soup

Anthony, caught up in all the hoopla of the Red Scare, named names, but only because the people with microphones seemed nice and Anthony wanted them to like him. The whole incident caused a scandal that led to his being exiled from the music community (well, the part that threw the dirty sex parties anyway), but McCarthy still sends him a card every Christmas. Many years later, Anthony, disgusted with the state of commercial rap music, decided that it was okay after all. He moved to Toronto where he lost his favorite hat in a game of Between the Sheets. It was a blue hat.

Daniel, fed up with fake-ass A&R’s, joined the AARP thinking it was the American Association of Recorders and Producers. Since then, he has been a recurring voice in the fight for increases in Social Security and Medicaid. A couple of his pals at the AARP told Daniel he should “go out looking for a girl as beautiful as a young Eleanor Roosevelt.” After leaving many lifetime friends behind in the AARP, he followed many leads that eventually led him to Martha’s Vineyard where he met a daring, young scrap named The Great Lamont Lucas Kennedy. They had such wonderful times together even though, on several occasions, The Great L.L. Kennedy had stated that he “would kill Daniel at any chance he got.”

Daniel and Anthony met through a hilarious mix-up involving a personal ad and learned they both shared an interest that very few people share: popular music. The album that followed, “Hip Hopera” did moderate business with people with no interest in music. The producer, James “Mookie” Marboni, called the album “the best and only album I’ve ever produced since finally getting my bartender’s license.” But that didn’t stop the critics. Although they found Anthony and Daniel to be “absolutely adorable,” they deemed the album “equally adorable.”

This is their story, told using comedy as a defense mechanism.

_____________________________________________

mission statement: see “jerry maguire”

this is just some writing we’ve done that is totally and necessarily copyrighted…

chinese food

by Anthony

i was having chinese food delivered.
i always do, have it delivered.
the doorbell’s ringing.
someone’s pushing it spastically or holding it down,
and now i’m rushing towards the door.

a young chinese woman’s standing there, soaking wet.
it’s pouring.
“i’m so sorry,” i assure her. “i honestly didn’t know it was raining.”
“can i have one of these egg rolls?” she asks. “i’m starving.”
“sure,” i say, “since i didn’t order them.”
i open the bag and look around.
“actually, this isn’t what i ordered at all.”
“we can split it,” she says.
“sure, why not? okay, why not.”

i invite her inside and go to the kitchen to set the table.
while she’s drying off, my dog comes in from the bedroom
and lays down on his back, staring up at me
or maybe something else.

brown cow

by Anthony

i think “jeez, louise” is a remarkable phrase.
there, that’s another thing
you probably didn’t know about me.
“how now, brown cow?” she says, rubbing it in.

that sounds like her

by Anthony

while eating at his favorite diner,
marty overhears that dolores, his old flame,
is living in a retirement home
about forty-five minutes or so outside of town.
the thought of this, he chokes on his meal
and has to perform the heimlich maneuver on himself.
finally resuscitated, airways clear, applause subsiding,
it begins to sink in.
he has not seen this woman in over fifty years,
but, still, he hasn’t lost a single feeling for her, either.
and now he’ll get to see her again.
the next morning, bright and early,
he goes out onto the street and hails a cab.
the driver is friendly, if a little too quiet.
at the home, marty asks the lady manning the front desk
to show him to dolores’s room.
“there’s a good chance she won’t remember you,”
the lady tells him.
“that sounds like her, all right,” he says.

highlight

by Anthony

that saying,
“my kids love it;
they play that thing for hours.”
as i’m sitting here in my cubicle,
using the highlight tool in excel
to make pretty pictures,
i keep thinking about it
(or a variation of it).
at the risk of revealing something about myself,
i’ll say,
there aren’t too many things
that i can do for hours
and still enjoy.
of course, there are always exceptions.
a really good springsteen concert
comes to mind,
or watching a brace of baby ducks cross the street.
things like that.

subgum egg foo young

by Anthony

we’ve scooted our chairs closer together
and are discussing file-naming conventions
and organization.
we had chinese for lunch,
the whole gang.
i had the kung pao shrimp
(fine, it was sweet and sour chicken).
i decide now’s a good time
to open my fortune cookie
(and not my 401K).
it says,

your work interests can
capture the highest status
of prestige.


what the hell does that mean?
confused, i bite into the cookie
and enjoy it the same way
i enjoy my work (interests).
then, i eat the fortune, too,
just so it knows who’s boss.

the beer

by Anthony

i’ve been drinking,
and there’s this beer bottle
that i’m pretty sure
i can keep balanced on my head
being kept balanced on my head.
sometimes, when i get like this,
i try to express myself,
but i shouldn’t.
to be honest,
the only way i’ve ever really been able
to express myself
is through old mix tapes from high school.
ninety minutes,
that’s all you get.
side one ends mid-song,
mid-chorus,
and side two starts up
with us already deep into the third verse.

here, now, though,
sitting on some stranger’s couch,
i want more.
i want the full one-twenty.
i want it to be us versus the world,
me and the beer bottle balancing on my head.
but there is no world.
there are just groups of people
trying to do right by you
and either succeeding or failing
depending on how you’re feeling
at the time.

so, if i’ve ever spilled beer on your couch,
i’m sorry.

white tea

by Anthony

jessie wants gestures.
not hand gestures.
she wants big gestures,
romantic gestures.
but it’s not as if she doesn’t appreciate
the little things, like hand gestures.
it’s just, she’s already been there,
she’s already appreciated them.
the way she sees it:
some women want to get married,
and some women want to live every day
like it’s their wedding day
(source needed).

if you’re a mister or a misses, please feel free
to correct me if i’m wrong here,
but getting married, i imagine,
is a lot like hosting saturday night live.

which brings us to:
the eighteenth of november,
and jessie is standing at the altar with jamie,
the only boyfriend she’s ever had.
the baby, or whatever it is,
isn’t going to happen, hopefully,
until her family and his family
are getting along better.
they both say, “i do,”
and it’s a good thing.

at the reception,
the deejay, thirty-five years old, a black guy,
is throwing down an ecclectic mix
of hits
for the diverse crowd.
every song he queues up has three things:
a beat and a purpose
AND SOUL SOUL SOUL SOUL SOUL SOUL SOUL SOUL SOUL SOUL SOUL SOUL SOUL SOUL SOUL
SOUL SOUL SOUL SOUL SOUL SOUL SOUL SOUL SOUL SOUL SOUL SOUL SOUL SOUL SOUL
SOUL SOUL SOUL SOUL SOUL SOUL SOUL SOUL SOUL SOUL SOUL SOUL SOUL SOUL SOUL
SOUL SOUL SOUL SOUL SOUL SOUL SOUL SOUL SOUL SOUL SOUL SOUL SOUL SOUL SOUL.

off in the corner, suzy, a divorcee,
is throwing out her thoughts
like bouquets
to the bride’s friends and maids.
“always a bridesmaid,
never again a bride,” she assures them.

in this less than perfect world,
these two meet up:
the bitter bridesmaid
and the black deejay,
in a bedroom a few blocks away
from the reception hall.
surrounded by candles
and their competing aromas,
our deejay (black) places his face
next to suzy’s neck,
runs his hand down her back,
and waits
until she turns to him.
“we had a live band,” she says,
“at my wedding.”

battleship

by Anthony

why am i so nervous about going to this thing tonight?
usually, my fears are more rational than this, more universal.
rationaler even.
i’m afraid of battleships–
being on one or being attacked by one–
but who isn’t?
i know it’s not because she’ll be there.
or him.
or them.
it’s not that we’ll all be there together, seperately.
i guess i am afraid of her, and him, and them a little,
but aren’t those pretty understandable fears?

going to the same party as your ex-girlfriend
is probably a lot like hosting saturday night live.
you’re nervous, it’s exhilarating,
but afterwards you have to wonder
if closing that chapter of your life
was worth being torn apart inside.

OK.
it’s really getting to me now.
i’m more solicitous than a virgin on prom night,
holding the hand of a pretty girl,
a grade younger,
full of expectations,
a mouth full of metal,
and clunky.
a battleship.

zebras

by Anthony

micah still has all the same posters from college.
“getting them framed cost a fortune,” he says.
is this what being an adult is to him?
although, to his credit,
there is one thing hanging above his television
that i don’t recognize.
it’s a picture of a zebra outrunning a lion.
micah says he’d always wanted a picture of a zebra
and hadn’t even noticed what the zebra was doing,
will always be doing.
the only thing he saw in it:
the zebra looked like it didn’t want to be photographed.
he’s still waiting on the frame to come in.

lately, i’ve been putting myself in situations like this,
spending less time making new friends
and more time catching up with old ones.
i don’t know how well i do with either of them, frankly.

we sit down on his new living room set
and have a drink.
then, we talk for a little while.
he says this:
“adam, i don’t think i’ll ever be able to accept death.
sure, i can look forward to turning into a wonderful old man,
to knowing myself and what i know inside and out,
but everything after that is going to be horrible for me.”

i nod. i feel the same way.

the hawk

by Anthony

my gut was filled with an awful feeling
that this time– wait. you know what?
the backstory, to be honest,
is irrelevant here.

you do need to know this, though:
i needed to feel better
than i was feeling,
and the only thing that could
make me feel better
was a hawk.

jody, a spiky-haired guy
who used to live in my parents’ building,
had one.
when we were younger
(younger than i remember us being),
we’d use the hawk to send notes to girlfriends.

i made the phone call,
and we caught up a little.
he was doing pretty well for himself.

the next day, after i got out of work,
we went up to his roof
with this gorgeous bird of his,
its wings spanning like a motherfucker
while it rested on my arm.
i handed the hawk a note–
something i would never let anyone read,
told it to “get the hell out of here,”
and off it went.
the wings on this creature!
the nerve of it!

when jody’s hawk returned an hour later,
there was a crushed mouse in its beak
and a proud look on its face,
but i didn’t know what to say to that.
my note to no one in particular was gone.

by the time i returned home,
it was after midnight,
so i kicked off all my clothes
right there in the living room.
later, i would go up to my bedroom
and lay flat on my back in bed–
the bed where a family was started,
mistakes were made–
and the foot of it,
where our dog,
that lazy labrador retriever,
would sleep.
all day!

dishes

by Anthony

i did the dishes last night
for the first time in a long time.
it only took me ten minutes,
but those ten minutes
took me months.

today, being what it is

by Anthony

to quote my favorite author:
“who isn’t mentally retarded
these days?”

ray charles

by Anthony

someone in the hallway is telling
a small audience
that iceberg lettuce is made
entirely from frozen water.
i’m at my desk, listening,
working on my ray charles impression.
“really?” no one says.

drug novels

by Anthony

i’m tired.
very tired.
this leaves me two options:
start drinking coffee again
or sleeping more.
i have to, so i choose
the better of the two.
in other words, i put a pot on
and stare off into space,
knowing myself well.
knowing that i will
never give up
my late nights
or early mornings.

surfeited

by Anthony

someone at work
may or may not have been
a little out of it
this morning,
but, don’t worry,
i’ll get to the bottom of this.

mount rushmore

by Anthony

he’s four years-old.
no. six. no. three. no. ten.
we don’t know yet.
his parents know, but we’re waiting
for him to show us.
he’s throwing up gang signs,
and i’m the whitest guy i know.
eventually, he picks an age and sticks with it.
his parents concur, with smiles that say
he’s not even close.
then, they ask him to ask me how old i am,
but i can’t show him with my hands.

fireworks

by Anthony

there’s something about going out
on the 4th of july in a town like this.
people, outside their homes, on every corner,
looking up at the sky.
but i don’t need to be doing this tonight.
i’m older now.
older and a little wiser!
where i just need to hear them,
exploding and whatnot,
and i can picture pretty well what they’d look like.

cigarettes

by Anthony

i’m remembering now those hot summer days,
working for my old man,
standing around the old time clock,
waiting for my turn to punch out.
we’d hop in my car, roll down the windows,
and smoke cigarettes.
the wind rushing by would carry the clouds
out and away from us then.
it seems like this was a time in our lives
where all we did was smoke cigarettes.
dear god, i have never felt such relief!

smeligous

by Anthony

imagine you’re on hold,
waiting to talk to a very busy god–
no, even better–
imagine you’re working your way through
heaven’s automated system,
like there’s a discrepancy in your cable bill
and, on principal,
you’re going to fight it.

poemz

by Anthony

there’s a notebook that i keep with me.
every thought should be a poem
that should be written down.
i mean, ideally.
i really think that if i wrote everything down,
i’d have something.

fourth of july, enough

by Anthony

this is a tomorrow thing.
you want me to do it now,
and i want more than anything
to make you happy.
but this, this thing here,
this is a tomorrow thing.

mexico

by Anthony

i return on monday,
my belly full,
the sun in my eyes,
short on answers,
and she allows me to pass through her
like a non-judgemental border guard.

shower

by Anthony

if i could do it all over again,
i’d probably shower after gym class
because, if i remember correctly,
i smelled bad.

boston

by Anthony

we’re thinking about
moving to boston,
and i am honestly worried
about being shown up
by harvard grads.

memoir

by Anthony

my best friend derek
is finally getting started on
writing his memoir.
it’s going to focus on
some of the awkward things
that happened to him growing up.
he’s going to call it:
how i lost my virginity to a girl
with a really big vagina.

appointment

by Anthony

today, i had an awful “meet and greet”
with my new boss.
i felt compelled, wow,
so many times to justify myself–
wanted to assure her that
i was a bad interview, but a good employee–
to let her know that the whole thing
was humorously similar to that line:
i’m a bad first date,
but a great third date.
maybe a little wink there at the end
if i wasn’t able to control it.
fact: in a traditional business office setting,
all doctors wash their hands
after using the restroom,
but not as thoroughly as you’d think.
as i’m about to leave,
i see my boss go into her office,
lock the door, and start crying.
it’s as offputting as it is moving.
she says she cries for no reason,
and i think i understand her.
tomorrow, i’m not coming in
because of a doctor’s appointment,
and i’ve made up my mind that
when i get to the hospital,
if i don’t feel like waiting in the waiting room,
i’m just going to wait outside,
and they can come find me
when they’re ready for me.

laundry day

by Anthony

it’s one of those things i’ll never understand:
why people, people who can afford better,
feel they have to hold onto that one pair of socks
with holes in them–
the pair they’ve had for years,
usually resigned now to hibernating safely
at the bottom of the sock drawer, until…

i know, because i’ve done it, too,
that it’s because they think that
when they run out of clean
(fully capable of fulfilling their purpose) socks,
they will have these bastard-socks,
usually mismatched and discolored,
to use as a last resort–
to have that one magical, mangled pair
that can suspend laundry day,
even if only for another twenty-four hours.
but, the obvious thing to ask is,
why not just own more socks?
why do we need the symbolism?

it’s the same thing with underwear.
there’s that saying that
if you date a woman long enough
you’ll eventually see her in her–
it’s a dumb name,
i don’t even want to say it but–
granny panties.

granny panties don’t just beg the question of
why keep them around?
but also why did you buy them in the first place?
even better: why does your grandmother wear them?
how does every woman wind up with
a pair of humongous, unflattering panties
that couldn’t shape an ass if their life depended on it?
i know there’s a reason,
i just honestly have no idea what it is.

the only thing i can come up with,
as i ball my nineteen pairs of socks,
warm from the dryer,
working my way up to the pair that has seen better days,
granny panties staring up at me,
is that maybe it’s healthy for all of us to have that one day,
every [insert number of pairs of socks you own,
or just total socks if you’re an amputee] days,
where we really just don’t give a shit
about our socks or our underwear.

WNT STP

by Anthony

three stop lights into the trip,
a large black man on a harley
pulls up next to me.
his license plate says BIG RNO,
and i can see where that comes from.
i smile.
it’s almost as good as
the ninety-year old woman
exiting the freeway in front of me
with a license plate that says WNT STP.
i get stuck at the next light,
and, sure enough, she doesn’t.
my MAINT REQD light goes on,
and, in my head, i start making a map
to the nearest mechanic.
but at least somewhere up there i’m thinking,
what would WNT STP do?

bullshirt

by Anthony

at first it was fun.
she’d raise her hands and cheer,
they’d let her hop on,
and the mechanical bull
would try to throw her
out of her shirt.
now, on her fifth go around with the thing,
young girl verses robot bull,
shitfaced, phoning it in, topless,
i have to wonder if there’s a point
to any of this, and if there is,
WHAT IS IT?

corduroy

by Anthony

a lot of people
have pictures
of themselves
as a baby
with a beer.

tees are in your skies

by Anthony

the sky is raining tee shirts.
i’m serious, aren’t i?
for two days it’s been doing this.
believe me, the weatherman is embarrassed,
presumed fired.
poly-cotton blends. stripes to plaids.
100% cotton. 100% polyster.
sleeveless to long-sleeve. v-neck to…
whatever neck a normal tee shirt has.
winter’s over, but the trees and fields
are blanketed with the blinding white of plain-white tees,
as telling of the times as the first snow.
people are watching from their windows.
they’re running through the streets.
they are dying in falling tee shirt-related car crashes.
the damndest thing is,
no matter how extra large or extra small you are,
it never seems to rain your size.
after a while, i decide to venture out to the mall
assuming it must be chaos there.
i enter my favorite store,
where i worked the summer i turned sixteen,
and there’s a sale going on:
“buy one, look good doing it.”

late bloomers

by Anthony

sometimes, there’s really nothing you can say,
like when your son starts asking you the “big questions”
(and he plays the “why?” game until you have to admit
that you don’t have all the answers
or you reach a why? that just doesn’t have a because)
or your girlfriend wants to “talk about it”
(fixing a problem you didn’t know existed)
or when someone at a funeral tells you “they’re in a better place.”

or when it’s your boss’s birthday,
and her husband has flowers waiting for her in the lobby
(well, they are from her “dogs,”
since she had explicity stated that he not “make a fuss”).
because an elderly co-worker asks you nicely,
you go to the front and get them.
as you’re walking back through the halls,
the women of the office are letting you know that
“those flowers are so beautiful.”
“oh, what pretty flowers,” they say.
“oh, my, aren’t they something!”
and, seriously, there’s nothing you can say to that.
i could go into it more, but that would defeat the purpose.

dirty talk

by Anthony

we’re breaking up– technically, she’s moving away,
going to school in a state i’ve driven through many times
without seeing anything interesting enough to visit.
she was interesting, so i didn’t get it at all.
i didn’t get a lot of things, like why i wasn’t interested in her.
it can all be traced back, i think, to the time
we tried talking dirty to each other.
you see, her idea of talking dirty was talking about
how much she wanted to talk dirty
and being appalled by my attempts to describe
even the safest, most tasteful of sexual maneuvers
(in my head, we both have our clothes on, even now).

when we get to the airport, it’s not the least bit crowded.
i tell her to call me, but i’m not sure what we’d talk about.
her plane gets delayed, and the goodbyes last a lot longer
than i’d like them to.

ladies and gentlemen

by Anthony

for she’s a jolly good fellow.
for she’s a jolly good fellow, indeed.
it’s like transvestites rule the world,
and i can’t make heads or tails of it.

copy room

by Anthony

the copy machine at work
is so close to making
its 800,000th copy,
but, for some reason,
i’m actually glad to know
that i won’t be here
to see it reach that milestone.
it’s a lot like when your kids
do something really embarrassing,
but you’re proud of them anyway.
that’s how i feel about myself.

goat grazing

by Anthony

today i thought about the time
i sat outside my brother’s room
while he listened to records
and about the girl
he was in love with that summer.
he knew nothing would come from it,
but he was happy, nonetheless.
i thought about that today
and why i’ve always been so optimistic.
i’m not sure what got me started on this.
on tv, there was this story about
the fire department using these goats
who eat acres and acres of brush
to prevent forest fires from spreading.
the brush, they said, was unavailable for comment.

einstein

by Anthony

someone dropped off
free bagels this morning.
i grabbed a garlic and onion one,
and now my breath is deadly.
the guy next to me
is making the same mistake.
i just found out i’ve been calling him
by the wrong name all year.
it’s going to be one of those days.

between

by Anthony

how many business casual outfits
should one person own?
two weeks worth, ten outfits?
or enough to be buried in?
it’s better than business serious, i guess,
but who ever casually gets anything done?
story idea:
in 2001, as part of a dare,
between him and his friends,
jim warner attempts to
swim across the hudson river
but fails because all of his bathing suits
are in new jersey.

opening day

by Anthony

it’s opening day, and my new boss is late.
i’m waiting in the lobby, reading a magazine.
finally, she shows up and apologizes.
“sorry to keep you waiting,” she says.
they “find me” a desk, and i start to work,
which is basically the same thing
without the magazine.

are these, really, in any way, related?

by Anthony

my friend just spent an hour
trying to explain to me
that forrest gump and back to the future
are the same movie.
you see, he himself had
backstroked through time,
and whenever he hit a wall,
he’d push off.

his shoes

by Anthony

i want to be one of those people
who pray before getting into cars,
but i’m too busy riding my motorcycle,
bitching all the time,
and wearing tennis shoes to job interviews,
if i show up at all.
i ran a marathon once, you know.
it only took me seven days.
when i do get a job
and get to appreciate the feeling
of coming home after a long day’s work,
first i’ll take off my shoes,
and then my socks;
it’s almost deliberate how i’m doing this.

on the subject of the mute button

by Anthony

i used to have this girlfriend,
but don’t ask me about her–
it was a bad scene.
after i told her about the affair,
and that it was because of her that it had happened,
she said, “thank you for being honest with me.”
i tried to explain to her that this couldn’t be true,
that in no way did my admission constitute honesty,
but she wouldn’t listen.
she had mistaken my vulnerability for truth,
allowed one situation to trump the other.
we dated for a few more weeks,
but she never really listened after that.
i was on mute,
like the t.v. during our lovemaking.

snakes

by Anthony

i’m watching eraserhead,
but i don’t like it.
it’s one of those movies
that thinks old people are scary,
that babies are little monsters.
it doesn’t realize that
old people and babies are like snakes,
only we’ll turn it around and say:
we’re just as afraid of them
as they are of us.

clockwatcher

by Anthony

i want to live and die by the clock.
well, not that clock–
it doesn’t have a built-in radio.
i want my job to be my entire life:
to breath it, to live it,
to stress and stress and stress over it,
to infinity, and then some,
and for it to be the “reason” i never had children.
oh, i want to hate it, too:
to long for home just to long to be back,
a lonely rider, looking longingly,
briefcase in both hands.
you know what people did before alarm clocks?
they went to work when they FELT like it.
“if the rooster’s not crowing, i ain’t going!”
was popular, i’ve been told.

and then, present-day, somewhere– no one knows where–
a middle-aged trucker,
his son at his side,
throws his map out the window of the beast
and hesitates, shifting gears.

mason jar

by Anthony

my boss is THIRTY-ONE years older than me.
this puts things in perspective.

salt mines

by Anthony

i once spent some time
toiling in the salt mines.
forced to toil,
as is so often the case.
it was great.
everything i tasted that year
was delicious.

green beans

by Anthony

my wife said something kinda interesting today.
boy, she came right out and said it, too.
“james,” she said,
on account of that is my first name,
“i’m not happy being with you,
and i don’t think i ever will be.”
boy, that sure stung.
got me thinking, too.
i mean, i’m pretty unhappy, sometimes, just like her,
and, sure, we do fight a lot.
but all couples fight, ’specially the married kind.
i finished my dinner after that
and couldn’t help but get lost in my empty plate.

brigadoon

by Anthony

the business world
is becoming
an unending brigade
of eligible businesswomen.

bank of america

by Anthony

in a bank line.
“ninety percent of americans
are in debt.
if you’re not in debt,
you’re not an american,”
i hear a wonderfully accented immigrant (life is terrible)
telling the teller.
applying that logic,
as of today,
i am no longer an american.
and, why not, while i’m here–
i take care of my nevada-issued speeding ticket,
recenty downgraded to a parking violation.
now, that’s america.
in the parking lot,
a woman backing out almost hits me with her car.
she apologizes.
“it’s fine, honey,” i say,
puffing my chest out.
where the fuck have i been all my life?

jane fonda

by Anthony

i’m running on the treadmill.
you’re walking next to me.
we’re watching two different televisions,
two different shows,
having two different conversations
about two different shows.
there’s something going on here,
as i sweat through.
if i stop running, i’ll fall backwards,
but why keep running in place?

off in the distance somewhere,
i can smell that perfume–
that one you don’t wear anymore,
and, thinking about it,
i start to realize that
i’d like to have an affair someday.
she’ll be wearing that exact same perfume,
dressed up nice enough,
but i won’t be– oh, i’m just “being myself.”
it’s something i’ll have to do
even if only to be able to wonder
whether or not,
under different circumstances,
my wife and my girlfriend
would get along.

and all the wild…

by Anthony

tommy garrison got away from it all:
the city, the traffic, the noise,
the banausic blah. everything.
where’s he now? i’m not sure.
i don’t think it even has a name.
but i’ve made it, i’m here,
and it’s just as he described it.
he has his porch and his redwoods,
there’s sunlight and shade,
and he’s LAYING on that porch–
“i’ve even started whittling,” he says,
gesturing, interrupting my train of thought. “see?”
“that’s not whittling,” i tell him.
“you went and found a stick
that already looked like something.”

bad luck

by Anthony

it splatters everywhere.
the pasta, the salad, the al mattone,
and that carefully selected bottle of red wine.
it goes like this:
this poor girl’s in her seat, devastated,
while this asshole waiter,
he just stands there, dumbfounded,
and i can’t help it.
i’m angrier than a thirteen year-old illiterate.

jonesboro

by Anthony

debra’s been in jonesboro for almost two weeks
and isn’t sure she’s coming back.
we’re fighting on the phone.
“see, that goes against your whole point,” she says.
“i’m not trying to make a point,” i tell her. “i’m just thinking out loud.”

junior high

by Anthony

an office party.
co-workers are hooking up.
they’re groping like it’s brand new.
“at least we have tonight,” they say.
then wendy, recently promoted, ruins everything.
“what happens to us on monday?” she asks,
and a junior high dance it becomes.

dutch

by Anthony

she’s busting heads.
she’s breaking necks.
everything was fine until we
got separate checks.

woods

by Anthony

whatever happens,
no matter what’s going on in your life,
no matter what you dream about,
it’s unbelievably comforting to know
that every morning
you’re going to wake up with an erection.

supplies

by Anthony

jiggly arms woman just took scissors off bearded guy’s desk
and said to me, “don’t let him know i took these.”
i fill in the blank with a “i didn’t see anything.”
i think she’s joking– don’t we always, at first?
then, i begin to notice.
nobody’s joking about this.
it’s like there’s a war going on here,
and the lock on the supply cabinet is as useless as custard.
i scour his desk like a conquistador.
it’s so brutal.

everything is clearly labeled:
“property of bearded guy. DO NOT REMOVE.”
do not remove. who’d have the courage to?
she walks by again. her arms rumble.
i won’t tell a soul.

the signal

by Anthony

i’m touching my chin.
that’s supposed to be the signal.
it means help.
it means get me out of here.
it means i’m stuck in a bad conversation.
that i’m being tortured.
i’m still tapping,
which means you can’t see me
from wherever you are.
we’re a pyramid of cheerleaders,
ten people crammed into a phone booth,
and now you decide to take a break?
i touch furiously. she kisses me.
the signal’s been compromised.
abort.
abort.
ab–

bears

by Anthony

we’ve had our share of disruptions,
our share of vandals.
now there’s a bear loose in the neighborhood.
we say loose because
we do not know
what it is to be free.

latte

by Anthony

i’ve been getting coffee here for years.
he was always around, vigorously doing a crossword puzzle.
today, of all days, there’s an “in memory of” with his face on it
posted to the notice board.
we all loved him.
below his picture, it says,
“if you’d like to contact his family, please call ______.”
i probably will.
nothing like a conversation over coffee.

fitzgerald

by Anthony

and that’s how
i’ve come to the conclusion
that kennedy’s assassins
had to have been
disgruntled ex-girlfriends
of mine.

news

by Anthony

the news again.
dog saves master in river.
little boy drowns in pool.
where was his dog?

political

by Anthony

i haven’t slept on my back
in over twenty years.
i haven’t had coffee
in coming up on seven days.
today’s world
is a nice change of pace for me.

outside, the fog makes it look like
the fifth of july.
doesn’t it?
on the radio,
there’s a brief mention of
the ‘92 summer olympics.
if not, there should have been.
never forget.
i wonder if magic johnson ever got tired
of all the hugging.

around that time– maybe ‘93 or ‘94,
i had a friend
who would stop everything
to pray towards mecca.
the only thing i’ve ever done that religiously
is nap.
wait, did i just see hugo chavez?
driving in a chrysler?
down laurel canyon?
away from hollywood?

the lot

by Anthony

i’m lonesome and depressive,
but not because of any one girl.
it’s because of the whole lot of them.
i take a drink, just a little one,
more ice than scotch.
that’ll surely lead to another.
“might as well make me another,” i say.
someone’s looking at me from across the room.
do i really need another?
might as well.
it’s already been poured.
it’s already been paid for.

parking ticket

by Anthony

today i got a parking ticket, but i deserve better.
seriously, have you ever looked into it?
have you ever looked into my eyes and cried?
o meter maid, people are starving.
why won’t they eat?
i don’t know. maybe i do deserve this.
my heart is a car, left unattended in a loading zone,
and whatever’s in there i’m keeping.

up, up, up, up

by Anthony

the alarm rings.
i’m up. i’m up.
i’m up on top.
i’m up in your face.
i’m up on the ceiling, swinging from the rafters.
i’m up in the clouds. with the clouds. with the clouds.
i’m upstanding and i am young and i am a man!
i’m an uplifting high school sports film.
i’m a high school sports fan.
i’m an upbeat tune for all the young lovers out there
who just need an excuse to dance.
i’m up out of my seat and dancing!
i’m an uptown girl living in a– no.
i’m an uphill battle; now it’s up to me.
i’m as uppity as i’ll ever be.
i’m upton sinclair, hearing the sound of the pound on every page.
i’m up, and i can’t be put down.

…

i turn the alarm off.
it’s upsetting.
a pause, as i let my bed have me for breakfast.

high above me

by Anthony

blasting tal bachman on my radio.
the best thing about this new job is that
it comes with a company car.
the only problem:
people tend to think i’m a student driver.
i’m not sure why.
there are two brake pedals,
one for them and one for me.
hopefully, i’ll get to use it one day,
that for once in my life
i’ll actually teach someone how to drive,
rather than just going through the motions
and thinking about the $.

the pope

by Anthony

the pope is dying,
and i’m there by his side like a good friend.
i’ve washed his hands and feet more times than i can count.
if there’s a heaven, i’m flying there first class.
we talk about everything.
he tells me that his only concern is
that his tickets to wrestlemania will go to waste.
i lie and tell him how much i love wrestling.
he knows i’m lying.

chopper

by Anthony

a helicopter landed on my front lawn this morning.
i got my wife, and we watched from the window.
“what do you think they’re doing?” i asked her.
“not sure. looks like they forgot something.”
“at least they’re blowing the leaves into the neighbors’ yard.”
and then they were gone, just as they came.

b-more

by Anthony

a lifetime of twelve-month leases,
dreams of grocery shopping in an armored car,
watching schindler’s list
and accident’ly calling him oskar fiddler–
have you seen the new season of the wire?

the snow still falls,
a drunk old girlfriend calls,
comedians are still making yogi bear jokes
and observations–
have you seen the new season of the wire?

fat guy in a little coat,
remember? fat guy in a little coat,
remember.
isn’t there enough pain in the w–
have you seen the new season of the wire?

venue

by Anthony

i’m standing there,
watching my little brothers’ band play
and really getting into it.
i don’t even care what they’re saying.
it’s just nice that they’re young
and think they’re saying something.

ancient

by Anthony

i know now that heaven exists,
but it’s not that wacko place in the clouds
that we’ve already talked about.
heaven is retirement.

it’s paying off your house
and driving around the country
with a woman that you’ve loved
for most of your life.

podia

by Anthony

mike got up to the podium
and said, quite clearly,

“hey, i can see my house from here!”

boxer

by Anthony

he’s in the ring,
yelling “raging bull” references.
then he remembers,
“you never forget the first time.”

suddenly, it hits him,
“my arms are heavy.

why are my arms so heavy?”

it’s okay

by Anthony

he starts his first temp job today,
bringing a book
about aging rock stars
and the great gatsby.

his teeth aren’t
coffee-stained yet,
but, it’s okay,
they will be.

he has a sports team,
but not a sports jacket.
his co-workers talk about it,
but they don’t GET it.

he’s a telemarketer,
but it’s okay.
he’s also an optimist-
one who sees the wave crest
but never trough.
the bus stops there,
so he’s getting off.

he’s balding now–
denied it at first,
but there’s no denying it now.
it was a long time coming

and how!

“you get it from
your mother’s side,” they said,
and his mom was a pinhead,
waiting for the bowling ball she’d wed.

“it’s okay,” he said.
“there’s always been a bright side:
i spent too much time in my youth
brushing it like the tide, anyway,
hours every day,
and i’ll look good with my new do.
women, too, will just have to
love me for my intelligence,

assorted scented candles
and incense!”

it’s okay, though.
no one will ever know
because he’ll always just be
a voice in your head,
dressed as if he just got out of bed.

public transportation

by Anthony

a grown man,
his shirt tied around his neck
like a cape,
rides his skateboard
towards a bus
that will take him

machine

by Anthony

without an answering machine,
a dead man’s phone
could ring forever.

door

by Anthony

i rolled on my side
and opened my eyes
and all i could think was,
you’d make a better door
than a window.

one month

by Anthony

you’re wanting me to write you a song
for our one month anniversary,
if we even celebrate it,
and i’ve figured out why.

it’s so when we’re both eighty,
if we live that long,
we can listen to it,
and you can say,

“wow, you were a stupid kid.
you didn’t know how you felt
about me.”

a waitress/actress at christmas

by Anthony

dana’s been at this restaurant for over three years,
just waiting…

waiting on what, exactly?
well, a lot of things,
but, mostly, she’s just waiting on everyone else
to finally come to their senses
and see how great she is…

but no one notices–
not yet, anyway.

now, these are her intimate relationships
and her best friends:
an hour’s worth of polite gestures
and formalities
and tip calculations
with people she’ll never really know.

she works for tips,
but she’s not a stripper,
and she’s not a whore,
and she will never let money change her.

one of these days,
when it finally happens for her,
she’ll move on to something so much better,
and, if dana learns anything from this experience,
it’ll only be that…

there are a lot more tables for one
than you’d think.

muffin

by Anthony

we called her muffin
because, truthfully,
she was 90% muffin;
that was all she’d eat.

the chaos in calm

by Anthony

over the past eight years, i’ve accumulated
one hundred and fifteen vacation days,
and now i’m using them.
all of them.
god, help me.
but planes are scary. they are huge, and they fly.
this is my first time on an airplane.

someone needs to hold my hand, but who?
there are two empty seats beside me
and a married couple in front of me
and so much behind me.

great, it’s too late to get off;
we’re already moving.
i remember we moved around a lot
when i was a kid.

now we’re making our way down the runway,
and i can see a plane in the distance.
i look into this other plane, as it’s landing,
and i’m pretty sure the pilot’s SMILING.

cover

by Anthony

the sun breaks through,
and out come the jerks in sunglasses.

the rose parade

by Anthony

it’s getting late, so heather,
who’s been my girlfriend for the past two years,
and i decide to head home.
i down my drink and look at how many women are still here,
by themselves.

being in a relationship with heather
is basically like your best friend’s house.
even though you’re there everyday,
it never really feels like home
because every time you come back,
something’s been moved around.

we step outside, and i see one of those vendors,
those guys that stand outside of bars
with those stupid flowers.
because heather insists, i buy her a $12 rose,
but it feels like i’m paying heavily for the convenience.

the first supper

by Anthony

tom had reached that point where
he didn’t really FEEL anymore–
or, rather, that point where
every feeling he felt was just
something he had felt before.
his wife died, he shed a tear,
and asked, “what’s for supper?”

his brother-in-law,
shocked at the very question, told him,
“you can have whatever you want.”

so tom thought about it for a second and
…he had no idea.

mistletoe

by Anthony

we’ve worked together
for ten years,
and every year
at the christmas party,
with drinks in both hands,
we come to
occupy the same space

under the mistletoe.

the sale

by Anthony

a racist man walked into my store today.

of all the things he said,
only one of those things rings true.

you’d have been shocked as i was
if you had heard him observe that,
if he were both deaf and blind,

he’d just hate everybody.

making contact

by Anthony

ronnie has been
in love with jenny miller
since the second grade.

throughout adolescence,
he had bitten his tongue,
suppressed the unsuppressable,
denied the obvious,
gone stag to the prom,
and even lied right to jenny miller’s face about it

until there was
nothing to bite,
nothing to suppress,
nothing to deny,
nothing to go stag to,
and, ultimately, no one to lie to…

that whole bad trip
had left ronnie feeling–
you know that feeling
where you open the dryer,
and it feels like everything’s tumbling?

anyway, it had also
helped him grow up to be the perfect man–
well, the perfect man
for women who read magazines.

now, twenty-five years later,
after a chance meeting,
ronnie is waiting
outside jenny’s apartment,
ready to take her to dinner,
feeling uncomfortable in his
no-contact jacket.

at the restaurant,
he orders lobster tails,
fresh from maine;
for the lady, he orders
a tall drink of water.

they talk for hours
and hours
and hours
and hours…

and finally go back to her place
to talk.

laying on jenny miller’s couch,
ronnie finds out that
it wasn’t the girl
from his childhood
that he had been in love with
but, rather, who he always knew
she would one day become.

the red light

by Anthony

i ran a red light, just barely.
the mail came early:
i got a ticket

and a photo.

you know i kept it
right next to the picture
that’s folded in half.

you thought i knew you…

but no one will ever know you
because you tell the same stories
to everyone you meet.

busybody

by Daniel/Anthony

jack: did you snoop around in my stuff?

frank: well… no, i…

jack: it’s okay, a lot of people do that. i’m a
mysterious guy. people have actually
told me that: “jack, you’re a mysterious
guy. may i look at your things?”

crustaceous

by Anthony

life,
which is a pie,
is both fruitless
and unsavory

(i.e. boston cream pie).

the will reading

by Anthony

the sun is shining brightly in the sky.
it’s too bright, actually,
for anyone to be able to appreciate
the actual distance between it and the earth.

but it’s here
with its glare,
and we’re worse for the wear.

however, it’s the perfect amount of light
for this one room
with one window
where a will reading is taking place
at this virginal hour of the day–
too early for most who attend.

they yawn for he who cannot yawn
and clutch each other tightly.

“what have i won!?” they wonder
aloud and to themselves.

the deceased, a modest billionaire
who married for looks
just as his wife married for money,
is the only person not present.

everyone else is there,
some only attending for he who cannot attend.

without haste, his estate is divided up
among his friends and family,
and for his wife, he leaves only a note…

“only a note!?” she screams.

taciturnity

by Anthony

jane tended to lie
more than a fortune teller,
and this tended to hurt thomas
more than a handjob from an arm wrestling champion.

fate

by Anthony

fate, the clown, is
the world’s most famous juggler,
but it’s not because he’s good…

it’s because of what he juggles…

the one-legged prostitute

by Anthony

i really liked my jokes about
the one-legged prostitute,
but the one-legged prostitute
i told them to…
didn’t.

hieroglyphics

by Anthony

everyday,
through my window at work,
i see her walk by–
her arm outstretched like a swan,
loosely holding her dog’s leash
with the tips of her fingers.

the dog, petric (named after her father, i think),
entertains himself by
trying to get the leash tangled in her legs
and by smelling EVERYTHING.

her haircut costs more than anything i own,
and petric probably has more money than i do,
and i’ve never actually seen the eyes
behind her sunglasses…

and to be honest,
she means about as much to me as hieroglyphics…

but i still need her like i need a vacation.

what the tide doesn’t bring

by Anthony

the lonesome shark
longs to see
a second dorsal fin
cutting through the water,

and it’ll keep searching
because it knows
better than we do
that it’ll die if it stops.

mr. parker’s telephone

by Anthony

harper parker groaned at phone calls
as if he’d never made one.
everyday, on his way to his luxurious corner office,
he would snarl at his secretary, rhonda,

“no phone calls today!”
before slamming the door.

his hatred of the telephone was so immense that,
even when he began choking
on his cobb salad,
he still refused to pick up the phone
to dial “911.”

when they found his body,
alone in an office with a phone
that had never been dialed,
all the employees did their best
to put everything else on hold
for a little while…

and his secretary wore out the phrase,
“i’m sorry,
he’s not in.
may i take a message?”

the funny thing is,
no one outside the office had any idea that

he was gone forever.

the blonde-haired stranger

by Anthony

stranger: this may be an old country song from whereabouts
unknown, but it sure is how i feel whereabouts right now.
damsel: whereabouts are you headed, stranger?
stranger: whereabouts i do not know.
damsel: will you write me when you get there?
stranger: whenabouts i get the chance.

the business world

by Anthony

today was my first day as team leader at byron and byron,
and the first thing i did in the morning was make my lunch:
a bologna, ham, and bleu cheese sandwich.

then i left,
and, because punctuality is more important than quality work,
i made sure to arrive fifteen minutes early.

i put my lunch next to my window,
my window that looks out onto a sea of
…other windows
and wondered who exactly out there was staring back,
and, if we shared a look,
would it be similar to that of two lovers, postcoitus,
just now realizing that
they were the only two people in the world?

then i made photocopies of copies
for four hours
and decided that tomorrow
i would cut white bread from my diet.

later, at lunch,
my boss asked if he could have half my sandwich,
and then he ate the whole thing.

but i guess that’s the business world for you.

the world cup

by Anthony

darlene’s husband is a soccer fan-
the kind of fan who can name other soccer players…

besides pele!

he has never missed a match,
and darlene doesn’t understand how
her husband can love watching a bunch of men,
barely two inches tall,
kicking a stupid ball across a field
more than he loves his wife.

this really irks her until one day
he turns down the tv,
turns to her in his chair
and says,

“honey, i love watching soccer,
but you’ll always be the world cup to me.”

a tiny, little man scores a goal,
and it’s vesuvius.

the dark

by Anthony

hailey had never
been afraid of the dark
on account of
her father not being
afraid of ANYTHING.
this, of course, made her extremely brave
for a girl of her age.

she was the smallest kid in class,
by far,
not to mention the youngest
by a good eight months,
but she was also the only one
who would raise her hand
and give the correct answer.

but after her mother’s passing,
hailey just didn’t really feel
like talking to anybody,
so she,
recalling her interest in bravery,
decided to write her father a note.
all it said was,

“i knew that you were scared,
but you still told me not to be.”

birds

by Anthony

i know you’re blind
and i hate to tell you this again, but
you have no idea
what you’re missing.

tell

by Anthony

kyle got in big trouble
for not bringing anything
to show and tell…

even though, he honestly didn’t understand
why
he couldn’t just tell them about it.

roots

by Anthony

billy and meg became friends
at the age of… uhmmm… sixteen.

what attracted meg to billy wasn’t
his ability to grow a moustache
or his willingness to grow one
but, rather, his decision not to,

and billy was attracted to meg
for the very same reason.

they were inseparable.

but now, at the age of… uhmmm… thirty,
something is happening,
something that would make
even the most open-minded person
feel claustrophobic.

they have become too close,
like vegetables in a garden
planted too closely together
with no room to grow;
their roots entangled,
strangling each other.

so billy has decided to uproot
and move all the way
to the other end of the world,
to more, uhm, fertile soil,

but he will never forget where he’s from.

submarine teacher of the year

by Anthony

an ingenious substitute teacher,
professing science at
20,000 leagues to adorable, eager children…

but, even though they’re learning
about the respiratory system
at this very moment,
not one of the children has bothered
to question how they’ve been able to
breathe underwater for the entire school day…

because some things
just get taken for granted that way.

a jury of your pierre’s

by Anthony

i thought you’d killed your neighbors
when they went out of town.
it turns out i was wrong–
they just went out of town.

you blamed it on the butler,
a nephew of brett butler.
they decide to try him,
and someone ends up cryin’.

oh, baby, you!

by Anthony

ya make me feel like
[taking]
dancing
[lessons at the adult learning center]!

tnt

by Anthony

as a child, mo jangle liked to watch things blow up.
well, he didn’t just like to watch,
he liked… blowing things up.

if the univeristy of delaware
had been more open-minded
and offered more niche courses
(like colleges are supposed to),
he would have majored in it.

he remembers his first explosion
better than his first kiss,
and he has more scars from shrapnel
than from broken hearts.

now he sells explosives to the…
well, it’s a secret.

wink.

but he won’t be doing this for long.
mo’s learning his lesson
and finally getting out of the explosives game
(lock, stock, and barrel)
because, as he gently puts it,

“there’s just not enough tna in tnt.”

stockholm syndrome

by Anthony

forced to watch vh1
with a man with a gun
who knows more about tom petty
(and his political stances)
than he does about me
(and my love of modern dances).

still, i feel the same way about him
as i feel about a raincoat
when it’s pouring.

crossin’ the ol’ road

by Daniel

why did the duck, duck, duck
cross the road?

GOOSE!

skipper’s proposal

by Anthony

“i’m going to marry the sea
and we’ll have children through osmosis–
just like my father
and they’ll have saltwater in their veins–
just like their father
and we’ll get a puppy
and a kitten

and… i don’t know… some fish or something.”

the two-fer

by Anthony

sergeant major chip waddles
was content when he said,
“they may not like me,
but they will respect me,”
until he realized

that he could’ve had both.

mosquito

by Anthony

there was a mosquito in our bathtub,
so, concerned for my safety,
i knocked it in the water.
it wrestled with the waves and the current
until it found its way to the wall of the tub.

through sheer determination,
it had made it out alive,
so i decided to let it go…

because i admired it.

later, i saw it was back in the water,
splashing around, helpless…

and there was nothing i could do.

open heart

by Anthony

as a surgeon, i know there are only two ways
to a woman’s heart:

using an electric saw and sternal retractor
to cut through, open and seperate the sternum

…and flowers.

the circles

by Anthony

it was at this moment that i knew
i had to forget about the rest of you

and just be…

…the circles!
oh my god, the circles!

my dream, in brief(s)

by Anthony

it was one of those dreams where
i’m in a public place,
wearing nothing but my underwear,
and all i remember is thinking:

“hey, you’ve gone this far–
now, let’s lose those undies, tiger!”

alex lubberly

by Anthony

he plays better as a second fiddle,
performs better as a stooge,
rides better as a spare,
and is more reliable as a backup.
just don’t put him first– whatever you do.

whatever you do…

viva one revolucion!

by Anthony

-so… it’ll come around, come around?
-yeah.
-and i’ll be around, be around?
-don’t worry, you’ll be around, be around
when it comes around, comes around.

end of the bode

by Anthony

a homeless man
crying in a dumpster and thinking,
“life is short… but sweet.

i just should have spaced things out better–
that’s where i went wrong.”

novelty

by Anthony

a novelty, a gag gift that lasts two seconds
before it stops being funny.
no one will ever take it seriously,
and the novelty fades all too soon…
so, it will be left alone,
with no one around to entertain.

if you gave me a gag gift, i’d cherish it,
even if it wasn’t that funny.

the calm in chaos

by Anthony

as the pilot realizes a crash is inevitable,
he courageously shrugs and says:

“hey, it’s not my plane.”

the triple-double

by Anthony

the ball was in my court, literally. the arena was full
of fans cheering me on, and i, of course, thrive on this.
i feed off their energy. we become our own tiny
ecosystem. we have a symbiotic relationship. we become one.

i’m like lucille ball.

the rock fell in front of me, and the dribbling commenced.
my heartbeat and the ball were in synch. everything i’d
picked up from my years of practice came flooding back:
play good “d.” keep your hands up. move the ball around.
“this is mr. robinson’s neighborhood.” how to dribble.

we may not have won the game, but i have good news…

i offensive fouled their whole fucking team!

little

by Daniel

when i was little,
my mom used to dress me in women’s clothes.
not because she wanted a girl…

but because we were poor.

driver

by Anthony

i was sitting in the backseat of my car,
waiting for my driver.
then i remembered didn’t have a driver.
or a car.
i was on a train.
and they like to be called “conductors.”

the machine

by Anthony

what the hell?
you promised me quality leads here.
these are shit leads.
these are old leads.
fucking leads, man.
can’t you see what–
don’t you understand–
is this–
you see–
if you’d just–
the fucking leads.
what am i supposed to–
and why?
oh, fuck you.
when i get my hands–
i swear–
what is this?
fuck you.
fucking leads, man.
after all these years–
and i was–
big deal!
better than–
fuck you all!
do you hear–
nope.
these are dead leads.
dead!
you son of a–
look–
look, i’m–
i’m not a–
i’m just not, okay?
now, listen–
i’m certain that if you would–
this one time–
i really–
just give me–
i need a–
okay.
what are we talking about here?
what are we really talking about?
come on–
what’s the problem, pal?
what the fuck are we–
that’s right.
the fucking leads.
can’t we at least agree about it’s the fucking leads?

…

by Anthony

i was going to write the first word that came to my mind
and use it in a joke, but when i attempted that i cheated
and tried to think of a word that would be funny. and
none of the words i came up with were funny anyway.
cauliflower? that’s not funny. dome? i chuckle,
but i don’t laugh.

i started thinking that maybe no words are innately funny.
they just look sad, and i shouldn’t be laughing at them.
it’s like snickering at someone who dresses weird, or
has a crooked nose, or wears footie pajamas.

see, “footie,” not funny. just sad.

right click to save and something funny:

songs

The Lightning Hardly Strikes the Land

sexy whispering=for the ladies. wailing sounds=for me.

The World Keeps Falling Apart

just your average rock song. so, in other words: it rocks!

City Lights

sequel to big city girl.

The Ocean

this song is about my fabled trip to the ocean.

Man of Principle

this is spoken word because i’m resting my voice for the holiday season.

Get Down on the Floor (and Shake that Booty)

are they playing this in clubs yet? the vocals are so hot they peak!

I Got a Microphone in My Hand

this might be so ironic that i’m not even aware of it!

Stirring Up the Dead

this is from that houseghost movie. it was supposed to be like a hip-hop version of mj’s “thriller.”

You’re the Office Clown

this one’s from office clown. the movie may be silent, but the song isn’t.

Big City Girl: A Christmas Song

hmmmm, do you like christmas songs? do you like “november rain” by guns n’ roses? big city girl
is a little bit of everyone; it’s whatever you want it to be, really.

Big City Girl: A Christmas Song (2) (NEW VERSION!!!)

i don’t know if this is a better version or not, but it is a new version that’s for sure.

Jeffrey Jones (remix)

if anything deserved a remix.

Grandma by The Johnson Family Band

these guys actually came in and knocked us out of our chairs, that we brought at home depot.

My White Bitch Thinks She’s Black by The Great Lamont Lucas Kennedy

this guy knows what he’s talkin’ about, I guess.

Freaky People by the Great Lamont Lucas Kennedy

hopefully no one will get this reference.

Al Green

i’m so sorry, mr. green. i’m not too familiar with your work.

God is 6′4″

if I’m not mistaken, that’s a little better than average.

skits

The New Klan

this one’s funny becuase it’s about racists.
this one is not written by your beloved tony and dan, but by greg thompson.

Adopt a Puppy

bring on the puppy jokes!!!

The Oval Office

so you won the election!! now what?

Grandma, Oh, Grandma

so you won the award!! now what?