J.G. Ballard and Jean Baudrillard to the Future

By Sinclair Arnold 


J.G. Ballard was given a Kindle Fire but Jean Baudrillard was given an iPad.

J.G. Ballard smashes his Kindle Fire over Jean Baudrillard’s head. Baudrillard says, “What the fuck, Ballard? I liked Crash, bastard. I said I liked Crash, dammit.”

Jean Baudrillard clanked his iPad across J.G. Ballard’s face. Clanked it real hard and loud. “Ouch!” J.G. Ballard shouted. He said this with a pained expression. He said this like he now wanted to be dead, because the pain was for an instant too much.

“Whatcha do that for?” said J.G. Ballard.

“Seriously?” said Jean Baudrillard.

“No, no, definitely of course not,” said J.G. Ballard, smashing his Kindle Fire into Jean Baudrillard’s face and definitely breaking a nose, a single nose, Jean Baudrillard’s nose.

Baudrillard squealed and then kicked J.G. Ballard in the kneecap. Something broke. J.G. Ballard was hobbled and fell to the pavement.

J.G. Ballard crawled into the street. “Help, help, help! I’m being robbed by Jean Baudrillard. I’ve foiled his attempted robbery and now he wants to kill me.” he cried. Jean Baudrillard hobbled after him.

Jean Baudrillard bashed in J.G. Ballard’s brains with his iPad, in the middle of the street.

An iMac semi-truck drove over Jean Baudrillard, there, while he was panting and catching his breath.

Both the iPad and the Kindle Fire were fine, though. J.G. Ballard was sent an email from Steve Job’s ghost warning him of Jean Baudrillard’s treachery.

It was right there on the screen.

Somebody stole the Kindle Fire and somebody else stole the iPad, because they worked fine overall and were just a little blood spattered.

Sinclair Arnold wishes he were wrong but he never is, has never been. He has been previously published by Happy Dog Mom Lit Journal and currently no other publications.

We Won!

Yes, that's right, we won a beachy from Beach Sloth.

"Best Online Squatter"

Happy Dog Mom Litjournal

We don't know what the means exactly, but we'll take any awards we can fucking get. God knows that the Alt Lit Gossip poopwards ignored us.

We'd like to thank Beach Sloth, Steve Roggenbuck, Stephen Tully Dierks, your mother, Dogwalk Happen, Robyn, Bruce Springsteen, child-safe scissors, Terd Macchio's mutant belly button, Jesus Christ, Drew Carey, Carrie Underwood, Stephen King's Carrie, Carrie Bradshaw, The Beatles' "Carry That Weight," your level 5 Fighter's carrying capacity, and everyone else who we forgot.

People who can suck it: alt lit gossip, HTMLGiant, Ken Baumann, mom, dad, and everyone else who said we couldn't do it!

BUT WE FUCKING DID IT.

Best Social Networking Web Platform 2011

presented by Ross McMillan

Contest Winners!

Here it is, finally, at long last! Something that's totally better than the Alt Lit Gossip Awards. Terd Macchio introducing the winners of our "Handjobs Are Bleak Unless You Have Some Lube, Then They Can Be Pretty Decent, It Mainly Comes Down to Technique, I Guess" contest!



Take THAT Steve Roggenbuck.

MOMMIES pt. 2

When awarded with the Best Conceptual Poetry prize, this is the response we received from Fritzlos:

THE OFFICIAL MOMMIES WINNERS

Hi everybody, we are announcing the official winner of the hot dog mom lit awards. The Mommies.  We spent a long time deciding on these and put a lot of thought into them and then we got drunk and forgot what the real results were going to be. HERE WE GO.

Handjobs Are Bleak Unless You Have Some Lube, Then They Can Be Pretty Decent, It Mainly Comes Down to Technique, I Guess

by King Crab

it is so hard
to get a
handjob
in this economy
it is so hard

Here is another poem for you:
"i saw Usher today"

i could not believe it
Usher was on my front lawn
and he was grabbing his junk
like he meant it.

there was a boombox, then
Usher looked me in the eye
i wore a denim jacket
and he wore a denim jacket and it was 2005
dancing in my yard



King Crab lives in the sea with his Queen Crab Wife and crab kids.

Handjobs Are Bleak Unless You Have Some Lube, Then They Can Be Pretty Decent, It Mainly Comes Down to Technique, I Guess

by Michael Ledger

Two fresh free riders feel for the tingle
Torturing the tender loins untouched
Reaching for edible lubrication to relieve
The frustrated eruption before Christmas Eve

Wait, winkle warns, the singlet must be worn
With that she adorns the championship sheath
Jerking him in the snap of a Slim Jim
And in him churns the butter for her snapper

But before the reward, mother jerks open the door
Everyone takes the solution that dilates their eyes
Mother walks to the window, as girl-grip hides
And now the strong grapple can be applied

Handjobs Are Bleak Unless You Have Some Lube, Then They Can Be Pretty Decent, It Mainly Comes Down to Technique, I Guess

by Van Dill

Call:

Ooh baby I love your way everyday
I love the way you drop that yay on my way-way
That red red wine on my vine
That cold soda pop on my old chode rock.

& Response:

Hell no! We won't go!
We won't let our booties roll!

We won't let our dirty, purple buttholes roll!

Nah Nah! We won't gnaw!
We won't gnaw that totem pahwl!

We won't spit on, tongue, or slurp that knob!

But if you're nice! If it's ripe!
We will tug the boat all night!

Dock that dick and rope that slick alright!



Van Dill is looking to adopt.

Handjobs Are Bleak Unless You Have Some Lube, Then They Can Be Pretty Decent, It Mainly Comes Down to Technique, I Guess

by Fanny Leech

i’ve never had a problem
with friction and handjobs.
this is probably due to the fact
that my palms get sweaty
when i’m excited or nervous.
i can’t think of a time
when i haven’t been
at least one of those things
while giving a handjob.

sweat is a natural lubricant.

anyway, i’ve never heard a complaint
from anyone on the receiving end.
to be honest, holding hands
poses a bigger challenge
for people like me,
particularly if the other participant
is also prone to hand sweat.

in grade school, i learned boys
don’t like holding hands with
a girl with sweaty palms,
especially during mass.
the lead up to the ‘our father’
was the worst.

eventually,
i learned to cover my hands
with my sleeves
to create a barrier
between our skins.

i’ve imagined giving
handjobs to some of those boys now.
i cover my hands with wool
or scratchy sweaters
and rub and rub.



Fanny Leech would like nothing more than to be sucked dry.

Handjobs Are Bleak Unless You Have Some Lube, Then They Can Be Pretty Decent, It Mainly Comes Down to Technique, I Guess

by Otis T. Thursday

I got a handjob during Men in Black II

Pretty sure

In the theatre

Can i get pregnant

I guess what I'm saying is

I want a handjob from a cellist

I've got great handjob hands

Jesse, you love me

Now you'd be lucky

To get a handjob in the car




Otis T. Thursday is a writer from somewhere in Canada. He wants to be relevant. You can see more of his work at http://www.daveisok.tumblr.com

Handjobs Are Bleak Unless You Have Some Lube, Then They Can Be Pretty Decent, It Mainly Comes Down to Technique, I Guess

by J.D.A. Winslow

I am very hungover
you less so.

Everything is bleak
I will never have sex again.

I am tempted to ask for a handjob
I can't remember your name
I can't remember how I got here

I vomit

I vomit a thick yellow bile
I rest my chin on the cold ceramic bowl
I breath in the smell of your faeces, your urea and my sick

I can't remember your name
so I make vague, guttural noises at you
in between throwing up.

You are here too,
your chin on the other side of the toilet bowl
I move my chin to a cold patch

I wonder if the smell is more or less pleasant for you
my teeth feel as if they are going soft

you kiss me
viciously
and my teeth bend
and distort.

Your hands grasp my body,
that sort of gives way too,
my flesh is of a dough like consistency.

You suggest
I try getting in the oven
to solve it

you turn the gas on
I get in

You wave goodbye
I am gone.



J.D.A. Winslow can be Googled

The First Annual Hot Dog Mom Lit Awards

On December 27th on this very blog we will be announcing the winners of the First Annual Horny Dog Mom Lit Awards, aka The Mommies. All Mommy award winners will receive an uncomfortably revealing picture of our Editor-in-Chief. I'm not talking face shot.

The categories are as follows:

1. The Winner of that contest thing we posted before
2. Best Poet of 2011
3. Best Fiction Writer of 2011
4. Best Dogwalk Happen poem of 2011
5. Best Blogspot-based Online Lit Journal of 2011
6. Best Stephen Tully Dierks of 2011
7. Some other shit we made up

Oh and also peterbd doesn't edit our journal, that was us lying.

Is Frank Hinton Marie Calloway? Yes. (The answer is probably yes.)

We don't always jump to impulsive conclusions here at hdmlj, but today we will. We have enough evidence to reveal that Frank Hinton is (probably) Marie Calloway. Who are either of these people? Hard to say. Both are most likely pseudonyms, so we might never know the realnyms. Regardless, we do know that Calloway is slightly more visible than Hinton. We've seen a picture of Calloway HERE (in a recent New York Observer article). We presume that's her. And that's also Frank Hinton, if we're to be believed.

But that's not all.

More damning? In that very same article, in the second paragraph no less, the word "frank" is used. I don't think I have to explain its possible dual meaning, but I will anyway. It both denotes straightforward speech and connotes Frank of the moniker Frank Hinton.

We also believe there could be sources that would confirm what we suspect if we went and found them, and now we will find them -- for the purpose of confirming.

Not to mention the "Adrien Brody" connection, also revealed by the Observer article. Maybe it's not the real Adrien Brody but it is someone referred to as Adrien Brody, which suggests Frank Hinton is romantically linked to Adrien Brody -- something we've always suspected.

Twitter by Dogwalk Happen

I just found out about twitter.
Seriously?
This is what we're doing now?
Fuck me.

Dogwalk Happen doesn't even care about bios. Everybody does know about twitter, right? Or is twitter old already? You can find a list of his publications at AOL Keyword: EatMyAss

Living in Sunnydale

by Gal Pacino

its hot, dark
i lie on a bare mattress that lies on the floor that lies in an empty room
i am bare
the room is barren, like me, hospitable only to death
the death of us
the death of the little life inside me
are they the same?
that little life that once was ours
this little life used to be yours.

i haven't been able to clean the home that used to be yours, clean myself,
i used to be yours.
the blades of the ceiling fan cut through the air like freddie preying on a fresh, dreaming victim
my solitary confinement in this enormous empty black hole cuts through me like freddie,
punctures long, yet light, like little miss pink
my skin no longer skin, but scales of searsucker
permanent, unfading slits and lumps, congregating in groups up and down my landscape
represented by deep patches of maroon on the aerial map of my rolling hills
those hills used to be yours
i used to be yours
the searsucker has taken your place on my skin,
giving way to this wrinkled, forgotten scrap on a sweatshop floor.

Red rover, red rover, please send Death right over...

...to ravish my virginal flesh!
Tis pity, my dearie, to leave Death so wearied,
a-gamboling over the grass!

Oh Death, my dark darling,
please spout forth a startling
torrent of blood with your scythe!

And cut my dark middle
that cries for a diddle
I beseech thee don't be such a cad!

A-mowing, a-mowing, my heart
Death's a-mowing
Thou art such a miserly wretch!

Who prefereth the whores
and the dark, sultry Moors
with no horse sense to murder my ass!



Penelope Peacup can often be found in the cobwebbed attic of her family's homeplace, a rambling Victorian manse at the top of the hill in her hometown, spilling her heart's vital essence onto the pages of her diary.

THE DEAD BLOOD

“Ouch!” Samantha screamed, “That hurt!”
“Not as much as it’s going to hurt when I…” Charlie looked off in the
distance. What was that sound?
“What was that sound?” she said.
“I don’t know. “ Charlie cocked his shotgun, “But whatever it is, it
sounds like trouble.”
“So much has happened so fast,” Samantha gasped,”J-j-just like our
relationship!”
“I don’t have time for this,” Charlie muttered, “and neither does my rifle.”
“W-what about that sound?” she said. “Aren’t you going to investigate?”
“I told you I don’t have TIME!” he roared, shoving her down to the
dirty forest floor. “Let’s get this over with. And by this, I mean
YOU.” With that Charlie put the barrel of the shotgun to Samantha’s
face and squeezed the trigger. The sound echoed through the trees as
her grey matter splattered on the ground, leaving a shape much like
the many Rorschach tests he'd been subjected to in couples' therapy.
“Hmm…” Charlie chuckled to himself, “Looks like my girlfriend.”


Brutus Molotov is a child psychiatrist specializing in eating
disorders, high-functioning autistics, and the paranormal. He lives
with his wife, Olga, in Surok, a small Russian settlement.

Handjobs Are Bleak Unless You Have Some Lube, Then They Can Be Pretty Decent, It Mainly Comes Down to Technique, I Guess

by Maeve Deswaynyo


6am
standingatthebusstop
the sun on the horizon line
thebuildingscastshadows
that loom toward me.

coolsummermorning
I lean against the brick wall
ofanoldapartmentbuilding
waiting for the bus
andlisteningtotheworld

"OH YEAH MAN"
wordsIcanhear
through the wall
Ilistencloser

"OH YEAH MAN, I WANT TO START A BAND WITH YOU"
it's a man yelling over
thesoundofahairdryer

Handjobs Are Bleak Unless You Have Some Lube, Then They Can Be Pretty Decent, It Mainly Comes Down to Technique, I Guess

by Captain J. Moses

• let me turn off my phone for this HJ babe
• i guess what i’m saying is “i need a HJ, babe.”

• yeah babe
• i guess keep a circuitous motion babe
• put your hand in my hair babe
• make it personal babe

• that's nice babe
• do you mind if i check my 'sites while you HJ me babe?
• oh, i won’t then, babe, i respect you
• i’m just waiting for an important e-mail, babe, sorry

• and i'll stop calling it a "HJ" babe
• yeah babe, i think the problem is friction
• haha, yeah, the problem and the solution babe

• oh babe you're sexy 

• no babe, i luv u
• this is about luv babe
• babe, for real
• look babe, i drank some spiced rum or something
• no, i find you attractive, babe, it’s a whiskey/rum based flaccid 

• no babe, i just said "you're sexy"

• babe, look, stop
• look babe, there’s easier ways to go about this
• give it a taste babe

• or better yet, a tip taste of the ol' twat water

• no babe, i don't think i'm funny

• i'm sorry babe

• i know babe, i'm an idiot, i am
• and i know it’s a mess, babe, at this part of the month, babe

• yeah babe, it's nature

• i know babe

• look, i know babe

• it happens babe

• okay babe, look
• i guess what i’m saying is “i don’t mind”
• babe

•

•

•

• yeah babe, it's cool

Captain J. Moses does songs and poems!

Handjobs Are Bleak Unless You Have Some Lube, Then They Can Be Pretty Decent, It Mainly Comes Down to Technique, I Guess

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Handjobs Are Bleak Unless You Have Some Lube, Then They Can Be Pretty Decent, It Mainly Comes Down to Technique, I Guess

by Thomas Boettner

Handjobs Are Bleak
Unless You Have Some Lube,
Then They Can Be Pretty Decent,
It Mainly Comes Down
to Technique,
I Guess.



Thomas Boettner doesn’t like it when you change his last name to Buttner…

Top Keywords That Lead Here:

We've extended the contest:

But why?

1. We're lazy.

2. There are three very good ones, but we don't like the writers. Personally that is. We're hoping people we like more will send us better pieces so we don't have to pick these dipshits.

3. We haven't posted all of the ones we've gotten. We'd like to post them all, then end it.

So get your pieces in!

<3

The Editors

Screenshot of a screenshot

Still waiting, Stephen.

Handjobs Are Bleak Unless You Have Some Lube, Then They Can Be Pretty Decent, It Mainly Comes Down to Technique, I Guess

by Emmett Shimm

handjob from a Native American
redskin on my foreskin
chafing deadskin
bark is treeskin is one-eyed snakeskin
maybe a post-load-blow cuddle?
but not on my small pox blanket


handjob from a zombie
rotting like that
look that!
like that methane emitting skinpencil
that ravens in gutters smell
jizz is liquid brains that decayed pork paste


handjob from a bird
pecker
pecker
pecker
pecker
pecker
peck her
pecker
peck her
pecker
pecker
pecker
pecker paste
SKEET!

Steve Roggenbuck always ignores us

It's true, it's like he doesn't know we exist, even though he can't not know.

We can play the same games, Steve. We can ignore you too.

Well here's a video we made that represents how we feel, Steven:



(Also, where the hell is Stephen Tully Dierks???)

Handjobs Are Bleak Unless You Have Some Lube, Then They Can Be Pretty Decent, It Mainly Comes Down to Technique, I Guess

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

handjobs are bleak unless you have some lube, then they can be pretty decent, it mainly comes down to technique, i guess

by Johnny Vulpine

give me a hand job
give me a hand job on an airplane
give me a hand job while i'm sleeping
give me a hand job on martin luther king jrs day
give me a hand job immediately after i eat dinner with you
give me a hand job, but instead of your hands, use your feet
give me a hand job while i google 'does jim carry like death metal?'
give me a hand job after I tell you 'something weird is happening in japan'
give me a hand job while we talk about what we're going to do about our chapbook
give me a hand job and cut my dick off



Johnny Vulpine is a 22 writer, musician, dude from South Texas and sometimes lives in New Hampshire. He has a tumblr at http://johnnyvulpine.tumblr.com/

Handjobs Are Bleak Unless You Have Some Lube, Then They Can Be Pretty Decent, It Mainly Comes Down to Technique, I Guess

by Dirk Hamburglar

I’malike you finish that McDouble cheeseburger yet?
Shealike I’malike gonna lick off the cheese
pieces stuck to the paper. I’malike is that a fetish?
Shealike Idonno I can’t check tags on my tumblr
causeI’malike without hands. Fuck! somebody said.
Think she said fuck cause her one hand was McDouble
her other hand was quarter-pounder. That’s me,
the Quarter-pounder or a hamburger of greater weight
and girth because if my dick isabe in a poem, it’sabe huge!
No fucking cheese on my hamburger of great size
causeashe not done with the handjob, then licking
the melted cheese pieces off the wrapping paper.
Fuck! somebody said. Think I said fuck then causeI’malike
fuck we had Arby’s coupons and a French Dip sounds good.
She’salike if that’s somesorta way to get a blow job
it’slikeanot gonna work, you think my mouth is meat juice?
I’malike no I want a fuckin French Dip and a mouth dip
but like we don’t have coupons and whenyouagonna finish here?
She’salike I can’t handle your huge triple patty Quarter-pounder
with bacon with just one hand. Nah, she didn’t say that.
I put that in the poem, she just said fuckinfinishalreadyIwannaplaywordswithfriends!



Dirk Hamburglar hates seeded buns (that means bumpy asses.)

Handjobs Are Bleak Unless You Have Some Lube, Then They Can Be Pretty Decent, It Mainly Comes Down to Technique, I Guess

by Molly Wally Polly

Once a boy came to visit me and because it was the Recession he didn’t have any money so he took the Coach bus so he smelled awful because only people with hairy armpits and pimples on their anus ride that mode of transportation. So he wouldn’t let me give him a blowjob. He said: “No, babe; my balls are too stinky. Let’s just watch the Real World San Diego instead, and, maybe, if you’re quiet, I’ll let you give me an HJ during the semi-long MTV commercial breaks.”

I said: “Handjobs are for freshman. I’m a sophomore, bitch. I don’t touch meat: I suck it.”

He said: “Babe, I’ve had a tiring day on the Coach. The driver kept razzing me about my distressed jeans. So, please, let’s just keep it low key with some sausage strokes.”

I said: “Fuck you, bitch. When my mommy gets back from Starbucks, I’m gonna tell her that you raped me with a Bundt cake.”

He said: “Are you on your period?”

I said: “No, but I just pooped out my bagel and lox. So if you don’t subject me to ATM before the next cast member takes off his shirt, I will officially charge you with sexual assault.”



If Molly Wally Polly wins then the prize money will go toward the purchase of a dark, dark dildo no less than 11 inches and classy lubricant.

Dreams

by Nobody'sBitch

I think women in their 30's are beautiful. Especially women in their 30's who look like they're in their 20's.
My best friend, Becky, is one of these women. The bitch is like 31 and looks like she's 29.
When I'm 31, I hope I still look good. I hope when I'm 31 my milkshake will continue to bring
all the boys to the yard, as it does now. In this society, we should honor and respect older women.
We should hold them in high regard and not shun them in Hollywood. When I'm 31, I hope
I look as good as Meryl Streep. That bitch is paid



Nobody'sBitch has come out on the side of the apostrophe.

Call Your Girlfriend

We think the amount of honesty that goes into this song is commendable. Robyn is an amazing writer. Hopefully she'll submit to us one day.



Also, the dancing is bitchin'.

Handjobs Are Bleak Unless You Have Some Lube, Then They Can Be Pretty Decent, It Mainly Comes Down to Technique, I Guess

by Sir Lits-A-Lot

i received a decadent handjob from a morbidly obese chinese person last night. can't tell if they were male or female. oh wells, hands are hands. after my handjob was finished, i went to walmart to buy some booze. i took these booze home and watched sailor moon. that show aged so well. imo at least when i plowed through all of my booze, i went online. my favorite online site is watchpeoplegivehandjobswhileeatinggeneraltso'schicken.org this one particular female was eating such a delicious looking plate of general tso's chicken that i forgot to pay attention to her impeccable handjob skills. "must eat general tso's" i said to myself, so i went down to my local chinese spot Gino's. Gino's is owned by sicilians and the local chinese restaurants hate them for reasons unknown to me. my general tso's chicken was the definition of fine cuisine. i licked my fingers about 15,000 times. when i was finished, the cashier asked if i would like a 'post tso handjob'. being full and slightly buzzed from my delicious ass meal, i said yes. can't really remember if the cashier was male or female. alls i remember is that they had no lube, which ended with me ejaculating in the bleakest way possible. i can't complain though, hands are hands



Sir Lits-A-Lot doesn't deserve a bio.

WIN WIN WIN

Don't forget to check out the contest, everyone! It's fun and also probably the easiest way to get published by us.

Lip Stick Dick Quick

by Jānīti Daugmanis

He asked me if I was wearing lipstick,
Little Girl, and I said, yes I bought it for you.
And he said no you didn’t this is lip gloss.
To which I replied, my love, this is 1995, and lip
Gloss is the rage.

But it is not 1995. The Soviet Union collapsed
Over a decade ago and there is internet in
Estonia. They call it E-stonia.
Raekoja Plats is featured on weather.ee
Every half hour.
His dick has a ring of lip gloss around the base now.
But I still haven’t cum in two weeks.



Jānīti Daugman is a Canadian-Latvian and is currently studying abroad in Estonia.

Puke on a Dick

by Oh Baby

Howdy little lady
Giddy up, partner
Puke on a dick, pilgrim.
Puke on my dick, pilgrim.
Puke on a dick on a Sunday morning.

Puke Puke Puke
Puke on my dick.
It burns!
Puke on my dick.
It burns!
Puke on my dick, partner.
Puke on my dick, little lady.
Eat a salty egg and
Puke on a dick.

Epilogue:
We had to wash the sheets twice.



Oh Baby is a Spaniard attending a semester abroad in Riga, Latvia. The Riga Zoo is currently breeding vultures.

Handjobs Are Bleak Unless You Have Some Lube, Then They Can Be Pretty Decent, It Mainly Comes Down to Technique, I Guess

In 1969 I got a handjob.
I said "Why not a 69?"
Everyone was making that joke that year.
The summer of 1969 was not the summer of love.
I did not get my first real six string.
I got a handjob.
A shitty, shitty handjob.


Dogwalk Happen has been taking the same bath for 72 hours straight. At this point the water matches his toenails. He is no longer picky and will accept anything that has "job" in the name that anyone wants to give him.

Stephen, where are you?

We recently asked all of our submitters if they could get Stephen Tully Dierks to send us something because we fucking love him.

Here's a response from a young man named Kyle:

"Unfortunately, ever since the 'Cyber Monday fiasco,' I am barred from any further contact with Stephen Tully Dierks. You see, no one ever explained to me that it is a celebration of capital and NOT of masturbation. Last year, I sent pictures of my penis to those I admire, and also made a great deal of awkward sexual advances to a lot of confused people. The short of it is that he doesn't think I'm 'that funny' and would like to be 'left alone.' So, yeah, that's kinda out."

Blast off, Motherfucker!

by Cannibal Kyle

I’m gonna go to the fuckin’ moon.
I’m gonna party with robots and shit.
Make the space girls swoon.
We’ll make Rube Goldberg machines and banter with wit.

I’m gonna party with robots and shit.
Zero gravity robot dance party craze.
We’ll make Rube Goldberg machines and banter with wit.
We’ll spit oil on haters in a glassy eyed haze.

Zero gravity robot dance party craze.
I’ll steal some fuckin’ laser guns and shoot at the Earth.
We’ll spit oil on haters in a glassy eyed haze.
Crazy mechanism with crossed wires, show me what I’m worth.

I’ll steal some fuckin’ laser guns and shoot at the Earth.
Hijack and crash Earths only satellite.
Crazy mechanism with crossed wires, show me what I’m worth.
Howl like drunken fiends under starlight.

Hijack and crash Earths only satellite.
Make the space girls swoon.
Howl like drunken fiends under starlight.
I’m gonna go to the fuckin’ moon.



This alleged hipster has a broken finger stranglehold around the neck of a bottle and in the other, an unpaid smartphone so he looks important. He has been published several times in other literary art’s magazines that no one has ever heard of and, therefore, do not give a shit about.

Handjobs Are Bleak Unless You Have Some Lube, Then They Can Be Pretty Decent, It Mainly Comes Down to Technique, I Guess

by Moe Jassey

I find myself eating Chinese takeout
more and more these days which is ok
with me I guess though I wouldn't swear to it
even if the processed chickens did live bleak
lives, beakless and breasty in their pens
which, come to think of it, describes my days
quite well. I'm just not sure why I keep opting
to watch porn and jerk off instead of having sex
since I can have sex whenever I choose mostly
now that I am in a relationship, with in-house pussy
(I feel really obvious and pathetic typing 'in-house
pussy') that has large breasts and all the handjobs
that arrangement entails (which is more than you
might think since it takes me a while to get hard
enough for anything else beyond lazy handjobs).
I just have to fight back the urge to cry and eat
more of the refrigerator cold leftover Lemon Chicken
and dream of different large-breasted women to give
me handjobs that are better than my own, which is my pet
fantasy when the rhythms of my in-house pussy's handjobs
aren't like the ones I give myself and the pumping
and the stroking stands a real chance of ending up wasted
and pitiful. It's such a lazy waste of lube that it gives me
an acid stomach even when I am able to expel a thin pool
of my seed onto one or the other of our bodies.



Moe Jassey lives in a cabin in the woods and pens poems when he isn't sending erotic photographs of himself to female poets of the interwebs.

Handjobs Are Bleak Unless You Have Some Lube, Then They Can Be Pretty Decent, It Mainly Comes Down to Technique, I Guess

Last night I ate some tuna and mayo thing from Ashia
(Ashia is the chinese place down the street)
Usually I want to get drunk, does this help with handjobs.

What is a handjob called when it is to a girl?
We are self producers of lube and children.
Is it like a squelcheroo or something.

The bleakest handjob a person could give
is one without lube in a dark musty cave.
One hand working da dick, the other a shitty lighter.

After I did my first handjob the guy did it on my shirt.
It was my favorite shirt. This is the bleakest personal
handjob ever. I hate him and his nasty love yogurt.

Last night I ate some tuna and mayo thing from Ashia
I can't separate it from the idea of handjobs now
even though I didn't give anyone a handie at all.

Handjobs Are Bleak Unless You Have Some Lube, Then They Can Be Pretty Decent, It Mainly Comes Down to Technique, I Guess

by Frankie Jets

A lot of things seem really bleak
Like I had some chinese earlier this week, that was bleak as fuck
Basically just like chicken mcnuggets dipped in some kind of chinese-food sauce
They didn't have general tso's, I don't remember what I got
Maybe sesame chicken or orange chicken?
There aren't any good chinese places in my neighborhood, there are lots of mexican places that are pretty decent I guess, but when you want chinese it's really not the same.
Is that bleak? PROBABLY.
Also this one guy kept giving me a handjob underneath the table
This wasn't at the chinese place, I forget where it was, it was wherever I went afterwards
That chinese place wasn't classy enough for handjobs



Frankie Jets listens to a lot of hip hop, I guess, but he doesn't think that, like, makes him anything special or anything. Lots of people listen to hip hop. He still gets sad about shit.

Selections from Molly Wally Polly’s Diary

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Poem #1

by October Suzuki

Poop.
Hi.
You poo.
Poo hi. Die die what.
Nothing nothing.
Poop you.
That's it.



October only exists in the autumn. You can see his forthcoming chapbook in the spiralling movements of free-falling leaves between the summer and winter of 2012. He is currently open for interviews.

Seems Bleak by Ralph Waldo

I got up today
the sun was shining
I felt like I had some power
And listened to some optimistic songs

Then I got blank
I don’t know why
It could have been gravity or
The Lunar eclipse

Then nothing really happened
I texted a few people
but didn’t see anyone
I went out
to a cafe
Outside it was cold and clear

People seemed happy or okay
Doing things

Lopstight by Dogwalk Happen

I  was at a stoplight and the wait actually took forever.

Hall & Oates & Regis by Seth Oelbaum

Seth Oelbaum was recently awesome enough to submit to us.

We haven't had time to read his submission. It's very busy here. Maybe Monday?

We did ask him what he thinks of classic Hall & Oates video "She's Gone" though.



He had some insightful thoughts:

"Hall & Oates, due to their long hair and sleeveless bowtie shirts, possess knowledge of numerous events that occur in the future, like when Kathie Lee left the Live with Regis and Kathie Lee show. Regis was very depressed. All he could do for weeks on end was slouch in gauche yet aesthetically appealing armchairs, throw money, and lament. Hall & Oates tried to tell him this would happen by making a music video that duplicated Regis's post-Kathie Lee mindset. But Regis failed to heed their warning. If he had watched their video, then he'd have known that Kathie Lee was the devil and he'd never agreed to cohost the show with her in the first place."

Metaphors and Patriotism

by Terd Macchio

You are the illegal immigrant
who stowed away in my fenced-in,
moat-protected country of
a heart.

You hide away in my lugubrious,
artery strewn organ doing all of
my most hated, demeaning work
for next to nothing.

And I love you for it.

But I swear to fucking God
if I ever find you I will kick
you the hell out because this
is America, dammit.

USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
                                       USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
                                       USA
USA
                                                                                                USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA



USA



USA



USA



USA
           USA





                                                                                            USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
USA
         USA
USA
USA
USA


Terd Macchio is a patriot, dammit.

Nobody'sBitch thanks us for publishing her:

Oh my Jesus! This is the first online lit journal that has ever published my stories. I am so grateful to my lord and savior Jesus Christ who keeps me looking like
the baddest bitch on my block. i would also like to give a shout to my cousin Peanut and to all the haters who said i don't write good or whatevr. I could care
less if you hate me too Head Editor. You published my piece so obviously this bitch has something you like. Also the bio is sooo dry. You basically pooped out
ya head what was basically in my submission. I hope you aint gettin paid for this shit. My bio should say this:


Nobody'sBitch is a poet and gangstress who was born in Birmingham but now resides in Mobile, AL. She has been published in various chitlin circuit publications
and her 15th chapbook, Ya Man is Taking ME Shopping, Ho, will be released in late 2012

I CRUSHED YOU WITH MY BICYCLE TIRE BEFORE YOU HAD THE CHANCE TO MEOW

by nadia nitzi

no creature heard you die
no creature inhaled your last exhale
it's okay though because i am a human
a human on acid and by acid i mean
battery acid
nothing can stop me tonight, no
not even the death of an ant that meows
a death caused by me
dark dark dark dark
blinded by headlights and
i die


nadia nitzi is an HBIC. nadia nitzi doesn't care about anything. nadia nitzi might vomit all over your cock while giving you head. her internet poetry blog live-tweet chapbook comes out soon. buy it so she can buy drugs.

LITTLE SHOP OF WHORES by SPITNEY REARS

I MAKE SHITTY PLAYDOUGH
I MADE PLAYDOUGH FOR MY STUDENTS
AND THE OTHER TEACHERS WERE LIKE OH DO YOU KNOW HOW
I WAS LIKE YES AND THEY WERE LIKE HEEEHHHHHHHHHHHHH
FUCKING CUNTS
ANYWAY THIS PLAYDOUGH IS LIKE BECOMING THE BLOB OR SOMETHING
IT'S LIKE…EATING ME
I AM FEEDING IT BITS OF MY SHITTY LUNCH UP IN THE STAFF ROOM
LIKE SLIM FAST UH YOU LIKE THAT BITCH
THE PLAYDOUGH IS DISSATISFIED WITH DIET FOOD
THE PLAYDOUGH IS DISSATISFIED WITH MY LIFE
JUST LIKE ME
YOU GET IT
LOL


Spitney Rears has upgraded from 28XXX to 28ZZZ.  She skipped a letter, bitches.

Does anyone know Cormac McCarthy?

We want to do an interview with him, but we don't have his email and he doesn't seem to have a twitter or anything.

Anyways, we think he'd be interested. We'd do it over IM, a la Jordan Castro (who, like Cormac, has never submitted to us. What the hell?).


Terd Macchio

The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, If "Pants" was the Name of a Boy we all Fucked

by Enry Iggins & Anais Thin

I’m fascinated by my boyfriend’s exes. It’s not jealousy, or some misplaced ambisexual lust; I just like to think about them. Like, one of them was this total punk goddess who was addicted to like everything and is married now. One was a blonde surfer girl in high school who turned into a desert-bound sparrow in college. She tried to kill herself because she was named after a song about a woman who tries to kill herself. One had red hair like me, but she was a cunt, and you never had very good sex. A lot were just for one night or one week – lesbians who found your sensitive unique in the male gender, sad strippers who were lonely (like you) in Austin and on Craigslist, Europeans finding themselves in French bars while you got drunk on schnapps. Sometimes, I want to gather all of these women together, and take us all out to brunch. I’m the youngest, but I think I probably siphon the most money from my dad’s bank account, so I won’t mind paying. Besides, it’d be my idea. We’d all sit around at a big round table and order English muffins with Hollandaise sauce, but no bacon, because I think we’re all either vegetarian or Jewish or both, and we’d have a few rounds of mimosas and small talk and point out the waiter’s cute ass. We’d subtly judge each other’s outfits for being out-of-date or too slutty, and we’d compare our bodies with each other. I’d bring measuring tape and scales and fashion magazines just so we’d all be able to compare ourselves properly. We’d all have to know exactly were we’d stand. Maybe I’d bring a gynecologist along too, to tell us who had the prettiest vaginas, and who had herpes. And then, we’d probably all start to bond, sing “I Will Survive” with each other or “We Are Family” or “Natural Woman” or some other song by a black artist that white girls like to sing in groups, and it’d be really beautiful for a while, us in our pantsuits. Well, only one of us would be in a pantsuit. I just imagine one of us in an ecru pantsuit. Maybe we’d all be in ecru though. And then we’d start painting our ecru clothes with the Hollandaise sauce and the various little packets of jellies and jams, so that we’d be more beautiful than each other. And then, when all the points of conversation were finally exhausted, we’d all go off to our cars and go home and try not to think about the hour we spent with the women we swore ourselves to hate.


Anais and Enry share an award for superiority in fictional nonfiction and were nominated for an award for acrostics. Enry trains miniature Audrey Hepburns and Anais is currently editing a collection of short stories The Son of Crazy Cock. It's quite erocative.

Heat Treated Arguments by David S Pointer

His new girlfriend’s

facial implants afire,

the screams, the melting,

two days before the

fallout dust dance,

and he holds only a

sawed off pump

shotgun, not quite

a fire extinguisher 

as he lifts her hard

by the beveled and

leaded glass display,

splashing into a lake

of embalming fluid—

two full aerosol cans

of restorative skin

spray later it’s a

another big bout of

smoldering love

David S. Pointer has recent acceptances at "The Occupy Poetry Project," "Popshot," "Occupoetry," and "Rattle." He is poet of the week at "The 5-2: Crime Poetry Weekly."

Submit to Happy Dog Mom

Want to see your own story on this fine website?

Well, if YOU have what it takes, and you're on board with the HDMLJ awesome train, then send submissions to us at dogeatsmom69@gmail.com.

Peace,

The Editors

We're Not Mean Girls (We're Pretty Hot Tho)

This post by Melissa Broder got to us a little. We may have said... questionable things... about many people... in the past.

And we feel kind of bad.

No more bickering or mean-spirited jokes.

Also, Melissa, assuming you're on board with our new, nice-guy image, how about considering leaving HTMLGiant and writing regularly for us?

Love,

The Editors

IT GETS BETTER

by Ankly Basilford

On the wall of a bathroom in Los Angeles:
Scarlett is a bloody cunt.

On the door of a locker, the cuter girl from
The Office writes GEEK (it's in lipstick).

What did Beyonce and Kelly
and the other one write
on their wall? I pictured it in green,
and it glowed, I remember.


Ankly Basilford lives in Novia Scotia with her step-sister and two beautiful children. Her mascara is running as she pips up the volume on Tyra. She thinks she can feel a clot forming in her leg. Her work has appeared in MISGUIDED TOPOGRAPHY: AN ANTHOLOGY OF THIN, WHITE WOMEN, but she's been putting on weight like a rescued dog of late.

Whoa! Man! (In Wuv)

by Clitty Auras

Hubert Selby Jr.’s "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer"

by J. J. Curry Ford

Waylon Frost swings the axe made of ice at the redwood. The sun doesn’t stop it from the yell of “Timber!”, the cloud of birds, insects, and dust. Waylon rips the branches and birds nests off, his claws smoothing the edges.

***

Waylon and his partner, Nathan Necrofoot look at each other from opposite sides of the bed.

“Waylon, are you sure this will work, that this will finally get us laid?” Nathan asks.

“That’s what the old man on the mountain said, that if yetis go ass to ass using a redwood no less than 100 years old that our howls and blood will attract females and this will ensure the survival of our species.”

“What if it doesn’t work?”

“Then we will keep trying until it does. We do this for survival. For hope.” Waylon grabs the remote, cuing the mournful violins of the Kronos Quartet to mask the grunt of that first inch.



J. J. Curry Ford is a tween paranormal romance novelist. His first book, Fins and Fangs, comes out in 2012.

Two Stories

by Nobody'sBitch

1.
I hate my mother-in-law sometimes. I hate her because she ate my applesauce on my birthday. What type of backwards shit is that? Everybody knows I love my applesauce. Everybody knows I love my birthday. So why would my mother-in-law try to ruin my birthday as well as eat my favorite food which is applesauce? I swear I don’t like that bitch

2.
Yes, I’m going to church in the outfit I wore to the club last night
Yes, I’m watching old episodes of Punky Brewster right now
Yes, I slept with your ex-boyfriend
No, I do not care that you hate me for sleeping with your ex-boyfriend
Yes, I’m the sexiest bitch in church on Sunday morning


Nobody'sBitch is a poet and gangstress who was born in Birmingham but now resides in Mobile, AL. She has been published in various chitlin circuit publications
and her 15th chapbook, Ya Man is Taking ME Shopping, Ho, will be released in late 2012.

Grain of Rice by Dogwalk Happen

Samuel Clements got fucked.
Salman Rushdie got fucked.
Teri Garr got fucked.
Bill Clinton got fucked.
Luke Campbell got fucked.
Edward Gorey got fucked.
Selma Blair got fucked.
Chris Walken got fucked.
Garry Marshall got fucked.
Garry Shandling got fucked.
David Bowie got fucked.
Jim Bowie got fucked.
Napoleon got fucked.
Sissy Spacek got fucked.
Condoleezza Rice got fucked.
Heinrich Himmler got fucked.
Isaac Newton got fucked.
Zig Ziglar got fucked.
Dale Carnegie got fucked.
T-Boz got fucked.
MC Escher got fucked.
MC Hammer got fucked.
Chris Rock got fucked.
Zadie Smith got fucked.
Andy Warhol got fucked.
Agnes Moorehead got fucked.
The Hamburglar got fucked.
Grimace got fucked and that's why they call him that.

Dogwalk Happen is now on facepoop. Please buy his damn book when it comes out. He forgets what it's called.

The Storage of Memory by Beatrix P. Ladypratt

When you told me you didn’t want me anymore,

I was fine with that,

Because that’s how it always goes.

Why hold onto something that you never truly wanted?

Your friends would give me looks

Which I always returned.

Whatever you told them,

I didn’t care.

No, I said I didn’t care,

But I did.

I wanted you to still want me.

But,

When your new love gave me those same looks,

I would only smile,

Because that meant that what we had was special.

It meant you truly enjoyed the time we had.

The way you’d brush away my hair,

Bruise my thighs,

Tell me I was special.

But the telling didn’t make it true.

It was your new love who did.

So keep everything we shared.

I don’t need it.

I’ve got the memories I can use

Against your new love.

Beatrix P. Ladypratt is a recent graduate of the Vanderbilt University MFA program. She has been published in Cicada, Slow Trains, and Liquid Imagination. Her first chapbook, Collections of Hardships Endured, will appear in 2012.

JEFFREY by Clarinda Jimothy

                                WHOA SHIT I AM HIGH ON REDBULL HAHA
GET IT CUZ IT'S NOT A DRUG FORREAL
IT IS THE KIND OF DRUG THAT I CAN TAKE AT WORK
I CAN'T TAKE WEED BECAUSE THEY MONITOR THAT SHIT
I WORK AT TOYS R US
IT'S MORE LIKE TOYS ARE THEM
LIKE US AND THEM LIKE YOU
BECAUSE I CAN'T AFFORD THEM SHITS
CUZ I AM LIKE THE PROLETARIAT YOU KNOW
HOLY FUCKING SHIT I GOTS THE WINGS
THEM RED RED RED RED WINGS AND THE PILGRIMS AND SHIT
PLYMOUTH ROCK DON'T GIVE NO FUCK ABOUT NO JEFFREY THE GIRAFFE


This is Clarinda Jimothy's first publication.  She lives in Shicago.

A Strange Nap by Edmund Paddlebath

Who is to Blame? by Sinclair Arnold

It's convenient that Jesse Eisenberg should be able to say, when old people mistake him for Mark Zuckerberg, "That wasn't me! I was playing a character! I'm the actor, Jesse Eisenberg. The real Mark Zuckerberg lives in California somewhere, no doubt in a mansion."

When those same old people run into Mark Zuckerberg on the street, and say, "Aren't you that Mark Zuckerberg from the movie?" then Mark Zuckerberg can give this insouciant reply, "No, that wasn't me! That was Jesse Eisenberg, and he filled your head with lies! I'm a nice guy. Jesse Eisenberg lives in California somewhere, in a really plush mansion, I'm betting!"

That's no good, that each one shirks blame.

Especially when the reality of the situation is, both men, both boys, are together truly to blame.


Sinclair Arnold holds his literature to be self-evident. He is now available for interviews.

Akron

by Edmund Michael Longshore

The veterinary student gave me pills the size of horse pills and racing in my veins thundering in my blood I wished I could gather the stones passed from my kidneys to pile them on altar of everylittlething I’ve been [boygirlmanwoman] all of that hurt just something I forced out my pisshole each one clinking like a red bullet in the surgeons pan and through that windswept shame a hollow-boned sparrow alights upon by outstretched hand its birdlike call echoing

there-there there-there

All the while pointing at nothing as if this somehow could comfort.



Edmund Michael Longshore, a sound-artist, bookseller, Adjunct Professor, and Pushcart Prize nominee, is editor-in-chief of the forthcoming web journal Killing Ezra#. His texts have appeared in Hardcase Tales, Riverhammer Quarterly, Steers & Queers, and Sweet Dreams of Iron: An Anthology of Fascist Erotica.

Journal of Suck--Selections from Janey Smith's Journal November 2011 by Janey Smith

November 2011

7.

I tried to shake hands with myself in the mirror today.

Last night I sent out ten resumes for secretary positions. Tonight, I sent out six or seven more I think.

HarperCollins sent me a copy of Dennis’ novel The Marbled Swarm. I’m supposed to review it. I don’t know what I’m going to say.

Started reading The Andy Warhol Diaries again. I think I’ve started it two or three times already.

I woke up late, missed an appointment. I thought I called them to cancel. I must have been dreaming.

Jessica wants to move to New York.

Heather was disappointed I missed my appointment. She called me this morning to wake me up for it. I fell back asleep though.

Heather has a review tomorrow. She keeps hinting she wants to get doughnuts one of these nights. The doughnut stores are the only twenty-four hour places in the city. Other then certain gas stations. And Sparky’s.

Facebook!

We've gotten an influx of traffic, probably because of the Janica Mons piece we posted the other day, so we thought it would be a good time to show off our facebook group again.

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Happy-Dog-Mom-Lit-Journal/110331885749862

Like it!

Love,

The Editors

Seriously, HTMLGiant?

Dear HTMLGiant,

Firstly, you can suck it.

At first, we weren't sure why you criticized our design on your website during this stupid bookshit bracket nonsense. Then we realized, oh yeah, we've criticized HTMLGiant before. We found it hard to believe that you are so immature, that a little criticism would cause you to defile our good name in such a way, but that's exactly what you've done.

Here's the deal: you write little blogs that people will forget one month from now. The creators of Happy Dog Mom, on the other hand, create art that will live on in the memories of everyone who reads it. We know this is hard for you to deal with, the jealousy and all that, but please try to do so in a reasonable fashion.

Love,

The Editors

MY BOYFRIEND HAS A HEART IN HIS ASSFLOWER

by Janica Mons

My boyfriend has a heart in his assflower
I know because I stuck my hand up it
His assflower I mean
I could feel the heart beating
While he was beating himself off
We've talked about the possibilities of adoption
Because we both like kids but we're kind of worried
about his "abilities"
And also I don't like the idea of anything growing in me
But I guess he has something growing in him
A heart in his assflower.

Janica Mons is the nom de plume of Janet Mons-Sherbert. Work has
previously appeared in Fuck Jargon and WRRRRRD Riot. She really does
like the idea of having kids someday, but you know, it's like the poem
said.

The Haircut

by Terd Macchio

I met two beauticians at a bar who wanted to cut my shaggy locks off. I wasn’t drunk. She wasn’t either. Other she was.

I let them shear it off bits at a time in my kitchen, becoming surrounded by my brown hair spread out dead on my white, tiled floor. They cut my ears off with the hair and even though I couldn’t hear anymore, I wasn’t that mad. I looked good. I mean it, for the first time in my life, I looked good with short hair.

Still, I didn’t even get laid. You give two girls your hair and an ear each and you’d think one of them would fuck you.

Or give you a BJ.

HJs are useless.

Terd Macchio never apologizes, so don't even ask.

Dis Da Rite X Yo Yo Yo by Diva Miz Dee and Ogre Jim

Dis Da Rite X Yo Yo Yo from Clitty Auras on Vimeo.

Diva Miz Dee and Ogre Jim have been collaborating on hybrid works of singular lucidity since that one time last summer. Dida trained to be an opera singer at the Oberlin conservatory and Jim played Rumpelstilstskin in his senior play.

A Soldier of Singles Night by Dogwalk Happen

I am a soldier of singles night
Fridays at the Radisson.
7pm.
It is there I do battle.
Alas my tenure is destined to be cut short
Fridays at the Radisson.
7pm.
For my bayonet
and my wits
are far too sharp
for singles night.

I shouldn't kill people.


Dogwalk Happen's 'glow-etry' can be found in magazines such as Cat Fancy and House Beautiful.  He has two books forthcumming, Imma Pump You Fulla Cred (Stankyleg, 2012) and Sylvie Turncoat is a Celery Shaman (Kramedart Yvan Dlo, 2013).

Two Short Poems

by Dora Schloss

I promise I won't steal all of these Cheez-its
which is the worst sort of lie.
The dormitories of the world are filled
with children chopping wood,
dreaming of stealing these Cheez-its.


Do you know what it takes
to corner the market on pignecks?
Firstly, a fuckton of pignecks,
and second, I do not love Jesus Christ.