College Fuck Book

Two hot college girls on “College Fuck Book” want to sleep with you this weekend !

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Spammi Fuckbot

Hot Ass Fat Ass Saturday Night

I ate my ass off in the five and dime but Gina was working the register and no one fucked with me. There was a bag of Cheez Doodles, okay, and a Moon Pie or two or three and a liter of Mr. Burp soda and a package of Halloween ghostcakes and six or seven different kinds of candy bars, all of them containing nuts because crunch crunch crunching is what my teeth do best. The color scheme was pussy pink and puke green and piss yellow. My eyes have seen much glory. On the greeting card aisle the news of the day was Love No Matter What. Yeah, you stole my credit cards and maxed them out, cheated on me with a dancer named Cinnamon and chewed my mama a new asshole when she asked you to take out the garbage because it was starting to stink. Hell, you even ran over my poodle (John Boy Walton) and told me I was an idiot for wanting to have a small funeral in the backyard. I Love You No Matter What. I want to put you in a shopping cart and push you around the big ass store. I want to bump into things, spit gum in your hair, sing you an Elton John ballad, tap dance for you without my underwear on, anything to make you grin and maybe even giggle. Gina told me it was time to turn off the lights and lock the doors. I told her to go ahead. She said okay one last shake of the Magic 8-Ball then we have got to go, Granny is waiting in the car. Granny spoils everything. Goddamn.

 

Lizzie Prizegarden

February 13

He fucked with fury
                     an action
his wife will never know

 

 

Andrew J. Stone

On Rejection

I just received a ridiculous e-mail from a writer whose pieces I rejected. Among other ridiculous things, he wrote, “God bless.” Did I sneeze? I did not, and if I had, I much prefer a simple “gesundheit.” Thank you. This is what I wrote back to the pouting, panties in a wad writer:

Do you often write back to the editors who reject your submissions? I’m sure you’ve received many rejections. Maybe you prefer the usual soulless form rejection that tells you in a nice, gutless paragraph that your words have no value. Your words have no value to me but maybe they have value to somebody else. Good luck with that. And grow the fuck up.

Bert Monroe

PINGPONG JELLYROLL

I escaped the crib

the heat of my mother

and a couple brushes with men 

head full of badges and ammo

when she dangled

the cherry in front of my

face

 

look it, she goes, coy and

tipping her head and

saucy like she

does, look it what I got for you while

you were away

 

it was this tiny pewter statue of

Ganesh,

the Remover of Obstacles.

 

what does it do, I tried to

plug it in, or eat it, and

she’s all 

C’mon, let’s go to the bar,

let’s get some pizza and

hit Pete’s for some

shit

 

done in again, railroaded, I let

her take me down

below the belt,

her creamy hands leading

eyelashes batted and where’s the

cliff edge this time, for

fuck sakes.

 

you look hungry, let’s 

follow Ganesh, and That’s an order, she

said

as I quite gently

removed her leopard skin spiked heel

from my ear canal

to the tune of 

Sheena is a Punk

 

it’s Taco Tuesday at the Bit Saloon,

we can play ping pong, and Pete’s sure to make

an appearance.

 

I let her win the 

war game

on the warped table, new

as I was to the fetid gloom 

of freedom

 

disproportionately obscured by smoke

I’m invited for a session

the lady’s stall, crammed

with her 

fleshy thighs and Rhonda watching from the sink,

jealous as a salivating

mouth.

 

you’ll get yours, honey pie, she purrs,

lapping at the nearly

spent bindle –

Pete gives it good, what I

heard

 

I get the picture.  the walls be-bopped, papered

with posters devising calendars

brazen with sleaze

 

nothing’s free

on Taco Tuesday.

 

 

Jay Passer

A hopeless romantic and not so tidy-whities

My heart cracked 
when I found out
she lived 
a half a world away.

What a funny time we live in 
when you can develop a crush 
on someone who lives 
a half a world away.

I guess there is also the chance
that behind that picture
of dark hair, sexy lips,
and come get me eyes
is a middle aged fat man
somewhere in Ohio
wearing not so tidy-whities
and eating cheese puffs.

Hold the reality.
I’ll have a double shot
of fantasy.
Being a romantic
really sucks sometimes.

 

 

Jay Levon