Daterape Cookbook - Thought Industry

Milk toast shag scabs greased lips.

Propped north

ass pastel pillows.

Digest tight Valentino damp boxes.

Elmer’s glazed moron teeth.

Squeel rabbits drip baby

oil.

Cock mainline love malted.

Mods carve the pig

speared on their spits.

Brent was bored, rolling in his vomit on the chapel

floor.

Lost his bankcard, then kicks creamy stalls urine

shit 'gotta headache whore.

Permed hair whips farm boys wild.

Gnashing groins

prim blast hole.

Screaming Wilbur’s fat dissolves.

Nathan lurch.

Elmer «pulls out».

Chipper New York

ska skanks 78 speed.

Pork steroid film protection.

Dosed Shriner’s tiny cars explode.

Brent was bored, picking on the fairy on the disco

floor.

Drowns in gossip, and hears through the «scene»

that his girlfriend’s a social whore.

Forgive her.

So

punch in her ribs and say you missed her.

Fool, you

lose.

Her life is nothing.

Jane’s life means nothing.

Bullie Jeb beats my ass, and his slut consumes my

blue pills.

The sand in my bubblegum cracks like a

spoonful of ants.

Inchworm.

Write down.

Pen all the

trash in my head.

Pearl cheek.

Tattooed high.

Four

pastor boys caught in bed.

No pants, senator?

Spotted

owls rape lumberjacks.

Write down, pen all the smut in

my forehead.

Manure wagons stacked skunk weed.

Smoke crack

blistered fannie.

Helicopter cops mace wheat rows.

Drunk beatniks escape in chevies.

Naked man dance

bonfire, telemarketing grandma.

Duc-tape her mouth,

and slit her throat.

Brent was bored, calling in a bomb threat to the

republican ball.

Drowns in gossip, and hears through

the «scene"that his girlfriend 's a social whore. You

whore.

Kick in her face and say you missed her.

Fool,

you lose.

Her life is nothing.

Jane’s life means nothing

to you.