Iambic Ixplosion

“A Valediction: For Kennedy Fried Chicken & the Department of Homeland Security”

by Dante Di Stefano

 

As drunken girls stagger mildly away

and slur back to their friends to go,

while some belligerent young hipsters say,

let’s pass the dutch, kid, hucklebuck and flow:

 

so let us melt, amidst the maddest noise

of mobs who grab box combos and move

away from bulletproof glass awash in joy

to eat their grease-coated drumsticks with love.

 

Drinking High Life ’til three brings harm and fear.

Coming here, you wonder about what life meant

before, intrepid, you guzzled much beer

and, cussing, tried to fight some innocent.

 

Dull moonstruck drunkards pretend to know love

and its absence (as such), but can’t admit

with each sip the essence slips one remove

from the presence that elemented it.

 

But me, digging into this breast refined

by the deep fry, know myself what it is:

the body, every inch, must love the mind

and words are worlds the heart will always miss.

 

This isn’t the buzz talking: bless the ones

who wait for sweet potato fries, bless yet

the very mac and cheese, the expansions

of sneers the cooks bestow with no missed beat.

 

Bless, yes, bless those who crowd the counter so,

bless meat patties, bless biscuits, bless the two

piece with hot sauce, bless the fact you must show

your cash before he’ll slide your order through.

 

Bless the college kids and locals who sit.

Bless the Escalades that pass and glint chrome.

Bless the meekest.  Bless those who don’t get it

and bless those who do; bless those without homes.

 

Such is this place to me, for which I must

apologize if my thoughts buck and run.

I know the heart, in home and streets, is just

a joint where grief creeps as praise gets begun.

 

 

 

“Rookie Director”

by Steve Bogdaniec
I had the worst gas
EVER
the afternoon I had to record the commentary track for my DVD
wasn’t any funky ethnic food either
it was off meatloaf, mashed potatoes and gravy and green bean casserole
from Boston Market
I wanted to reschedule
but it took so much to get everyone there that day as it was
plus I was too embarrassed to tell anyone
they record those in a little room with a table
and a few microphones
literally nowhere to hide

I tried to sit there and talk
and hold it in
but man after a while I was in awful pain
and then I couldn’t keep them back if I wanted to
they just started coming

It was horrendous
my next movie is going to be a thriller
it’s going to be based on the terror I felt
waiting for the meatloaf aroma of those farts to become apparent

I’m convinced Hitchcock started every movie by giving himself
the most painful, foul-smelling gas imaginable
and then meeting with a bunch of studio execs

The two executive producers played it off like it wasn’t happening
but Cameron and Brad looked at me like I was the filthiest animal ever
the technicians could even smell it in the other side of the glass
it went right through the equipment
jeez

 

 

“After Whitesnake”

by Abbas Abidi

 

Her breasts hang about like good

conversation. That’s what I like

about her, the conversation. It’s

 

near dawn, sitting in her red Toyota

parked by the lake. All we can see

is the waves swaying the orange

 

streetlight. She goes on about her

love life, about this new boy she loves,

not like she loves me, mentioning

 

friend with every sentence, but talks

like he is the one. All I want to do is

is say something like, “Have you ever

 

seen the lake like this before?” and

then look into her lake-light eyes and

kiss her to show her what love really is.

 

Instead I fart, and she laughs, and the

fart and laugh linger in the air like an

unanswered question, like the chorus

 

of the song on the stereo,

“Is this love that I’m feeling?”

I should kiss her now, say lovely things

 

under my breath, but I don’t want to

imagine life after Whitesnake,

when her laugh might be weighed down

 

by all that is left unsaid. But the chorus

returns, asking me once more,

“Is this love that I’m feeling?”

 

I fart again to make sure.

 

 

 

 

 

“Beer”

by Blair LaVake

 

I like beer ’cause it makes me happy,

Even though in the mourn, I’m feeling really crappy,

And the girl next to me ain’t lookin’ half as snappy;

 

I like beer ’cause it makes me feel great,

But a date with the toilet late at night is my fate,

And last time I looked I was twenty overweight;

 

I like beer ’cause it helps me get laid,

If I were a brewer I’d even get paid,

But not if I’d already drank that I’ve made;

 

Some call me a drunk some call me obscene,

But I like to lose clothes when I’m drunk it seems,

Which is half the fun if you know what I mean;

 

I like beer ’cause it has lots of bubbles,

Most of the time it sweeps away your troubles,

And when you’re drunk it looks good to have stubble;

 

I like beer ’cause it’s liquid gold,

When you drink who knows what unfolds,

You may go home happy or with genital moles;

 

Last I like beer ’cause it gets me drunk,

Drink a couple of pitchers start feeling a funk,

And beer isn’t evil- some are made by monks!

 

 

“Surprise”

by Chuck Logan

 

Were I to fuck you in the ass right now, would you become alarmed?

I wouldn’t say alarmed. Perplexed. That’s the same hole my shit comes from.

Well yes, but aren’t girls more predisposed to enjoying it?

You think girls are more predisposed to enjoy ass fucking. Um, buttfuck no.

If you consented and I didn’t use lube, would you chastise me?

I don’t think chastise is the correct word.

Are you now chastising me for using the incorrect word?

No. I’m merely trying to be accurate.

Well, on a lighter note, have you ever administered a blowjob in public?

Of course. It was my understanding everyone had.

I tend to agree with you. Was your experience pleasurable?

I suppose it was as pleasurable as it could have been.

What is that supposed to mean?

It means being on your knees with a cock in your mouth isn’t exactly the bees knees.

Do you perhaps think “bees knees” is a poor choice of words?

No. I think my sentiments were expressed effectively, despite your misinterpretation of a pun.

Don’t you think you’re doing an awful lot of chastising for someone who isn’t chastising?

No.

Fair enough. So which is worse: dick in the mouth or dick in the butt?

Maybe I should acquire a strap-on and fuck you in the ass.

Why would you say something so ludicrous?

I don’t know, I guess it was the article I read about men being more predisposed to enjoying it.

Your attempt at humor leaves a lot to be desired. So when are we going to stop walking?

As soon as we find a spot we’re both comfortable with. You can’t masturbate just anywhere.

I know that. You can’t sit with your breasts exposed just anywhere either. How about behind this?

No, I was nearly caught there by an old Vietnamese woman one time. Luckily she was half blind.

Well, let’s find a place. I haven’t had a fix since last Tuesday. Can I ask you a question?

You literally just executed precisely what it is you’re requesting to do.

Okay douche, can I ask you another question after this very question I’m currently speaking?

Sure.

When was the last time you got your fix and exposed your breasts in public?

It must have been last Wednesday. No, last Tuesday. But a bird pooped on my chest.

Wow, disgusting. I jerked off from the top of a building last Tuesday. You know the Voyeur building?

Yes, that’s the exact place where I was exposing myself.

Well, I guess that wasn’t bird poop after all was it?

Oh no, I would have rather been fucked in the ass!

 

 

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