“Fuck my life…” 

Read Monkey and the Dead Cow #1 Here

Or download the mp3 HERE

Good mourning says the gravedigger to his flock 

as the dead begin to walk 

shambling out of their nightly dreams 

into the sunlights piercing beams 

stabbing the earthly streets 

the dead squeeze their hearts to shuffling beats 

all in hope that they may find 

a little peace for their rotting mind 

you can see them walking here and there 

but until they have their coffee try not to stare.

There’s little pride left in a man who bakes his brownies outside of the oven…shits out of the toilet if you didn’t catch my drift. I shit regularly and by regularly I mean a lot and by a lot I mean all the fucking time…well maybe just twice a day, but that’s still one hell of a healthy colon! Being the experienced shitter that I am I took it upon myself in my childhood to experiment with the many nooks and crannies I could defecate into.

The master steamy defiling, my poop de resistance occurred on a day where I was awaiting the nasty end to a relationship between me and a skirt. I was to have dinner with the folks post breakup and as I sat waiting in the dining area, my belly already full of disgust, I decided to release some steamy significance of the evenings coming events in the corn chowder.

During diner the skirt laid down the news for the folks, explaining our ‘mutual’ agreement, I waited until the uncomfortable silence settled in for the punch line and then said: “Love is like a dish served with a surprise, never knowing what ingredients truly make the taste. Sometimes the dish can be tasty at first and sometimes you can you can learn that what you’ve just eaten is rotten at the core. If I had to say what our love has been, I would say…corn chowder.” Then I placed the serving bowl of corn chowder in front of the skirt and feeling full of pride, left the scene. 

Long after the world was gone 

Corky the Cockroach still lived on

The universe was his oyster as he traveled beyond

His grip on sanity within a box of denture-bond

Once in awhile he would scream for no reason at all

For hours upon hours until asleep he would fall

One day while drifting through space

A candy bar collided with his face

“Ouch!” Cried Corky as he rubbed his eyes

“Not another sewage field of dookie pies!”

Corky paused, sniffed, then gently tasted the things fuzz

Suddenly Corky realized just what it was

“Candy!” He screamed as he jumped upon the chocolate bar

But before he could enjoy his feast a maggot hit him like a speeding car

“Hey this is my home you disgusting roach!” Squeaked the maggot

“But I’m starving; please have some mercy mister faggot.”

“I’m a maggot! Not a faggot you damn dirty roach!”

“Whatever just let me have a bite.” Spat Corky in his approach

“Why would you want my candy bar anyway roach breath

When you can just take your pick from enough candy to cause sugery death

Corky looked up at the larval bug 

Its mouth dripping with candy grub

Just look behind me you stupid roach brain”

Corky looked behind the maggot to see a candy bar train

Glistening against the distant stars light

Candy bars danced and smiled to Corky’s delight

Corky leaped toward them in Heavenly chance

And hand in hand they spun in romantic dance

In one another’s embrace they spoke passionate sighs 

Then Corky devoured them all as they sang about dookie pies...

“Dookie Pies?” Questioned Corky as he awoke from the dream

His face implanted in what was not a candy bar and began to scream

Liberia! When Fucker and I found out that Rambo lived in Liberia we were as happy as ticks on a dick, what we ended up feeling like was ticks on a dildo.

Fucker and I were told by an admirer that Liberia would be a glorious vacation spot for sinners like us…I plan to feed that ass goblin a few things I found on the beach there…

Some of the grand damn shit kicking can sites you’ll see in wonderful Liberia are: murderous crossdressing children selling and using hard drugs, prostitutes with enough STD’s to legally change their names to Genital Warts or Chlamydia, beaches covered in garbage and feces (insert ass goblin’s mouth here) and even cannibalism that’s so common you would think that Liberia was going to market a damn cereal called Baby Bits, now with extra chewy Grandma morsels! And after all the debauchery of a weekend getaway in this little slice of Heaven, even Fucker and I can wash away all our sins…just like General Butt Naked did…

Jesus is one forgiving cock skin bag of dingleberry doo doo according to the events of Joshua Milton Blahyi, formerly known as General Butt Naked, a ruthless devour of baby flesh and mass murdering rapist who blindly ran into the fray, you guessed it: Butt Naked…

Butt Naked says that Jesus Christ appeared to him in a blinding light to warn him of his coming death if he did not repent for his sins and change his life. Fuck that shit, I’d tell the entire world that I wake up to Santa Clause giving me head every night if it got me out of being tried for such horrendous war crimes as Butt Naked.

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/1576088/Gen-Butt-Naked-confesses-to-nude-killings.html

Liberia’s Generals apparently hold a taste for striking fear…go figure, the thing that really pisses me off is that they use names like General Osama Bin Laden and you guessed it, General Rambo…so finding out that our beloved Sylvester Stallone is not suffering from dementia and running around Liberia dressed up as Rambo while blowing away cross dressing cannibals on a heroine high, well that really puts a damper on a vacation wouldn’t you say?  

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QQSjyYRTDVM

makes a webcomic!

Once upon a time there was a very, very naughty Monkey named Monkey.

Monkey was so naughty in fact, that he convinced a bunch of guys to crucify a carpenter, simply because that innocent carpenter said that monkey would not have an endless amount of bananas in heaven, because monkeys can’t go to heaven.

“He was really nailed to his craft!” Monkey would laugh when asked about the carpenter.

But this did not bode well for Monkey when one day that carpenter got promoted to a God.

The carpenter, now God, sent Monkey to an island far far away from civilization; away from everyone, everything...except one very disgusting, dead, rotting and putrid cow.

“Dance!" Said monkey to the dead cow

The dead cow did not respond.

“DANCE!”

Still the dead cow did not respond.

“Grrr, do something you fuck!”

The dead cow just sat there rotting.

“Sigh…So…this is it huh? Stuck here for eternity with a dead ass cow—could be worse right?”

“I mean life is just as bad here as well as anywhere else you go—here a dead cow maybe in New York you wake up and find an overdosed whore underneath your bed after a night of chasing vodka with cocaine. Same diff. Life’s basically going to be just as twisted for you in one place or another, the best we can hope for is some momentary relief from the smelly reminder of where we are.”

“MoOooOOOoOOooOoo”

“God Dammit, give me some momentary relief!”

Desperation drives us all—strong willed men will lie, cheat and steal for an end to the nagging beast of burden upon their backs...but for those who are already prone to lying, cheating and stealing, like Fucker and I...well desperation is as comfortable and familiar as two shakes of the dick after a squirt.

I don't give a shit what the romantics say; every bird sings a lovely song for the simple right to ruffle some tail feathers in the nest. Just look at that drunken lush Mozart, he knew the game; composing masterpieces got him babes playing his six inch symphony right down their throat holes: wuggle, wuggle!

Well Fucker and I have our own little song and dance routines...ones where we can't sing and can't dance...

When I was sixteen, I thought I was being a cool bird when I stole a bottle of cooking wine from my mother's wino cabinet. Stealing from my own mother?! Gasp you say? Well fuck it, it was for a good cause and I needed something to lubricate the sexual pathways.

I met up with three babes in hopes to cock barf out the virgin parasites, but instead I ended up drinking the entire bottle myself during a car ride to a local mall, where once I arrived I decided to spend an hour in their bathroom, mouth barfing out my lunch and spreading it along the bathrooms off white walls like some disturbing Pollock painting but with chicken bits and rice.

The babes found me inside the bathroom, rolling in my own filth and humming the chicken dance melody. Horrified, they dragged me to the front passenger seat of the car and took off.

To top off this enchanting evening I barfed out of my window at about fifty miles per hour, the bile taking flight and returning like a homing missile through the rear window of the car, splattering one of the babes right in her face, little bits of puffy rice sticking to her cheeks like little glistening maggots in the sunlight.

Since this was the most sexual experience I had up until that age, I like to call this story: My first money shot.