Stink Bomb Of Love
The used bookstore tended to fuck
over anyone wanting to trade old
books in for something new to them
I found a John Fante & a Steinbeck,
the midget clerk there scared me,
after 20 minutes ransacking my 4
boxes of trade-ins, she bellowed
My name, “That’s $7, I know you,
you’re that nasty poet from Hotel
Wisconsin” she said smiling cutely
I just stared at her, her arms & legs
were short & stubby & the rest like
it had been compressed somehow
She watched me like a mongoose
ready for a cobra, I gave her $6
for the balance of my book purchases
As I left she stripped off her Levis &
panties & said, “Here motherfucker,
now you have something to write about”
She flung her undies like Thor’s hammer,
they covered my face like a giant squid
from hell, I screamed, “I just saw a
midget’s pussy & I’m going blind.”
Last Comanchero Of Dildo Island
Juanito was listening to The Rolling Stones song Star Fucker, it sounded like Johnny B. Goode with some curse words thrown in. He had John Fucking Wayne on the boob tube killing Indians and Mexicans from a flaming wagon traveling hell bent for leather across Monument Valley. I thought oh shit, here it comes, Juanito got out his Chicago typewriter case, unpacked his Thompson submachine gun and laid four hand grenades on the coffee table. Every time The Duke killed a Comanchero, he played like he was obliterating his cowboy ass, complete with mouth made burp gun sound effects and grenades with the pin left in, rolled under the television. “Did I ever tell you that I’m a direct descendant of Quanah Parker, the last wild half Comanche?”
“Only more times than I count,” I replied.
“Well fuck you then, I won’t waste my breath on a common asshole New Mexican.” He fired up a joint and it started popping and fire was falling all over his shirt.
“Did you forget to take out the seeds and stems?”
“That’s boogers and cunt hairs from a nun, I threw in for flavor,” he explained. “Did you go out with that Canadian lady again? The one that says ‘Give me a dozen beers’ instead of a twelve pack. Her eyes are deeper than a blue jay fart. I wish she had a twin sister,” Juanito said.
“Claudia is a combination of an angel, a Tasmanian she devil in the sack, and a glamorous old time Hollywood movie star. Do you feel me?”
“Yea, it’s all good, you lucky motherfucker. You can step in a pile of dog shit up to your ankle and still come out smelling like a petunia.”
I took several tokes and held them in. “You want to hear my latest poem?” Juanito nodded in assent.
Your Bootie’s Now A Coochie
Oh funky freaky Frankenstino
another writer wannabeno
a stinky nobody nigarette
sucking dick on a cigarette
Time exposes fakes and frauds
go back down on your greasy broad
spewing vain and volatile words
jealousy and breathing slimy turds
Just another snake in the grass
Big Willy is gonna fuck yo ass
being his jail bitch was unacceptable
he passed you around for a sperm receptacle.
“Is this about the fucker that pissed you off, writing about your wife and kid on the web and he’d never really written jackshit of his own?”
I nodded. “It got personal, when he brought family into the equation. He reminds me of a fiddle player I used to know, named Ollie. I started out liking him, but he thought he was hot shit and kept running off at the mouth. One night I told Ollie to shut his pie hole. He had this long goatee and I grabbed it and hit him in the schnozzola. He fell straight back and farted, once like a foghorn and again like a dying bullfrog. I looked in my fist and I was holding what seemed like a handful of cunt hair ripped off a bushy snatch. I wasn’t sure what to do with it, so I stuffed it in his mouth and went back in the bar to shoot some nine ball. His band was looking for him to play another set of music. Ollie finally staggered back inside, looking a little ragged.”
“You’re a crazy son of a bitch, but you know that already. I bet they don’t realize that factoid.”
“I just hope I never run into either punkass or I may just be forced to do something they won’t appreciate. Are we going to score that fucking knock your dick in the dirt weed or whistle Dixie?”
“Vamanos, cabron.”
We got in his lime green Ford F-100 pickup with the souped up engine, in case of trouble and went to our rendezvous. The dealer had two body guards, but we were loaded for bear and very cautious. He said it was Acapulco Gold, but that was salesman bullshit most of the time used to boost the price. I held a zip lock plastic sandwich bag of herb up to the light. It appeared to be mostly tops without much leafy shake. The tops were much more potent, but a lot of stems were left after stripping them down. I opened the bag and plunged my nose and mouth in, it smelled like a freshly cleaned horse barn with a pungent sweet twist of tree sap. I passed the baggie to Juanito, the aromatic odor was a delight to both our highly trained nostrils. He picked out one of the tightly golden compacted buds, it was woven through with light green leaves traced with reddish fiber veins. The bud was gummy to the touch, Juanito smiled and handed it to me, my fingers detected the sticky sensation. I squeezed the bud and a golden fully mature seed rolled out, none of those little green-white birdseeds. I flipped out some Zig-Zags and twisted up a pinner doobie. It wouldn’t do to let the dealer know our enthusiasm over this ganja. Juan fired a wooden kitchen match and let the sulpher burn off, before adding flame to the smoke. The pot was pure fucking dynamite. Kilos were $80, the dude from Mexico gave us a deal because we bought ten, $750.
I knew for a fact the potent marijuana was coming in by box car from El Paso, Texas, smuggled by wetbacks. It was grown in the Sierra Madre Mountains in Sinaloa, Mexico on what farmers called their tomato plantations. It was a sweet deal and I had plenty of friends for breaking down and distributing my large purchases into a big money making operation. Juanito wasn’t happy with his share of the profits, even though we were fifty/fifty partners, he was always a greedy motherfucker. He started cutting his weed with catnip, the elusive elixir for felines. We didn’t get any complaints at first, but it just didn’t feel right to me. Slowly I started ending our business venture together. His customers just weren’t getting as good a buzz as mine.
Finally I had enough. “I’m going to Isla Mujeres off the Mexican Yucatan Peninsula and let things cool down.”
“I’m headed north to Dildo Island, Newfoundland. I’m going to get me an Eskimo woman and live in an igloo,” Juanito said.
I thought yea right, he’s full of shit. He went north before I went south and he called me. “I’ve got me a nice lady, her name is Lucille, just like B.B. King’s guitar. Here talk to her.” He put her on the line, but neither of us had much to say.
The day before I was to split, Lucille called and told me Juanito had been eaten by a Polar bear.
