"Proof" and "Stapler": This Fuckin' Guy Links to Some Old Fucking Videos For Throwback Thursday.

Proof
I am fucking aware
That at least once, and maybe more than once
I have asked, rhetorically,
"What the fuck do I have to fucking prove?"
But clearly,
I was being fucking disingenuous.

Because when I was watching NY1 this morning
(Yes, I  still fucking subscribe
To Time Warner Motherfucking Cable.
Yes, I'm a fucking sucker. Fuck you.),
And when the fucking story came on
About the motherfuckers citibiking into work this morning
In the goddamn heavy motherfucking rain,
I was like "Fuck you. It's on."

I was already fucking smarting
("Smarting?" What the fuck kind of word is "smarting"?)
From having someone sing "Wuss" to me last night
Because I wouldn't take a bike home
From Carnegie Fucking Hall.

Which, for the fucking record,
Would have been a fucking disaster:
I got soaked just walking three fucking blocks
From the fucking Broadway/Lafayette
F train fucking station,
Even though I fucking had
A huge motherfucking umbrella.

And never fucking mind
That yesterday
I Citifuckingbiked from Broad and Bridge
To motherfucking Broadway and 58th
In under half a fucking hour.
(Nine fucking seconds under, but still. Fuck.)

Now, I fucking admit
That the fucking Broad & Bridge to Broadway & 58th run
I made yesterday
Is not like making the fucking Kessel Run
In under 12 parsecs. (Or maybe it fucking is.
I don't fucking know how long the Kessel Run is,
Or how much a parsec is, or any of that shit.)

But fucking still:
I'm an old motherfucker.
And those motherfucking bikes
Are not easy to fucking pedal,
Okay? Fuck you.

So I rode that motherfucking bike this morning,
Singing loud the whole fucking way,
(A curious fucking mix:
"Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood,"
Then Petty's "You Don't Know How it Feels" (love that fucking video) and
Fucking "You're So Bad,"
And then fucking "Funkytown"),

Acting like I have nothing to prove,
Even though I clearly fucking do.
Although to what, and to who,
I don't fucking know.

Or maybe I should just fucking say it
Before someone else fucking does:
Midlife motherfucking crisis, am I right?
Of course I'm fucking right.
10/16/2014


Stapler
This morning, before I fucking left for work
Somebody I don't even fucking know,
Fucking messaged me,
Asking if I could take
One of those industrial motherfucking staplers
From work for her:
"It would look great in my apartment,"
She fucking said,
Quoting Take Stuff From Work.
(Love that fucking video too:
JFK Fucking Nitzberg; check out his
Excellent, fucked up doc, when you
Get a fucking chance.)

Now I'm as susceptible to flattery
As the next motherfucker --
Maybe more so.
And having my shit
Quoted back to me
By two different people
In two consecutive motherfucking days
Is really fucking nice.

But no, Chloe,
I'm not taking a stapler from work for you:
It's just not the fucking same
If you don't take it yourself
From your own fucking job.

And besides,
These fucking days.
I don't take stuff from work
So much as fucking leave it there:
I've got like 50 fucking books
Two or three hundred fucking CDs,
Some fucking DVDs,
Just a shitload of shit
I don't have any fucking room for at home.

Leave stuff at work, I say:
Why get a storage space?
Why get a bigger fucking apartment?
Why throw shit away?
Leave it at work!

I'm a fucking idiot.
I should shut the fuck up.
I even have a fucking storage space.

The fucking point is,
Thank you for the fucking inspiration, Chloe,
But no motherfucking stapler for you.
10/16/2014