Wednesday, December 03, 2003
Language Arts Fight Night
Carmody,
whom I hate,
focuses his harshest
Sax Rohmer stare and says:
Do you want to fuck with me?
A question
commonly asked
in bars and on
basketball courts,
alleys and movie screens.
Is this the blunt pick-
up line that’s been
winning for decades—
Does he want me to fuck . . . him?
I think of the last people to speak to
Matthew Shepard: They don’t
have the imagination for
untying fucking from fucking,
do they?
Did Lincoln ask Robert E. Lee to fuck with him?
Would Carmody repeat his question if we stood inside a choir?
Then I could sing--
My answer!
The response!
Alleluia!
While I’m figuring
this out, his knuckles
make me wonder: Did
Ali ask Frazier if he wanted
to fuck with him, or could
only Cassius ask this?
Since I never answer Carmody,
I read this at the hearing, but
the judge wonders why
doesn’t it rhyme? And
I say but we haven’t
rhymed in
decades!
Hell, Whitman didn’t even
rhyme all the
time!
And then she asks
who was Whitman
and that depresses
me, so I make a
crack about Russell
and the judge asks
me if I want to fuck
with her, and I say
well, now that you
put it that way,
so she
puts me
in contempt,
where I
purchase cigarettes
for the man with
metal boots
and greasy trim
who asks whether
I want to fuck with him.
whom I hate,
focuses his harshest
Sax Rohmer stare and says:
Do you want to fuck with me?
A question
commonly asked
in bars and on
basketball courts,
alleys and movie screens.
Is this the blunt pick-
up line that’s been
winning for decades—
Does he want me to fuck . . . him?
I think of the last people to speak to
Matthew Shepard: They don’t
have the imagination for
untying fucking from fucking,
do they?
Did Lincoln ask Robert E. Lee to fuck with him?
Would Carmody repeat his question if we stood inside a choir?
Then I could sing--
My answer!
The response!
Alleluia!
While I’m figuring
this out, his knuckles
make me wonder: Did
Ali ask Frazier if he wanted
to fuck with him, or could
only Cassius ask this?
Since I never answer Carmody,
I read this at the hearing, but
the judge wonders why
doesn’t it rhyme? And
I say but we haven’t
rhymed in
decades!
Hell, Whitman didn’t even
rhyme all the
time!
And then she asks
who was Whitman
and that depresses
me, so I make a
crack about Russell
and the judge asks
me if I want to fuck
with her, and I say
well, now that you
put it that way,
so she
puts me
in contempt,
where I
purchase cigarettes
for the man with
metal boots
and greasy trim
who asks whether
I want to fuck with him.
