HOW THE COPS FIXED MY ASS

I was bung outta dung.
I was bunged in.
I didn’t know where to crap I was
gonna get any more dung.
I checked inside my wallet and
nope, not a turd, not so much
as a drop of piss.
I was bung outta dung,
I was bunged in.

I knew there was a lotta dung downtown.
I could smell it. All that dung rolled inside
paper assholes, crammed inside cash registers,
bung up in the banks,
bunged sky high to the lid of the First National Bank Tower.
I tried bunging my way onto a bus,
but nope, no soap,
the driver slammed the door in my nose
because I didn’t have so much as a drop of piss.

So I hitchhiked and it rained
and I got downtown a little later than I had hoped,
but Lord! the stench of dung was overpowering!
Bunged-out winos crumpled to the sidewalk
like men made of turd. Businessmen shiny as piss
walked by and
grinned at themselves in shop windows across the street.
I was sickened… there was nothing else to do:

I entered a bank and shot the teller and stuffed my jeans
with clean green dung.
Easy as pie. One, two, three. I
ran out filthy with dung, and almost made it
to the new car I was about to buy,
when Bung! Bung! Bung!
the cops shot my ass off.

- Willie Smith

MEDIA BLITZ

Came the day all the microphones in the world turned into penises. Sportscasters sported in their fists big dicks. On location in Beirut, some guy in a suit suddenly found himself spewing the news into an orgasm. Frank Sinatra, Ronald Reagan and all the presidential candidates began to resemble nothing more than a bunch of arrogant cocksuckers.

To avoid the charge of homosexuality, the President was kept under wraps. The First Lady stood before the podium, like Cinderella at a gangbang, and declared a national emergency.

The situation worsened. By afternoon of the second day, every speaker on earth had metamorphosed into a throbbing, hairy vulva. Over the air, fundamentalists howled this was the wages of society’s obsession with sex to the exclusion of Jesus. But since these prophets ranted into squirting hardons, their jeremiads proved hard to swallow.

Throughout the terror, Madison Avenue continued selling. Commercials screwed inside skulls. Chewinggum married suppositories. Cars supposed to save lives killed toothdecay on contact. Men sporting bras were invited to compare headaches, while scarfing a breakfast tiger; purchasing for added protection a brass doorknob. The 4th dimension turned up inside a kleenex. Sanitary napkins invaded the privacy of dogs wolfing horsemeat. Odor eaters burst, like overstressed rubbers.

Most of the public succumbed watching the latest chocolate filled bugspray. The rest fell to razors – knifed in the shower by rhinestone-studded mikes.

The third sex materialized. Then radiated starward. Humanity, at last cheap and affordable, if not free.

- Willie Smith