The Last Supper

The Last Supper

excerpts

Foreword

I would like to thank all the midgets who emerged from their log hollows and collected gumdrops from shallow piles of leaves in order to raise the money that made this re-release possible.

Thanks to their insatiable hunger for woodland foliage this book was printed entirely on predigested tree bark, which when soaked in ginger ale makes the ink raise and turns each word into Braille, transforming this wonderful literary masterpiece into a real treat for the blind.

"Hijacking the Bookmobile"

Mark Twain visited me.

He wants me to hijack the bookmobile.

Einstein visited me.

He asked if he resembled Mark Twain.

Ghandi revisited me.

He said he enjoyed all that grilled cheese

and whiskey we shared.

Hitler visited me.

He said he really cared.

So there we were...

All five of us.

Racing down the highway

while Ghandi read Hansel and Gretel.

Hitler laughed, and begged to hear

the oven part again.

Five pals in a bookmobile with a

swastika on the side

headed for that big grilled cheese in the sky.

"10PM"

I hate that grave!

I hate that fucking stone!

She shouldn't be gone,

and I shouldn't be alone!

The church she dragged me to

with her convincing hand and

smiles

told me she won't go to heaven

because suicide defies their

twisted trials.

Threatening God and all those

holy men,

I hate the thought of living

if I can't hold her again.

It's still with me...

This feeling of inner hatred...

This lingering, silencing dread...

It's 10PM, do you know where

your angel is?

mine is dead.

"Religious Favors"

Scarecrows on stilts

and

Hippos in kilts

feed

raisins to the negroes

in need

and laugh in slow

speed

they poke and point

and prod

at the imprint

in the sod

where the priest

yelled "bend over"

the little boy in the clover

and

gave him a communion

sexual union

which lent new meaning

to the "spirit road"

he blew God's final load.

"God's Living Room"

There's a group of crazy bigger

Christians in the corner

who cry for Christ and sadly mourn...

God's in his recliner

watching kiddy porn.

Not much phases him anymore.

There's a poster of Hitler

that hangs on the closet door.

There's a few tables made

of human bone,

and two giant breastfeeding creatures

carved in milk-white stone.

Quite an artist...this God character.

A ceiling carpet

of angel wings

and

an ash tray full of broken

wedding rings

give the room a gothic touch.

And who said God don't get

out much?

"Student Prayer"

The pregnant nun is rolling joints

with her toes.

But don't look at me...I'm not the one pointing

a flare gun at her belly.

Do you think the angels watch you when you fornicate,

and spread their wings in joy?

Or is there another context of "spread" of which we should employ?

Just because someone drank the feather-footed shot glass

baby doesn't mean we'll have a delayed opening from

school tomorrow. Or will we? Snow?...Maybe?

...Maybe Leper Marathons.

Maybe someday's daughter will find tomorrow's son to have no significance at all.

Remember the pocket watch that the guru gave us?

The one shaped like the color blue?

It's stopped ticking and has begun to speak in tongues.

(If the enemy takes Poland by mid-spring, you can expect the price of nectarines to skyrocket.)

"Eternal Embrace"

Let's whisper past

tomorrow

and

enter the

forest of sorrow.

When the mist

of darkness clears

you'll see her lovely face.

Then

the mirror sky

will shatter to reveal

another place.

Holding tight to broken glass

and bleeding on her reflection

isn't exactly clever.

There's a billion more mirrors,

and

they all go on forever.

"Swastika Blues"

All the niggers have escaped their cages

in the center of Oppression Zoo.

There's a bounty out on blackies,

and a reward for every Jew.

The Nazi Christmas looks dim this year.

No dead Jew skulls to hold their fresh brewed beer;

No chocolate-covered stymies to fill so full of fear;

No filet of flaming faggot

or games of "kill the queer."

The Nazi Christmas elves stare at empty shelves,

wishing they had some spades for shades

or Jews for shoes,

and cry the Swastika Blues.

The only funny part about this poem is the

fact that somewhere...right now, some hardcore

Nazi asshole is actually getting aroused by this.

And I don't hate him for it either.

I think it would be wonderful if all the "ethnic

heritage" pride freaks who were offended by this

poem would all get together in one place and just

kill each other.

The first amendment isn't a powder keg.

It's an eternal fuse.

Fuck the church, Fuck the Hate groups,

Fuck the Pro-Lifers And let women Choose!

"Personals"

Men:

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