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You Ain't Seen Nothing Like This (Louis Toliver Jr-Swartz, LA)


You Ain’t Seen Nothing Like This

I can wipe my ass with a rock, granite preferred, but a nice pumice will be best, any lava rock helps with my hemorrhoid. I can yell at a deaf person on the north shore of forever land with chocolate mountains built with “yes grandmother”s. I can think of seventy-two ways to say “motherfucking” in the February amount of time green becomes aqua mist.

            I can whisper, “I love you, Diego.”

I can steal a present, some Vaseline. Do you like Vaseline? Hmm, say it with me…Vaseline.

            I can whisper again, “I love you, Diego.” Because, I do.

INT. SANTA’S BABY MAMA’S HOUSE-DAY

Santa’s helpers have the video camera out while Mrs. Claus is gone. There was a sale at Saks and Guns–N-Things. Studio 54 reopened in the back of the house and I’m watching.

Oh, and I stole a present from the cookie jar, wink.

Santa
(burping up pecans)
What do you want for Xmas, Ho?

 Vixen
(bashful)
An “A” in Flying By-101?

Santa
(unzipping Vixen’s pants)
  And what are you willing to do?
 
Pac-Man
(interrupting drunk)
ARGH! I BE ONE HUNGRY ASS MOTHERFUCKER!

Mrs. Pac-Man
(getting off Santa)
No, you’s be eating up all my cherries with no job and they be’s one hundred points, you goofy looking bitch.

Me
I’ll answer Santa’s question. Well…

I can
Turn
Shit in-
To this
Yummy poetry (comma?)

Oh. whoa is me on this apple-ridden,
Tuesday.
Gumdrops. On my toes.
My Ego. Runneth over.
Tuesday.
The mail. Comes on.
Tuesday.
Judith.

(look stage right)                                                            I can stand here and play with myself.
                                                                                               
Oh, I can be so dramatic!

I can be a man, a woman. I can be a woman with a dick on my ear with no discharge. I can be a man with a pussy on my back with no heavy flow. I can abstain from being an asshole after a Jager-Xanex Bomb. I can punch air with Lego hands. I can, not end a sentence

                                                            I can blend into this space.

I can occupy any place on Jupiter if I put my mind to it and stay in the D.A.R.E program. I can fuck a lifesaver and then shake your hand. I can use an adverb to describe how I write, but I won’t. I can keep going on and on and on and on and on and on…

“I can, not fit in,” said the nose picker before he double dipped into the fondue at the paintball party.

And I responded, “Yes, it’s sooooooo nice that I can do whatever the fuck I want to do, too.”

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