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Showing posts from 2015


Two fucking years ago
A month or two after Citibike fucking started up
I was like, fucking hell, I hardly ever ride the fucking subway anymore
So I stopped getting the monthly fucking unlimited fucking Metrocard
And got a pay per fucking ride
And I hardly ever fucking paid for a fucking subway ride:

For fucking months
I'd get on a fucking bike each morning
And I'd be like, hey I'm fucking saving money
And after a couple of months,
Let me fucking tell you,
I was the fastest motherfucking Citbike riding motherfucker
On the motherfucking bike path
Along the fucking Hudson
Going south in the morning.
Not the fastest fucking bike rider --
There were always some fucking Lycrafucks
Who would pass my ass (see "Bike"; the second to last
Motherfucking poem I wrote on August 30th of last fucking year;
Or hear "Bike," here; I think it's the second fucking track).
But never fucking ever did a motherfucker on another Citibike
Ever fucking pass me.

But s…

"118" and "Book": This Fuckin' Guy has been at it for a year!

A year ago today,
This Fucking Guy
Wrote his first fucking poem
Called "Dragonfly"

Fucking "Dachshund" and Fucking "Daisy"
Were written that day too

I just fucking counted
How many there have been
117 motherfuckers
A motherfucking sin

A few are pretty fucking good
And a few are fucking not
But regardless, 117's
A motherfucking lot

I posted one motherfucker twice
Because it was rewritten
But it only counts as one
Otherwise, that would be bullshitting

And there's a fucking poem called "Cake"
Inside another poem
I figured, fuck it, that one counts
Leave me the fuck alone

Anyway, it's been a year a this shit
Happy fucking birthday
To motherfucking me

I've been thinking,
Fuck me, there are a fuckload
Of This Fuckin' Guy poems.
Shouldn't there be a fucking book?

"Owls" has already been fucking published,
And a few more are suppo…

"Explanation" and "Picture": This Fuckin' Guy Follows up on Yesterday's Poem.

I'm not fucking sure
If I explained
How my toe got so fucked up.

You see, when you go on a fucking long ass motherfucking hike,
Particularly when you're hiking downhill,
It's very fucking easy
To stub your fucking toes
On motherfucking rocks.
And I did this repeatedly.

And if you haven't cut your fucking toenails recently,
The motherfucking toenail
Will jam down into your toe
When you stub that shit on a rock.
And the longer the fucking toenail
The more that shit hurts.
And that toenail,
On the right big toe,
That shit was long.
This Fuckin' Guy
Forgets to clip his motherfucking toenails

So, my solution
(Rather than just fucking remembering
To clip those motherfuckers
On a regular fucking basis)
Is, the next time I plan to go
On a motherfucking hike,
I'll put a note in my fucking calendar
Two days before the hike
That says "Clip your fucking toenails."

Oh, and I already fucking said
I'm not taking a picture

"Toe": This Fuckin' Guy Contemplates an Appendage.

Damn my toe got fucked up from that hike last weekend.
That shit is black and fucking disgusting.
I'm not one to wear sandals, normally, but I was just out walking with some mothefucking sandals on, and motherfuck me, that toe looks like shit.
I only first noticed it a couple of days ago.
I don't look at my feet a lot.
I'm not into feet, like I heard Quentin Tarrantino is really fucking into feet,
But I'm not, and even if I fucking was,
I wouldn't be into my feet
And even if I was into my own fucking feet,
I would be like, yo, motherfucking foot over there, I'll see you in a couple of fucking weeks, because that motherfucking toe over there is fucked up.
I could take a photograph of it, and maybe I will, but I don't know if I would want anyone to see that shit. It's fucked.
I'm not trying to be coy.
I'm not trying to play it like, oh, if you talk me into it, I will show you my fucked up fucking toe. Because I won't.
This motherfucking fu…

"Hike": This Fuckin' Guy Spends a Weekend Hiking.

Hike Prologue: First, to expose a fucking artifice for what it fucking is: This is not an actual fucking diary
I wrote all of this on the same fucking day (July 27).
So, even though I fucking wrote it to make it look like a diary
I am not fucking interested in convincing you That this is a fucking diary. Rather, I want to make it crystal fucking clear
That this is not, in fucking fact, an actual fucking diary,
So as not to be fucking misleading.
So let's get fucking started. Thursday, July 24, 5:30 PM:
I'm in the fucking hardware store
Having a fucking set of keys made,
And the music that is playing
Is "Dueling Fucking Banjo's" -- The fucking theme song from fucking Deliverance. The motherfucker making the fucking keys Is talking to me about
How the banjos are driving him fucking crazy and he can't fucking think,
But I'm thinking about how in two days,
I'm supposed to go on a fucking hike
On the Appalachian Fucking Trail
And I don't want what happened to Ned Fuck…

"Gym": This Fuckin' Guy Posts Twice in One Day.

At the fucking gym
(Yes, I fucking know.
I don't seem like the type to go to fucking gym. I know I certainly don't fucking look like I go to the fucking gym),
At the motherfucking climbing gym,
(I know, I fucking know),
The guy I was climbing with,
Asked me about the fucking show
At Shea Fucking Stadium,
Which is a nightclub in fucking Bushwick.
Where I'll be doing
Some fucking poems
With King Fucking Missile,
On June 27th,
And Schwervon is fucking playing too.

So he says,
"I've been climbing with a motherfucking rock star,"
And I say,
"I prefer the term 'has-been.'"

And then I said,
"Better a has-been than a never was, I guess,"
In an effort to make myself feel a little fucking better.

An effort which fucking failed,
Because I don't even fucking know
If I'm a fucking has-been
Or a motherfucking never was.

Oh, fuck me.
I'm just in a motherfucking mood today.
It will fucking pass,
Just like every other fucking thing…

"IRT" and "NBC": This Fuckin' Guy Hears Some Mariachi Music and Sees a Fucking Clown--Or Does He?

On the IRT express going downtown this morning,
A motherfucking Mariachi trio sang Besame Mucho And I noticed that I wasn't fucking pissed off at all.
They were right fucking next to me
And really fucking loud
But they sounded great. Or maybe I was just in a good fucking mood.
Anyway, I gave them a fucking dollar, because,
Why the fuck not? Then, when I changed for the local at Chambers,
There's this fucking clown, An actual clown,
With a fucking red clown nose, and a big fucking bag full of clown shit. So, I was like, fuck me, I've got write this shit down right now.
And I pulled out my motherfucking phone
And wrote it down before we got to South Ferry.
Fuck yes.
Then, on the way to the fucking office,
I pass the fucking Walgreens,
And there's a poster for "Red Nose Day,"
Some fucking thing that NBC is sponsoring,
And I look at the date and it's fucking today.
So I'm like,
Maybe that fucking clown on the 1 train n
Wasn't a fucking clown at all.

"Rude" and "Class": This Fuckin' Guy Disses Some People and Gets Schooled

It's really fucking rude of me
To be sitting here, watching Fin Divilly
And writing this fucking poem
Instead of giving him my undivided attention.
I mean, I'm giving him some attention,
But it's fucking divided:
My time is divided between the lovely fucking performance Fin is giving right now,
And this stupid fucking poem I'm writing.
I mean, Fin came all the fuck from Ireland,
And he's singing some really lovely motherfucking songs,
And I'm writing this shit.
And that's really motherfucking rude.
But what's even fucking ruder
Is that after Fin finishes his performance,
I'm going to go on next,
And read this poem,
And maybe one more,
And then I'm going to have to leave,
And probably not watch any of the other performers.
I mean, that's really fucking rude.
I'm really fucking sorry.
It's just I've got this class in less than an hour,
And I've got to get over there.
I'm really fucking sorry,
I really shouldn't be a part of this ope…

"Back?," "Beck?," "Winter," "Spring," "Snow," "Penske," "Pepsi," "Why?," and "Thanks": This Fuckin' Guy Wonders if he's Back, Writes a Bunch of Poems, Gives Thanks, and Still Wonders.

It's been almost five fucking months, and a shitload of shit has happened,
But I  haven't fucking felt like fucking writing.

That's not exactly fucking true--now and then,
I've fucking felt like it.
But I fucking didn't.

Like, when Winter went on and on and on and fucking on,
I thought I'd write a poem about that,
But then I fucking didn't.
I just fucking didn't.

And when Spring finally fucking came,
I wanted to write some shit about that as well:

I had a couple of fucking epiphanies
While looking at some motherfucking trees,

And I thought to myself,
I'm a motherfucking nature poet,
It would be the most natural fucking thing in the world
For me to write about this shit.

But I fucking didn't.
I kept fucking telling myself,
Maybe I will,
But I fucking didn't.

This morning, I was going to get on a motherfucking Citibike,
And ride into work like I fucking used to do,
But I saw some motherfucker
Taking the last fucking bike,
And I thought,