EXPLODING STARS

when the rich and famous
let their hands grow traitorous
they begin to shine like beacons
spewing blackness into the light of day


Hemingway sat in bars
picked fights to feel something real and pure again
through the fog of his drunken mania

Hunter wandered around in the snow
in his bathrobe
firing his shotgun off
into the snowy hills over Denver

maybe they expected everyone
to learn the lessons of their novels
and act accordingly?
come around
wake up
become
all those writer's dreamt of humans ?


Suppose they felt like nothing much matters in the end?

Though the ones left crying at their funerals
stranded here to do the hard work of living
would surely disagree


I wonder if they would like being literary examples
of expecting too much from this silly life?



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FRANKIE LYNN, FALLEN CHILD STAR...

Franky Lynn, Childstar turned porn star turned clerk at an adult bookstore... looked up from his seat on the floor, at the glass counter where some customer was standing and waiting to have his dollars changed into 'tokens', and told himself that he could do this... that it was role like any role and he could do it.

Still, he opened another whippet, put it in his lips and ripped off the top -- the resulting blast freezes his lip to the whippet, something his raging, roaring, hallucinating head does not notice as he stands up and tries to smile for the customer. "Memo, can I slep do wid somptin."

He isn't sure why his words are so screwed up until he starts to feel his lip rip, which sends his buzz running off for higher ground. He jerks the whippet off and see's a thin line of blood spread glistening and black across the glass counter, over the display of dildos and whips and various anal related products of dubious quality.

"I think you are bleeding, dude."
"Tokens?"
"Uh, yes. One dollar please."
"Five dollar limit."
"The other guy never charges me. My mouth is why half these guys come in here."
"Man, your mouth is your own business."
"Doesn't have to be."

He sits back down on the floor and takes down another whippet, watches the ceiling begin to breath for a moment, before he crashes hard and cold and naked back on a planet now filling up with a line of somewhat nervous looking men.

"What is he doing down there?"
"He's licking his balls, like a dog."
"Oh, I have to see that."

He stands up just as a middle aged man with silver glasses, a bald head, and a stringy grey beard traveling across his face where once there was a chin, leans over the counter. His head painful whaps into teeth.
"Oh, god damn it!!! Now, I'm bleeding in my mouth."

One hand pressed to the top of his head, he looks down at the line of men and says, "Who the fuck wants some tokens?"

"Uh, that is why we're been lined up here for the last five minutes, whippet boy."

THe small group of men are staring at the gay mans blood, which is pouring from his mouth and pooling on the gleaming grey linoleum floor. They collective take a step back, then one steps over to the door and pushes it open and leaves, letting the morning sun flow across the small storeroom filled with cheap plastic devices and wall to wall magazines with shiny, airbrushed cheeks on both faces and asses.

He has a coin changer that he hits once for each dollar they hand him. As he takes care of the men and watches them disappear into the pathetic orgy in the back room, he is just grateful that no one recognizes him. He understood why gary coleman punched that women who slammed him for being a security guard so damn well that he often fantasized about hunting her down and killer her, then sending her head to gary... that would violate a restraining order, he reminded himself (he lost what the judge called his 'privelege" to call gary his freind after he took him hostage, with a toy gun, and tried to force him to do a video come back movie that Frankie had tried to do in his twenties, just before finding that unless he stared in porn, he was going to be homeless -- or at least credit cardless, which he once thought was the same thing.


He was pretty sure he was going to be okay in his sleepy little nothing job... and most importantly, he told himself, he was technically still in the business. He could already hear how he would describe the job in bars, "I'm in the marketing end of movies now."


His golden moment ends as peels of laughter come from the back and a lone, feminine voice yells out, "Ohhh, I couldn't believe it was him either," which is followed by a chorus of voices agreeing...

Before he can stop himself, he yells back at them, "Who fucked Drew Barrymore in the ass when he was seven, huh? Who?"

He seems to have stunned them all into silence, and looking at himself in the mirror, he flashes what is left of his trademark smile... which fades as someone who everyone back there just finds hilarious yells out, "Oh, everyone has fucked her in the ass-- even me. I thought she was a little boy. That's what she told me. She'll say anything to get some dick up her ass. You gotta respect that."

And with that, he decided to do the last sleaziest thing he could, the one bottom he always swore he would shoot himself before he experienced . . . Feeling like he was now going to hate himself at some new, herefore undreamed of levelt, he opens his wallet, pulls out the only business card there, and stares at the number as he dials.
When he hears the famalier salesman's chipper closing voice answer, Franklin talks in a dead to the world monotone:
"Yes, uh, Tom, listen... I'm ready to become a Scientologist."



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THE RETURN OF GILFORD TUTTLE, WHITE MALE CHRISTIAN SUPREMIST!!!

GILFORD TUTTLE, WHITE AMERICAN CHRISTIAN HERE. I have allowed myself to once more soil my soul by coming into this cesspool of filthy words to deliver god's message to you whores and addicts and things I just don't even want to know about...

I AM HERE WITH REVELATIONS MIGHTY AND AWE PROVOKING...

Blonde Buff Jesus will reappear soon!!!! Very, very soon... His mighty self will appear out in the center of lake Michigan. Proudly he will stand there, with mountenous balls just above the water line. At first, citizens of Chicago will only see the mountainous hair dappled testes of our savior!!! Lord be praised!!! It is written that
many will try to repent at that almighty sight, oh yes... the vile readers of blogs like this will be hurting that day... but it will be too late. Yes, you sinners, get ready to be deep fried in a vat of peanut oil (I had a revelation about the type of oil used just the other day -- lord be praised!!).


Now, when those balls appear on the shores of the Mich., those who do not have the Tuttle Family Church Blessing String And Fashion Accessory tied around their pinky toes will go to hell. It is written that the Blonde Buff One will inspect each and every foot, tearing apart any who do not have an actual Tuttle Family Church Blessing String And Fashion Accessory, and not just any peice of string, on their toes...


I am selling these pinky toe strings for the low price of $12, 980.00 or a used car that runs really, really well... or, well... whatever you can afford would probably help with the Tuttle Family Cable Bill Relief Fund, which we need to have by the 23rd of they will shut us off again (they go to hell for this, oh yea they do... I have had many revelations about the tortures they go through while waiting for the cable to come back on -- a Jobian test, for sure.

Of course, to get the Tuttle Family Church Blessing String And Fashion Accessory, you must be baptised in the Church of Tuttle (an off shoot of the Seventh Day Invented Church, that takes into account that only children spawned by me and my seed will be taken to heaven, since all others are pretty much whores and Bablyon lovers and such; including our ex minister, who it was revealed to me in prayer is a satan worshiper who sacrifices children and fornicates with his pigs; and God's word is evidence enough for me, okay, even if the others in our church will not listen).

Where are you going to spend eternity? Getting ass fucked with Satan's dry, red hot poker, or bending down for the Lords' lubricated member? I can't decide for you, or you'd be bent over in prayer already... but I can tell you that around the Tuttle house, for one, we are saying our prayers for KY jelly every 56 minutes, as is required by the King Tuttle Bible.

So if you are a white, conventionally living, conservative person with more stubborness than educating, you will feel right at home at the Church of Tuttle. As far as the rest of you mud men and such go, you are damned to hell and there isn't anything I can do to make you be born white, christian and hetero -- so don't come whining to me about going to hells fires.'

My anglo saxon brothers, come to our church and donate heartily. We have a goal, which prayer assures me we will reach, of moving up out of the tool shed in the backyard and getting ourselves the largest cathedral in the blessed states of america. Lord Buff Jesus With Mountainous Balls, be praised!!

You can be a part of this dream, too. Go ahead and ask god, "God, do you want me to do a great work for you, or just continue on my way to hell?'

If you don't want to go to those fiery pits, than I guess you better send all of your worldly possessions to The Tuttle Electric Bill Relief Fund. Just make the checks payable to Gilford Tuttle, White Man of God Who Burps (yes, this is my legal name -- and no, I did not change it, my parents were just exceptionally clear headed people, okay... and as far the 'burp' part of my name -- dad believed that the Everywhere Blonde Buff Jesus only heard prayers that were burped, which was true at the time, but has since changed due to further revelations to include humming and thumb twiddling . . . only the Jesusmeister can do all three at once, by the way, without dying... well he might die and get resurrected so quick that you wouldn't notice -- there is no way to tell, is there? This is the first thing I am going to ask god about ... well, I guess it's the only unanwered question in m whole univers? Wow.. I am almost too close to being perfect).

Once more, I just wish I could be you, out there reading my luscious, perfect words for the first time and being struck by blonde buff jesus on the arm in a friendly, manly manner. My only regret with being so near to god, and thus godlike, is that I can't gaze upon myself in sheer wonder like I'm sure you can't help but do after reading these words... in fact, I am adding this email to the bible. Yes, it is sacred now.

Go and sin no more, you damn whores.

GILFORD TUTTLE, WHTE CHRISTAIN SUPREMICIST AND PROUD BURPER


THOU SHALT NOT STEAL THE WRITINGS OF JOHN SCOTT RIDGWAY... YOU CAN EASILY GET PERMISSION FOR A NON COMMERCIAL REPRINT BY CONTACTING MY EMAIL.

LOVE THEY NEIGHBORS AS YOUR LOVE THYSELF???

I think I may be required to give hand jobs to thousands of chicks... I mean, does this mean that I am biblically commanded to rub the quims of hotties who live next door to me? Does this mean that god himself has decreed that I am to LOVE MY NEIGHBORS AS I LOVE MYSELF??? And if so, is it just like a couple blocks, or is it the whole city?

By god if that is what it takes to save my soul then....
LOVE THEY NEIGHBOR AS YOU LOVE THYSELF!!!!

Now, since I am something of a chronic masterbater, this is going to involve a hell of a lot of dildo's and lubricants and German Sheperds trained in oral pleasuring by the ancient, chinese method that this guy Floyd who lives in a trailer at the dog track came up with. Floyd always has wine and will share it with anybody who can take his constant talk about all 'the bitches' he was 'boning' (he makes it out like he means women, but we all know he is talking about the dogs, who he buys little dresses and wigs and even make up).

Okay, I think I just had a vision from God... Yes, I did... I am commanded to love my neighbors as I do myself, and this indeed does mean that I am going to be neck deep in sweet, young things who taste like Cherry Sweet Tarts. If I am going to do this, then I have to pleasure them as many times as I have myself, so I really have a hell of a lot of catching up to do.... This could take a lot of vacuum cleaners too, not too powerful though... I won't lose any clit.'s on my watch... oh, hell no... not on my watch.

I always wondered what christians did without smokes and drinks and weed and killing whores and setting fires and fun shit? Now I know -- they are loving each other.... This explains those silly empty smiles too. And of course, now I see why now they defend their religion despite all evidence to the contrary -- they will do anything to keep the babes believing in this whole 'love they neighbor as theyself thing...' I sure as hell wish someone had told me this years ago.


This is exactly what I needed to know to renew my faith in jesus and the super freinds. Hail Mary's Hymen and heil Jesus and fly, Super man, fly like the Easter Weasel...


THOU SHALT NOT STEAL THE WRITINGS OF JOHN SCOTT RIDGWAY... YOU CAN EASILY GET PERMISSION FOR A NON COMMERCIAL REPRINT BY CONTACTING MY EMAIL.