Really Tall Italian Man

by King Crab

Ok, yes
I guess
You could say
I'm in love
With a really tall
Italian Man

King Crab is O BABY O BABY O BAB?Y HOT HOT HOT HOT HOT.

The Definition of Irony by Dogwalk Happen

This toilet
is a piece
of shit,
you said.
I said
now that
is the def-
inition of
irony.

Also,
I want
a divorce.


Dogwalk Happen thinks poetry is the most horrible, pretentious, despicable garbage ever created. He would like you to know that what he writes is glow-etry, which is at least twice as bad.

I Must Provide for My Family by Ralph Walldough

Because I believe I must

provide for my family

I buy food at “Chili’s To Go” and

carry it onto the airplane

As it taxis on the runway

my beautiful little daughter

lifts a flaccid strip of cheesed chicken

in the pale light, and bites it

The clouds over Milwaukee

below us are blackish-purple

In the medium distance

Jesus Christ, in female form,

hovers with glowing hands

Bolts rain downward

in all directions

Jesus Christ electrocutes

every human in the United States

The pungent smoke from our bodies

floats over the oil

sands of Saskatchewan

The plane stays aloft, miraculously

my ghost drifts along the aisle

Because a ghost can only sense

a living human and not a ghost

my ghost is alone

It tries to direct the plane

to the North

to no avail

When it crashes

my ghost remains

near the wreckage

Passing its frilly hand

over the crispy remains.

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.

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.

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

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.

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

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.

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.

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."

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.

A Strange Nap by Edmund Paddlebath

Scary Time Funny Time by Jamie Lee Curtis

My soul cries
out.

Find us a thing that we can
sing.

It
don't mean a thing if it
don't got that swing.





Jamie Lee Curtis has been published in CRZY/TWN and BonkeyMicycle.
She is the found editor of the HamsterDance/DancingBaby Review, which
is the longest running meme-based literary magazine.  She was also in
Halloween.