PICK THE CORN by Dennis Doph

touchdown jesus. 19

Out in front of Lincoln's Monument Glenn Beck insinuated
The entire field of Liberalism is terminally dated
And he then progressed to sit on that ripe old piece of squash
The same bugger-squash he sat on back in buggery Burlington Wash.

Then he brought on Sarah Palin who became quite loud and shrill
Till she had solons in stitches on both sides of the Hill
She trumpeted Our America with a manner brusque and blunt
But we can't tell if she's talkin' with her mouth or with her cunt

Oh! They won't stop pickin' corn out of our poop
Sarah's lockin' and realoadin' that tired old Wasilla pistol
Though her snatch has been downsized She claimes Bristol's devirginized
Which is fine for her but not so fine for Bristol.

Here's the waters of the Indus flooding Pakistani plains
Twenty million Ragheads cryin' out for grain
And we all keep on discounting how it pours each time it rains
But us Real Amurricans just can't feel the pain

No. We're more interested in Lindsay Lohan getting out of stir
And which Blagojevich is due to make the slammer
And how much more Miss Hillary can make of all of HER
and which President is bound to take the hammer!

These old hens keep nosin' pieces out of our feces
Sharron Angle has developed a Nevadan taste for poop
The undigested pieces that they're nosin' sure ain't Reese's
...and don't underestimate how low Shallow Sharron's sure to stoop!

Conoco has now devised a drill six miles beneath the waves
Those oil-bedizened, non-taxpaying, Senate-strokin' sluts
All our Presidents have seen to it that we're eternal slaves
While BP builds reefs -- and reams us all exquisitely up our butts.

A chunk of Greenland big as Delaware just fell into the drink
It sinks beneath the waves to Al Gore's eternal scorn
The EBay bitch Meg Whitman wants to paint us all Punk Pink
As she reams our willing backsides for another grain of corn.

Yeah, I've pooped my last full poop on this California Coast
As the Solons scoop and scramble to ingest my sorry leavings
Mighty Meg is seeing to it that Jerry Brown is Toast
Am I draggin'? No. I'm gaggin'. and this poem is my heavings

Border police have come onboard amtrak outside of Buffalo
Lookin' for shady darkskinned types who might have swum the Lake
In the Arizona Desert John McCain flops to and fro
Rakin' up that Mexi-poop with his trusty Beerqueen rake.

McCain used to be a hero to all us Willing Troops
Now he kneels to the Teapartiers each time one of 'em poops
There ain't no jelly on his belly as he grovels his last grovel
And he uses his Naval Academy mouth as a handy Poop Scoop shovel.

No! McCain picks up all that corn out of their poop
And Rand Paul picks up his leavings with his eager tractor mouth
As I said, there is no depth to which they will not stoop
As Virginia's lieutenant gov. sells us even further South

Oh! Miss Prissy,
Spare us the Hissy!

IN USHUAIA by Dennis Doph

touchdown jesus. 18

In Ushuaia capitol of Tierra del Fuego
Nuns wear padded Akomaks instead of wimple
Even if you're Mick, Spic, Kraut or Dago
Everything in Ushuaia is very simple.

Everyone speaks in hushed midwhispers
Like some non-smoker who's been caught smoking
And all the Brothers whisper to their Sisters
in less than dulcet tones. And -- shit! You're joking!

Joking about such a simple form of conversation
But not as simple as the Tweakspeak of us Yanks;
For all across this Twitter-besotted nation
A well turned phrase is simply answered: tks.

If I encounter some well set-up stud or other
Who opts to respond to me in such bland brass
I tend to think they're much too blah to bother
And then respond in kind, with, simply, PASS.

I realize that Newspeak is so fleeting
Verbal dancing is too tiresome for their feet
And any kind of polysyllabic meeting
Is bound to be called dangerous -- or indiscreet.

So I treasure my less verbally challenged cousins
Whether they be same-sex or distaff
And blow off Tweakspeak studlings by the dozens
Who cannot form a well honed paragraph.

I enjoin these folks to live in Ushuaia
Where life is so truncated and so simple;
Where tks can be their bidder and pls their buyer
And a pitch for feverish concourse is just this dimple:

-)

IN THE FOOTLOCKER by Dennis Doph

touchdown jesus. 17

Let us address, in all seriousness
The saga of Clarence Eugene Butterfield
In our merry time of trauma and stress
There's no hoarier story tabloids could ever yield.

Seems big bluff Gene was kinda mean
To his teenage daughter Rebekah
Neighbors could see, 'round their beat-up SUV,
Becky had been beaten like a woman stoned at Mecca.

After Gene had mauled his daughter
Say, six or seven years
He tired of Rebekah and her whining and her tears
Finding her moaning tiresome and of heinous faults replete
He shot poor dumb Rebekah in her hands, legs,
and her two flat feet
Tied her wrists and ankles together, and, as the final shocker,
Shoved whining dumb Rebekah in his trusty tin footlocker!

Two years later,

Arrested by dumbfounded cops in Disneyfied Santa Ana,
They found several pending cases on Gene
in Nevada's dry savannah
So they threw him in the Slammah
Then the cops went off their rocker
When they found poor dead Rebekah
in that rusty tin footlocker.

Rebekah had spent one full looooooooooong week
Drawing each precious breath
Finally suffocated while slowly bleeding to death.
So here is a father-daughter saga
To drive all dads and daughters gaga
At the bottom of all this sadomasochistic show-and-tell
Clarence Eugene Butterfield must have been
a fiend from hell!

But there's more to this than meets the eye
Speaking as one who has been there
Where there's a bully and a victim
It takes two to make a pair.

GROPED BY DONALD DUCK by Dennis Doph

touchdown jesus. 16

In exurban Delaware County
out by the Pennsy-Wilmington state line
April Magalon was trollin' the kids thru
Epcot Center, rockin' on her wedgies,
feelin' pretty fine
When, in a moment of madness,
A Disney employee feeling way up on his luck
Groped pretty April's snatch (with gladness)
While costumed as Donald Duck.

Kids went scattering (what the fuck!)
April found herself dissolved in tears
She hadn't been groped by a man
let alone a duck
For half a dozen fruitless years.
So the Duck she cursed and scolded
While Epcot security she neatly dodged
All the while checking out her pussy
To make sure her tampon string was not dislodged.

Two gropeless years later, April,
Steamin' in her life of stress,
Became a professional Disney-hater
In her miasma of gropelessness.
And though the neighborhood butcher
Invited April for a little fling
She wouldn't let the sucker touch her
Preferring a bit more Donald-fingering.

So! Though no man (or duck)
Chose April's Jive Box to intrude
April got up a bunch of pluck
And Disney Corporation neatly SUED.

Even though April remained aloofy
Japping out her blue balls spouse
She'd rather get a goose from Goofy
Or a tiny muff dive from Minnie Mouse.

IT IS SERIOUS by Dennis Doph

touchdown jesus. 15

It is serious
Our usual Sultry Summer Sun
Hides from us
Here on the "Mediterranean Central Coast"
Beefy men
Parade around in cutoffs
Pretending
Santa Barbara summer
Is really here

It is serious
A chunk of ice
Size of Tennesee
Just fell off
The North Slope of Greenland
Drifting
Into Hudson's Bay
What will the Canadians do?

It is serious
Sarah Palin is out there
Out there
Chewing us all out
Dumb bitch thinks
All us progressives in Bluestates
Need to be chastised
By her
She gets all hot & wet
Everytime she gives
A shout-out
for some new Teaparty
Moose Mama
Who is she kidding?

It is serious
There's a whole generation
Out there
Who have no idea who
Eleanor Roosevelt
Adlai Stevenson
Tennessee Williams
Albert Einstein
Bette Davis
Billy Wilder
or anyone of cultural worth
Is
But they know Lady Gaga

It is serious
Used to be so penisproud
Now
Reach for the Cialis every time