Ode to the douchebag on the dirt bike driving around my neighborhood at 11 pm
Unknown warrior,
He who doth not yield to the chains of life.
You who know not when to say “die”.
Pushing further and further into the night,
You touch the throttle, and fling yourself
into destiny.
I, who can only stand still, and watch.
I, voiceless, wait furtively.
I turn my face to the pale moon, and
silently
call to you in vain
“It’s 11 o’clock at night. Stop driving repeatedly down the street,
You fucktard.”
The Love Song of J. Xander Douchebag
I grow old… I grow old… I shall wear the bottom of my Gap denims rolled. Shall I spike my hair up high, Do I dare to eat a Dragonfruit, I shall wear Old Navy Capris, and walk upon the beach. I have heard the Jonas Brothers singing, each to each I do not think they will sing to me. Fuck it, I’ll just get frosted tips.
A Haiku Cycle for the Creamsicle Women: The peroxide blondes with fake orange tans.
A Haiku Cycle for the Creamsicle Women: The peroxide blondes with fake orange tans. Like a winter leaf, You tumble, awkwardly off Your broken high heels ………………………………….. Your perfect orange skin The hottest oompa loompa I have seen today ………………………………….. Your spray tan hits you Like...