Stoner Sonnet

To smoke or not to smoke?

Is that the question?

Is it better for thr mind to toke,

sweet weed- the green delicatessen?


Aye, I say, tis’ better to partake,

That sticky, mind expanding plant,

For it’ll cure skin rash and heart ache

And make bad days scant.


Purples, cookies, trainwreck,

Lemon febreze OG,

Roll them into a cigarette,

Watch your mind roam free


Unless you are the police, then forget all i just said,

Never mind the red eyes, and don’t look under my bed…….

2 A.M. Pick Up (Drinking Song)

I asked for her number,
She asked for my bed
I should have denied her,
But I was out of my head
We went to my bedroom
Where she quickly disrobed
Then we “made love”
on all that I own
We fucked on the mattress,
We fucked on the floor
And when I was done
She said she wanted more
I prepped my little boxer
Got him ready for round 2
She was impatient
And ready to screw
A few seconds later
The dragon awoke
She grabbed hold of the beast
And started to stroke
When the weasel stood tall
Twas the end of foreplay
She jumped on that weasel
And started grinding away
Minutes passed by
Slowly turned into hours
I felt so dirty
I was in need of a shower
I said I was done
She said No you’re not
I withdrew from her drawbridge
And put on my socks
Tired and sore
I asked her to leave
Thought I was polite
But she was far from being pleased
She attacked me in a fury
Of closed fists and naked breasts
I tried to calm her down
But the girl was possessed
She slapped and she punched
And she scratched and she kicked
She threatened my manhood
Screaming she’d cut off my prick
When she was exhausted
I pushed her out of my room
I just wanted a beer,
But came home with a loon

Zombie Run

The exercise was to switch the point of view halfway through a scene, and i thought it would be fun to peer through the decayed eyes of a zombie. Enjoy!



My lungs feel like a blown out tire; empty with zero chance of ever holding air again.

Still, I run.

My legs are wobbley, like at any second they would give out on me, leaving the decayed ghoul chasing me a wonderful chance of devouring my flesh.

Not today, fuck-o.

I don’t know why, but while everyone else is calling these flesh eating demons: zombies, I have been referring to them as fuck-os.

It’s stupid, I agree, and maybe if I survive this, I’ll be able to delve into my psychology and figure it out, but for now, I run.

I run into the woods, carefully avoiding the mud puddles, while trying to maintain speed.

Fuck-o’s don’t really run, but they walk fast as hell.

They don’t give up, either. Many of times, I’ve seen ‘em run on bloody stumps and when they can’t do that, they’ll crawl at you, wriggling like a retarded deformed snake. It’d be comical if the circumstances were different.

I’m running funny myself, limping every time I put my right leg down, feeling the warm blood oozing down my leg.

If I had any sort of weapon, even a tiny Swiss army knife, I’d turn around and make a stand, but I had to ditch my back pack and my machete was stuck in some poor fuck-o’s head back at the overran hotel.

I look back to see my pursuer is still chasing me, bottom jaw missing, bloody tongue bouncing off his neck with every step, following my path around the puddles and gaining on me.

I embrace the pain and kick my body into overdrive.

Seeing the fuck-o dodging the puddles was new. Usually, they are pretty stupid; easy to fool and trap. I was curious: are they getting smarter, or was he following my exact scent trail, or was it something else?

Another inquiry I’ll have to reserve for later.

I jump over a fallen tree, but my injured right leg snagged on a tree branch, sending me face first into the mud and leaves.

Inches from my face was a branch as thick as my arm, broken to a sharp point.

Perfect walking stick.

Just kidding.

                I grabbed the stick as I jumped up to my feet and got ready to stab the fuck-o through the eye.


Brains, I thought.

Brains, flesh, blood, chewy muscle.


I follow Meat. Wherever Meat goes, I go.

Meat was running from me; blood was in the air.

So hungry.

Meat is getting slower.

I’ll eat this Meat, then find more Meat.

I follow the strong, fresh smell of blood.

Around these things growing from the ground.


I don’t know. I don’t remember. I don’t care.

I only care about Meat.

Meat fell down. Stopped.

I go faster.

I’m so close. Smell of blood is so sweet, so close, I can taste Meat.

Why won’t you just let me eat you, I wondered, I’m obviously very hungry.

I ran at Meat, as fast as I could.

Hungry. Meat.

Meat was back on his feet. Holding something, but not moving.

Meat. Blood.

Meat was going to let me eat.

I moved faster, but the same thing that stopped Meat-


-stopped me.

I fell into sweat, blood. Blood!

The smell. So hungry.

I looked up to see Meat coming towards me.

This was strange.

Meat always runs.

Meat was so close.

I reached out to grab Meat.

Grab Meat, eat Meat, more Meat.

I was on track.

Meat pulled the thing in his hand back.

I saw something coming at my face.

I wanted Meat.

The thing went into me.


Everything went black.


I couldn’t smell blood or sweat or Meat.

Just saw black.

No pain.

Just hunger.


John’s entire existence, from the viscious battle in the womb for life, through 17 long years, had all lead up to this point; this moment in time: buying milk at the corner store with change.
The thought disappointed John, really. It seemed so anticlimatic.
The years of evolution, the work it took his ancestors to survive, the countless years mankind travelled through, adapting and growing from nothing more than collisions of invisible energy. All of that work, all of that time, all of those random coincidences, were slowly knitted together all so he could eat a bowl of frosted flakes and watch Looney Tunes.
He felt as if the world wanted more out of him and as if he owed the universe. He wondered if his forefathers would have fought so hard to secure the future of their offspring if they saw an episode of Jersey Shore, or if our ancestors would have been so quick to breed if they’d seen Honey Boo Boo.
He somehow doubted it. He bought his milk and went home, just in time to watch cartoons.


Note: This is pretty much a daily thought. We should feel guilty that our ancestors fought so hard for our luxuries and we abuse them to the point of becoming worthless brats, but fuck it, Adventure Time is on.