Thursday, April 30, 2009


My Swine Stache Mask hit the market today in Mexico bitches! Get yours today! Working on a mask that prevents getting The Clap in your eyes, although I must say, not being down there in the first place is the only sure fire way not to get clam-eyed.

What I Was Doing in the 90s

I get a lot of questions from folks about what I was doing in the 90s. Yes, John Oates did shave me off in a cold Japanese hotel room and I have never fully forgiven him. But, I am an artist. I had to move on, man.

I did just Thailand. I started a midget boy band called The Wee Pints. Rumors that we lifted melodies and dance routines from Menudo are COMPLETELY FALSE. Fuck those ass cakes!

Anyhow, turns out that the market for midget boys bands is relatively small, at least in Thailand. 6 months later, I leased the boys out to the ring. All that venom packed into a tiny little fist.

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

My Trip To The Zoo

It was hot as all get out yesterday in NYC. Waking up, hung over on Night Train was a low feeling man. I went to the corner store for a pack of apple tops and saw Sully the Lab. Now normally, I don't mess with him cause he's one of those village freaks. You'll see him scamper round with a roach clip on his nuts, no wiser to the world.

Anyhow, Sully was all zooted up, substances unknown. He was on 36th & 10th ranting that he was going to the Zoo to take the fucker down. Seeing as I had no real plans for the day, I busted uptown with him. Some poor bastard on the train puked from the smell of Sully pinching a hot deuce when we crossed Simpson Street on the 5 train.

The danger in Sully's veins turned weird on him when we passed by the monkey farm at the Zoo. Straight away, he was randy. A moment later, the fucker jumped the tiger perserve fence and gave a sucker a good punching. Was planning to post video but the cops smashed my gear and gave Sully the ass kicking of a lifetime.

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

I'm Your Litter Box

Stick me through with black boots.
Pull my stache, make me mad.
Let me wash you delicates.
Any of you get high with that chick who sings Rehab?
( I did)

I wonder where oh wonder me.
I wonder where the pussycats pees?
Do they all use the same litte sandy spot?
C'mere little pussycat.
Let me be your litter box.

Settle in nice.
Dig your claws in deep.
I'll lay here quiet.
Underneath your sheep.
Or goat.
Or lamb.
Or little lady part.

I'm your litter box baby.
I won't tell Perez who rips the worst fart...

Unless there is coke or weed in it.

Monday, April 27, 2009

Roll Your Ice In Chlorophyll

Sliding some whiskey down in honor of my home boy, Dr. Hunter S. Thompson, who 10 secs after the tape ran out on the camera, brained the brit douche doing the interview with a bottle. Spending the next 3 months running from a collection of law inforcement agencies was only to be expected.

Saturday, April 25, 2009

Me and Solly O.

So me and Stedman hang out. Sted likes whipits and fondu...kung-fu movies and ELO. He bangs Oprah pretty steady. I've seen her naked. It's totally for the money man. Sted is dead when it comes to dough.

For real though, some of you have written me to say I need to take time out and thank those who have helped me along the way. Ordinarily I would instruct you fuckers to shampoo my crotch. But the sight of Oprah's belly humbled me.

I'd like to throw a shout out to my main poodle Solomon pictured here between Sted and the O-izzy. Solly pulled my ass out the fire when a stray squirrel was attempting to sodomize me in the yard last week. Your my mofuckie Solly, stay gold.

Friday, April 24, 2009

Me and Rosie...For Springtime and Lovers

Let's get one thing straight, she ain't a looker, but Rosie can full on shag homes. Back in the day, me and Rosie had a "lost weekend". On a spring day like this in NYC, I think of her naked, oiled body. We'd feed each other figs dipped in mayo, smoke a J then get all kinds of weird-funk-nasty. I hear Rosie is a scissor sister now, that's cool baby. I'm hip. My poem to Rosie:

A lot of white.
Why don't you use the toilet, it's faster.
Shame never felt so right.

A Song I Saved For Hall & Oates

Word. I saved this song back in the day. John was hell bent on the lyric "He's a really funky mother" at which, after doing a line off a hooker's bottom, I laughed wildly and further derided by puking in John's coffee mug. JO...why do you break my heart man?? Looking at the lady to my left who I was hoping was a lap dancer, I blurted "you're a patent leather lover". Hits bitches, I write hits.