Now is not the time for questioning minds.
Now is the time for Bud Light with lime
because thinking is hard and hurts to boot -
that's why you have me; I'm thinking's leisure suit.
Slip me on and see how I fit.
Plenty of room for belly and hip.
Gaudy and garish like the colors of war -
not that I have ever served before.
No, that's a privilege for others to endure.
I was created to talk non-stop.
You were made to listen without thought
so listen as I glorify a past never seen
and scorch anyone who dares disagree
with a wit fueled by methane gas
and a tongue lodged so far up my ass,
it makes me wobble when I walk
and forces me to bend over when I talk
or when I get enemas of warm liquid mint
because my breath makes garbage men squint.
But these burdens must be borne
if I'm to keep my followers uninformed
and hopefully by the end of my show
there won't be anything for them to know.
So turn the radio on and hear my jingle.
May it give your tiny penis a tiny tingle.
We'll put a boot up your ass -
that's the American way.
Apple pie served with a hand grenade.
Luvgood Carp, Editor-in-Chief
Pungent Sound Journal of Pulp Poetry 