THANKS FOR GIVING by Dennis Doph

because why? 42

On the day of Thanksgiving Two Thousand Nine
Feelin' like the Turkey that Time Forgot
What's in the V of my pants is feelin' fine
But my punkin' head is worryin' with a dreadful thought
If what Adam Lambert did to his bud was so shocking
Then why is conservative America rocking
Well, this fucking crock had better stop crocking
Because this Turk with a Cock is still top-cocking
So help me keep on living
and thanks for giving!

Feelin' a powerful resolution in my breedin' bones
My Gonads are pointin' to a bevy of males
Took a country-Western theme from Norah Jones
and all the testosterone that theme entails
So Old Joe Lieberman can just be debunked
Thanksgiving cooking sherry has me a little bit drunked
And my fucking spunky spirit just can't be de-spunked
My past? I can't go on re-living it
So thanks, pal! Thanks for giving it

As I reel down the main drag of Santa Barb'
Feel my insides reelin' from this Turkey stuffing
Blue Balls draggin' from each additional carb
But these Gentlemen better not think I'm bluffing
I may have devoured the Fatted Calf
And been staggering about with a crooked staff
But I can damn well pump to nine and a half
Misbehaving? I'll show you how to misbehave it
And you'll be god-damn glad you gave it

So fucking tired of this conservative state
Of this conservative country in which we're mired
Even the gay boys have come to be so fucking straight
And the straight boys? Well, I'm just so fucking tired
of Reality TV and American Idol
This just goes to show that all of our pride'll
Go before the fall and December Bride'll
Reign on the Nickelodeon Channel
So stretch the crotch in your pajama flannel
And be the Point Man on this panel
Unzip your zipper
to show your pip
is among the living
And thanks, boy! Thanks for giving!

DEAD FISH by Dennis Doph

because why? 41

My Aunt Doris used to like to say
A Woman's Tribulation is a Gentleman's Curse
Aunt Doris should have known her Yea from Nay
Where Doris was coming from could not have been much worse
She was an active lesbian from the age of six
Played with the Big Boys in the woodshed, don't you know
Doris got knocked up before she was twelve.
Only dead fish go with the flow

Clare St Clare was a fur bearing animal from West Mass
Walked around with a big piece of Misery between his legs
It could not be said that Clare had even a tiny touch of class
Refusing the Finer Wines of Man; preferring dregs
Clare always referred to sexual congress as Combat
Savagery in the sack was not a course for doubt
Clare would pin his quarry to the wall without a pause for chat
....and the fish flowed in. And the fish flowed out

Little Steve Willingham the Irish dwarf
Wore XXX-size jockeyshorts at the age of nine
Truck drivers lined up for Steve at Everett Wharf
Because what was in those jockeyshorts was divine
Steve took his little cousin Dennis to the Public Library
To check out some Ngaio Marsh and Agatha Christie
They also checked out men in the john; the smooth; the hairy
What Dennis saw there made his peepers misty

There on the Biff sat his handsome Dad
Steve was preparing Dennis for a nasty shock
Dennis' Dad was not there to take a dump
Dennis' Dad was there to suck some cock
Life's curtains raised and they lowered again
As Steve prepared Dennis for a life of Smut
Dennis' Dad took Steve like all those other men
...and the Dead Fish of Life swam right up Dennis' butt

so we have tottered on through quite the Creative Life
Taking what was offered with a pinch of salt
Always resisting any potential wife
Ministering to the lame, the weak, the halt
the injured, the cretinous, the unsure
The potent and impotent; don't you know
We might be considered Purist but we never could be considered Pure
Only dead fish go with the flow.

PARANOIA IN EXCELSIS by Dennis Doph

because why? 39

A few months ago
I dropped a silent tear
Over things I most regretted I had to fear
Now
I've fallen victim to another ploy: A
Swift visitation to the land of paranoia.

Here
Santa Barbarians smugly contemplate
Gay men amongst them
in these boring winter days
Calculate each precise degree of hate
To parcel out to us in their comfortable ways
Let us cut their hair
even select their clothes
Tuck in
gym-pumped unusable buns
Once we have got past all these and those
They get all paranoid about their sons

Never realizing
Most of us gay studs have no use
For all their smarmy sports-obsessed
little brats
While for heterosexual congress
they have reserved their juice
They wear amazingly gay feathers
in their flipped-backwards baseball hats

So
When on the Boardwalk of East Beach I pause
Watch some furry Beachdad stroke his furry chest
Find myself wishing I was in OZ
As in AUSTRALIA where Beachdads are the best
Here Beachdads wear out those feathers
Goddamn fast
Wear deadly stings in their posterior stingers
The next Beachdad I hit on may be the last
Most of these furry Beachdads are dead ringers

For Charles Bronson in his most feral
Death Wish Mode
Even though they appear benign and wuzzy
Touching one of them
Is like touching the Paranoid Father Lode
Next to one of them Charles Bronson
is a pussy

So
I'm resigned to keeping a safe distance
Holding my febrile charms safely out of reach
Keeping my zipper zipped
My treasure safely in my pants
And taking my talents off to some
more responsive beach

Even though
I keep on hoping one of these Dads
will want to please me
As he keeps turning his inviting baseball hat
I know
One of these sexy Dads is waiting round the corner
With a sweet smile and a baseball bat