(i can’t help that i was born this way)
this morning i attempted
to log in to twigger.com,
but somehow i caught my-
self before it was able to
be revealed. will the real
twigger.com please stand
up (and here, i want to
say “i am groot” mainly
because i am not, but also
because television). tv has
entered my life once again.
it reminds me of all of the
beautiful ugly things to
which i am attracted.
but i did not need the
boob tube to remind
me of such things. i’m
a hypocrite (she’s a hypo-
crite, he’s a hypocrite,
they’re all hypocrites,
wouldn’t you like to
be a hypocrite, too!). do
you think sammy davis jr
ever ate an m&m. here’s
to hoping that the candy man
did not. but he passed into
the great beyond before
the political correctness
that was half of post-
modernism ate the
peanut butter sandwich
of homogeneity and arose
the demon with the seven
heads and the three sixes
(go ahead, you can hunker
down on that with chagrin).
no, it was well before that.
well, was it before that?
yes, as surely as it a was well
after his toe-tapping demise
that came the moment when
somebody dropped their choc-
olate into somebody
else’s peanut butter.
it was the wondrous white
chocolate of santiago and
the butter was actually made
in beirut from hazel toes.
not my grandmother ha-
zel’s toes, which were
frostbitten on martin luther
king junior’s birth-
day, one year before it
was a federal holiday.
quick, which year did
i just make up like i
was wearing fish-
net dreams and
fantasy fishhooks
(and don’t think
too fast lest Lester
the ventriloquist’s
major dummy rises
from his rimshot grave)?
