I, HYENA by Dennis Doph

Touchdown Jesus. 27

I'm one of the most dissolute pig-fuckin men
In my entire personal universe
My penis is my treasure and my scrotum is my purse
Tell myself I've been bad; I can always get worse
Because I'm an hyena. A lean, mean, unclean hyena.

Blew down the doors of the handsome Dad in Raleigh
Because his chesthair drove me to distraction
Got way beyond the Pale in Fort Lauderdale
For that hot nip man who required serious action
This action was making my heart fail; and I'd stop.
and I'd stare Dreaming about being Lucky Pierre
Letting the hairychested one abuse my front
While the one with the nips treats my butt
like a mancunt

Because I'm a lewd tattooed ManHyena
Do anything once; take it and break it
When I whip it out I know how to shake it
I'll take your tongue in my Hyena mouth
Feel the manheat rising from the South
Santa Barbara is nothing but drouth
It would be very, very grand for you
to accept my hairy Hyena hand.

Pursued Nicedogg in Belleville
Because he got me totally boned
Got plenty of wear outta that Canadian Leatherbear
He made me feel like I was stoned
Then I went beyond pot for that Upstate Bot
to get him into my clique
Got terribly free with that Italian
in Sault Ste Marie
Told him his ass is where my tongue
would like to be

Chased that fur farm HotGuy4Guy
Because he is such a hot slab of beef
Was charmed by the power of sexy Pfeiffeltower
Cumming was such a relief
Stole DaddyTeddy away from Tom Dick & Freddy
Because I'm a natural thief
I'm on the prowl. Hear this Hyena howl!

Chased HappyPigButt all the way to Long Beach
screamin': Once more, dear friends! Into the breach
And for AlphaBear in sunny San Diego
My Hyena butt became a scut the size of a Winnebago

I'm a dross, droll, out-of-control
Hyena Butt Mole
Keep warnin' these studs I've always been cursed of it
That's not even close to being the worst of it
Kept getting shot up with steroid testosterone
Till I developed a preternaturally abnormal bone
Never have to worry about being alone
Since most of those who don't frown on it
Go down on it.

HELL! LOL

THREE HAIKU FOR CHANGE by Dennis Doph

touchdown Jesus. 26

(1) EMPOWERMENT
These are the days
Our image refracted
In a cloudy mirror
Elongation once impossibly engorged
Now flaccid
So we drop one more Cialis
And pray for rain

(2) EMBEZZLEMENT
Why did the Democratic National Committee
Send the President's plea for support
Dated September 27
Just in time for it to arrive
Fashionably late, on November 6th?
This is not empowerment
This is embezzlement

(3) ENGORGEMENT
So here we are one more Alpha male
Stranded in the Ebbtide of his Middleage
All the old sexual reflexes Sapped
Waiting for a whiff any whiff
Of hairymale juiciness To get
These very old rocks off

LES SPECTRES DE LA SCUZZ by Dennis Doph

touchdown Jesus. 25

So, children:
Think our modern, rotten times are full of thrills?
Chicanery has always been the sport that kills.
Who in these times could possibly dethrone
That rotten piece of dreck known as Roy Cohn?
Or, in the Senate, which presently has lost its luster
No one can forget the solon who invented Filibuster
Who can dismiss the man once known as Prince of Pain
The blustering, malignant Harry Cain
Who, full of spite and rising to a hiss
Would fill an empty coffee can with piss?

Think Michelle Bachmann can fill your heart with dread?
Try filling those hallowed steps where Joe McCarthy used to tread
And, twinkling with twaddle even scorned by Gertrude Stein
His Eminence, ten-times-hallowed Father Divine
Glenn Beck couldn't even touch what in a pinch'll
cream your political fricassee: try Walter Winchell.
And, if that bitch in Arizona has you in a state of rut,
try: Senator Smoot, Republican, UT, who's planning a ban on smut.

These present pranksters could not fill this heart with fear
When one considers collective douchebags of yesteryear.
Franklin Roosevelt endured more shit detectors
Than a whole brace of palpating Hannibal Lecters.
His loving wife Eleanor put on the Great First Lady pose
While parading a score of lesbians 'neath Franklin's nose
And who could trump our prestent tricksters, primping for a tweak
Than the sound of Bobby Kennedy, escalating to a shriek?

No.
Modern days seem like a pause before a collective slump
When one considers ten Birchers poised over Anaheim to take a dump.
All the freaks and all the shrieks cannot compare with what once was
As we recall these rotten, misbegotten Spectres de la Scuzz.
So while John Boehner tries to pull the chain on all our thrice-passed bills,
Remember chicanery is still the sport that kills.