EVEN GARY COLEMAN GOT LAID

More morons licking sumptuously stroked soaked skin,
In quickly vanishing bottles of gin,
I sin.

I must increase my trust fund daddy,
In a big waistline emerging company of tourists,
Japanese camera crews snap crackle and pop,
As Wetsy pulls her pants down for scrutiny.

Mirror to mirror,
You can't stop looking at the blemishes in your tarmac chin,
And something within stirs your adam's apple to bulge in expectant lust.

If you got hardly working,
Your day would start with the fury of Byzantine carcasses,
Wrapped gently in the political ideologies of dirty punk rocking whores.
Give me some more liberty to shit my profanity 
on the asses of the masses.
Give me the underground version of your panties 
Too many whales in Boston to fit your ass on a bench.
I am terrified of your mortality,
So I will pretend you don't have any because I love you.

Shrink from hairy bodies in a Chinese dream,
Of a snatch on wheels lectured to by a fat crunk case worker.
Drunk fairies hang their head so low,
The rain can't touch the noses of superiors giving head so high.

I left my aorta in San Francisco back in 1991,
When AA meetings drenched me of my remaining guilt.
So it isn't my fault that you snort Drano for kicks,
And it isn't my fault that you can't suck enough nips.

Why do you pay to be whipped by da dom?

If heaven is wrapped in your eyes,
Then soften the blows of Iranian dictators in heat,
With peanut butter and jelly smeared across your hairless feet.

Please have pride that your babies have rabies,
That your dog humps the mailman,
And wipes it ass on your Persian rug.

In my veins I feel the positivity surging forth,
Of imagery dank and dark and smelly,Can you?
Murky smells from crotches unwashed for centuries,
Still get licked because even Gary Coleman got laid.

{POETRY}