BAREFACED BARRY by Dennis Doph

touchdown jesus. 14

Here is the cautionary tale
of Barefaced Barry, tall and frail
Bred in the loins of a big Kansas blond
out in Kenya; beyond the usual beyond
Beyond what most Kansans would regard as neutral
But more specifically, Kama Sutral.

so Blondie took her Bun back to Hono-lu
Because that was the Decent Thing to Do
Because she needed Barry for her soul
Because she was still on a Mommy Roll
Before inhibitions could silence or seize her
She was back on the Track to Indonesier.

Where, for the lack of a larger Thing
She accepted the embrance of a man named Ng
And with two bronze babes to ponder or barter
She was the blondest sackjob in Jakarta!

Returned to Hono-Lu just a little distressed
Two bronze babes at her maternal breast
Our Kansas gal was not prepared to tank
With her Mommy running the local bank.
Barry grew up like a big-eyed Topeka mensch
Though the source of his DNA made him kind of blench
And all through elementary at O-a-hu
Here's the kind of mishegas he went through

Oh, Barry! You're so handsome and invariably kind
Though to not know you're black you'd have to be blind
No one would be tempted to put you in the chopper
...the most popular boy in the Oahu Palapa
You could rule Above and you could rule Beneath
with one dazzling flash of those perfect teeth!

So Barefaced Barry forged through Hawaiian surf
Taking advantage of Grandma's banking turf
Knowing which hands to shake ... and how to twist 'em
To make hay of the Hawaiian educational system
The on to a life which would make most men tired
Of being pulsatingly, universally admired!

Our handsome boy went on to Harvard Law
Universal admiration stuffed in his craw
How can a young man be rebuked or rebuffed
When with dog-like admiration he's been stuffed?
Pursued hot Michelle with vigor and vim
Knowing she was just a tad darker than him.

Barefaced Barry in his time of need
Using hot Michelle as his racing steed
Neither one of 'em was exactly lying doggo
Pursuing public works in the bowels of Chicago
Even Blago said Barry was one handsome brute
...or was that Michelle? Anyway. Barry was CUTE.

Barry upped and upped as they say in the sack
Put his political career on a very fast track
Used their law connections to put 'em in the know
And his racial profile to soften the blow.
In Chicago being Cute was no kind of sin
And his timing was perfect: Black was IN.
Zoomed to the center of lionization
Became the toast of the Illinois Nation.
When the Dems needed a Keynoter for Big John K
Barry was more than ready to save the day.

Got involved in a political Cute-a-thon
With Mrs. H.R. Clinton, Godzilla vs. Megalon
If Barry was Pepper Mrs. C was Cream of Tartar
Politically hip and a whole lot smarter.
But when Hill got out on that political limb
She didn't realize she wasn't quite as cute as Him.

He broke the Glass Cieling and we cried in our beers
Over these two politically naive little dears
for he'd learned, under soft Honolulu skies
That one must invariably compromise.
So we've been through 18 months of storms and thunders
Compromised out of shape by these gutless wonders.
and I'm compelled to smirk (as I shake that long brown hand)
Why the Fuck, Barry, are you so infuriatingly BLAND?

Aw, Barefaced Barry, your Mai Tai is spiked
with the heady sensation of being universally liked.
You can stuff your feet back into your Adidas Sneaker
Because you're not universally liked in Topeka!

Your promises to gays you have tied to a kite
and the only solution for Afghanistan is: PLEBISCITE.

Barefaced Barry, swallow this bitter pill
And turn the reins over to Harridan Hill!

SHE SCREAMS by Dennis Doph

touchdown jesus. 13

Here on our block in Suburbia's Dell
We suffer through one little slice of hell
Our neighbor (a certified psychologist)
Has one good reason to ball up a fist
A little blond daughter who's onto Mom's tricks
and screams from the joy of being six.

She screams before it's light enough to see
Screams from the sensation of being She
Screams when her brother brutalizes her
Screams when anybody chastises her
Screams on her trips to the end of the drive
Screams because she's no longer five
Screams when she meets the other brats on the block
or when someone tries to clean her dear little clock.

Meanwhile, her neighbors, in terms slightly squalid,
Would like to give this charmer something more solid
Really make the bitch scream until she drops
With an unprepossessing slap to the chops.

But in politically correct, child-worshipping Santa Barbara
Such a person would be thought to be a Demon Harborer
Probably a masher, or at least a mascist
At the very least some kind of a Fascist
Or a purveyor of some illegal form of smut
When all we really want to do is kick some butt!

While this tiny tot is practising her Primordial Shout
All we really want to do is drown her out
For reasons not quite shitty (or marginally merde-y)
All day long we play Wagner or sometimes Verdi
And we dream for a place in our fathomless dreams
Where we'll no longer hear these Babygirl screams.

And we shudder (while we dream of a screamless heaven)
of what volume she might fetch when she is seven.

REST STOP ROBIN by Dennis Doph

touchdown jesus. 12

Rough Robin, whose frame did not lean to fat
Came out of the town of Medicine Hat
No naked pigboy could be hotter or perter
In the whole Canadian Province of Alberta
Since he loved to stroke and creatively paw
He motored to a rest stop outside of Moose Jaw
Stripped down to his Gold Toe socks, and then
Opened up his boy ass to 27 men!

Throbbin' Robin, no end as yet
To his lustful tales in his Frenched Corvette
Since his moves were terrific and terribly tactile
He lubed himself up with Parisian Decontractyl
And at Portage la Prairie outside of Winnipeg
For sex, Throbbin' Robin did not have to beg.

Moved on to Ontario out of Manitoba
Having taken on every available top prober.
Parked his Vette at a rest stop south of Parry Sound
Burnin' those Ontario tops down to the ground.
Crossed the US border at Buffalo
36 more notches on his gun to show
Then his action at Gowanda left the studs in stitches
Having dropped his inhibitions ... along with his breeches

Bore South on Highway 219
Wearin' a baseball cap and Gold Toe socks ... nothing in between
Showed his fat cock to a fry cook at DuBois PA
Set himself up for a very special lay
For with fur fore and aft and anal embrossage
The frycook packed Robin with turkey sausage!

Stopping at Morgantown for his special needs
Rob flushed nine West Virginny studs out of the weeds
Stripped 'em down, blew 'em, rimmed their butts
Turned 'em all into bttmfuckin' Redneck sluts
Revved his smart Vette out over the hill
Took on every topstud at Charlestonville.

Entering Virginia with its Crees and Cherokees
Rob brought every cocksucker down on his knees
While every sexstud on Highway 77 was grabbin'
Hit a popular rest stop at Poplar Cabin.
Took half a tube of Decontractyl up his anal orifice
And invited the Cabin Men to share some piss.

Rob turned himself into a North Carolina harlot
Rest-stopping at Cornelius north of Charlotte.
A fur covered gentleman with energy to burn
Fisted Rob right down to a fistpuppet turn.
Leaving North Carolina for a more Southerly thrill
Rob took on seven Rednecks at lazy Rock Hill
Chugged on down '77 full of Lubriderm
And seven different kinds of Redneck sperm!

At Columbia, Rob switched to Highway 26
Finding scores of new ways to get some kicks.
Switched to '95 with considerable shock
Found a Walterboro boy with an 11 inch cock.
Kept trollin' 95 into the State of Georgia
Knowin' he would soon find another boss engorger.

Rob knew he would soon find some top men to plant a
sexy boy like him in Downtown Atlanta.
He went to the Eagle on Ponce de Leon
And in the back room, Rob just went on down!
With his craw full of sperm from these Georgia studs
Rob downed five or six ice cold Buds
Revved up his Vette with his butt even torrider
Took his red hot act right down into Florida!

Met up with Wagenblatz and his hairy hung best
At that sling-studded sperm bank known as Key West.
Those topstuds coaxed Robin to assume all of his positions
As they abandoned their morals and their inhibitions.
75 hot fucks later, Rob regained his composure
took on a fat Cuban fuckstick for some kind of closure
Put Pennzoil in his Vette, and, after all that,
Took his act right back to Medicine Hat!

Ah, Throbbin' Robin! To my actual ken,
The uncrowned King of the Rest Stop Men.
And, unless I have failed to make my feelings clear,
I must insist: Robin, the Butt stops Here.

THE WINDSOCK AND THE BLING THING/DtheD

touchdown jesus. 11

The Windsock and the Bling Thing
Whirl, whirl, whirl, whirl around
In this suburban backyard without touching the ground
Bought brand new from a kitestore
in downtown Charleston SC
From a hairy-chested Georgeboy
with an eye for esprit

The Windsock has the true Gay Colors;
A Technicolored array
Whirling slowly in the July wind
More circular than gay
Lifting his red foot
Then his blue foot
Then his green foot, like a stork
Wishing he was the big-dicked boy
Who was everybody's joy
Back in the 70s in New York.

The Bling Thing whirls like the gayest of girls;
Like a rotating sphere at a disco
Showering silvery sparkies on all the local darkies
with memories of j-lube and Crisco

Permeating, reminiscent, into the dour present
Throwing off the most artificial of heat
His whirling contention is beyond social redemption;
He may be vulgar
But his vulgarity is neat.

The Windsock and the Bling Thing occupy singular spaces
Ten feet apart Ten feet above in one unwatered backyard
Whirling, flirting, as they did in Carolina as a kid
While shopowners cooked softshell crab, without lard.

Cooked softshellers, to please our manly metaphors,
Resting over four scintillating days in the swamp
Six more tickets to ride the rails of Amtrak -- and au secours,
God knows how many more tickets to ride -- without a comp.

So the Windsock and his best Bling Thing rode away to the West
Marvelling at the poverty and vast expanses
Trying to supress amusement (and boners) at travails of Arizoners
as they tried out their Wrigley Field stances.

Now the Sock (and his Blinger) give the royal smutty finger
To a world where ringer-dinger vampires rule the boxoffice
So they scarf down their blinis and remember Fellinis
And an atmosphere
Where even gay men could be scoffers.

This pie in the Santa Barbarian sky
Is inhibited by Hamid Karzai
And the generals with whom he's made his wet bed;
Obama, in full metal, puts more heat under the kettle
And always remembers to say what Petraeus said.

So the Windsock and his Thingumabob
Keep on blowing this job
In this outback where no Spring seeds are sown
And when the blowing gets rough there are hearty souls
(not quite as tough)
Who crash through the weeds
Keep on sowing more seeds
Each bestowing his own tasty man wick
For neither Sock is ashamed
To live in the town that is named
for their patron saint -- Barbara Stanwyck.