane's kissing my blushing cheek. I'll learn. Only ten years later cursed to see my lay dead. Dumbest fatality. Auto crash. She could do anything except save me. Kindergarten leisure suit. Brother, stitches tin can thrown cuts. I'll sleep lofty tree fort. Shot my pellet gun. Dad, two sons fish turtle lake. Blue gills caught below the damn line. We'll sleep. Small tent campground. Watch the heat lightning. Jane's wearing my class ring. I'll learn. Sixteen. Driver's license. Car. She'll breath me dead. Dumbest fatality. Turned too late. They could do anything except calm her. Now it's time to fly. Celebration. Triumphant. Jubilation. Atheist. M-66 faint sirens. I'm left eating my steering wheel. I'll sleep. Worms will listen. Worms underground. Whisper softly drowsiness. My turn. Tribute should be drunk and pissed off, my friends. Dead. Dumbest fatality. Burn the husk. If you do anything, think fondly of me. Death is but what the haughty brave, the weak must bear. the wretch must crave." Byron
Submitted by Pestilence — Apr 26, 2025
"Fuck Michigan winters. I want summer. I want to be dosed in a park somewhere through the night. Emzedee." Here's my garden. Rowed lilacs drip purple. Crane Park's slick dawn dew. Twilight. Clock's twenty past four. Packed five vitamin C blot Akbar gushing . Brian climb soda need, Chuck, Chris, and Colin. Apple trees stiff swirling circles. You are me are more than perfect. Darling don't erase my blood. Here's my garden. Zoo glare pond snapping. Cricket's night opera. Moths float teasing possums. Mice jest herons hysterical syrup slow. Sleep cream Siamese scratch walls. Girls, I don't care. Mog the cat, and marble quarry. You and me should quick get married. For I believe in no god; and no god believes in me. Kiss me, all right. Jane tastes spiced and learned red wine. Hug me precious, our family picnics near. Pass malt juice. Clutz spill on K-zoo. Here's my garden. Grass to toll tar pillars. Melted lanes reflect Ginsberg benches money. Ukraine sculpture paisley gasoline. Westnedge Hill stars burrow down. Suburb driving stealth headlights off. You and me should burn our clothing, for I retreat from no god; and no god retreats from me. Why? I lust July's sun. "Books should to one of these four ends conduce, For wisdom, piety, delight or use." Denham "My cake is dough." Shakespeare "I'll swim until I'm dead" Brent Oberlin... bye, till next time
Submitted by Corpse Grinder — Apr 26, 2025
This track is instrumental.