Zero felt he was being too hard on himself and Mr. Rochester and stopped writing.
Zero had just completed the last sentence of his autobiography. It was the first sentence he had. Relief flowed through him. He knew how it would end and now just had to figure out how it all started. Richard Nixon started his autobiography with “I was born in the house my father built”. Zero was born in a hospital and his father never built a house. Nevertheless, Nixon’s words inspired him. He wrote: “I was born in the world my father built.” But what about his mother?
Mother became so self-conscious that she wore shaded eyeglasses and pretended she was blind. My father crushed these glasses under his foot at the conclusion of their Jewish wedding ceremony. This was to commemorate the destruction of the Holy Temple.”
The audience had never heard the word “shitflake” but immediately knew what it was: a flake of shit. What could be more disgusting or more hilarious?
“Next song is ‘Fucked Up and Fat’”.
“Fucked up and fat
How do you feel about that”
This song was so popular that it evolved into an extended call and response session. Everyone in the club knew someone who was fucked up and fat and thought it was damn funny. The show went so well that afterwards Bitchprick decided not to break up.
“Does she want us to stuff dollar bills in it or something?”
“Ech, that woman’s wearing ‘autopsy red’ nail polish.”
“I wouldn’t be caught DEAD wearing that color.”
“That’s because you’ve got TASTE, honey, TASTE.”
“Speaking of taste, we should do lunch sometime!”
“Speaking of lunch, my boss was totally mixing her textures today, I almost puked. I mean, I really tried to since I had just eaten lunch.”
“Corduroy and beads? Satin and wool?”
“Worse. Tweed and velour.”
“Oh god, I’m going to vomit.”
“Yay! Go for it girl!”
Their waiter innocently asks, “Got anything for a headache, ladeez?” and they giggle: we’re from Venus, he’s from Mars!
Moral: Don’t spend your life crossing the street. It will make your journey to heaven that much longer.
I wrote this poem when I was nine years old and even then I could tell it was pretty lame. I'd already written my first poem back in third grade:
to my friend
got a big
Originally it was a prosey paragraph but I chopped it up after my teacher explained that Poetry should look different from Prose. She liked it chopped. I didn't see much difference but was grateful to Poetry for making it so easy to fill up the page.
I’m sad when a flower gets hurt. A hurt flower spends all of its time shivering and coughing and sneezing and wiping its nose and then excusing itself. A flower should never excuse itself. And when you see a sign that says “Please do not walk on the grass”, please do what it says. Grass is usually less sensitive than flowers, but it can have bad days. On bad days it will cry if you walk on it. This is what it is trying to tell you: “Today I need to be held, not walked on”.