Tag Archives: Wordpressident

Wordpressident #11

The half-moon is the apostrophe between the Z and the S. The heavy breathing of the monster and skeleton sent the bed-skirt flying upwards, covering my exposed legs. The howling wind came through the opening of the glass like a straw and ripped the sheepskin right off my hide. Sleep is the cousin of death because I woke up sweating bullets hearing “ant ant ant” from my alarm clock. The time was handcuffs, handcuffs, handcuffs. 3:33. The colon between the numbers were batting it’s eye lashes like it wanted a conjugal visit. I had 13 inches free; my other foot and both my hands were tied up. An imperfect 10 was getting even with me. It’s like the lump transferred from the oddball to the throat how I was engaging in emotional eating. I couldn’t swallow because I knew this She-Devil stuck her forked-tongue in my breakfast in bed. The blood is the only part of the steak the vampire likes. Why does Cupid shoot arrows without good directions attached to it? Because everywhere I go makes me weak in the knees and I keep falling for a head over heels, whose favorite piece of the shoe is the shank. Maybe I wouldn’t be in these situations if my favorite part changed from breast to sole? Skeleton hands wrapped around her ankles and pulled the little closet freak under. The time I copped I spent wisely freeing myself with the 3rd little piggy. Got out the big house and the first thing on my to-do list wasn’t a brick house with wolf pussy.

I want a check sign next to a signed check. Number 2. I wanna walk in the bank like my shit don’t stank. 3:33. I want fuzzy handcuffs slapped on my wrist by Fine M. Banker for not taking off my hat and shades. You see, the hat for the one-eyed-monster I call Mike Wazowski. The shades to block sonny boy and little miss sunshine. But I’ll gladly take off my pants to show you I don’t have a gun in my pocket. But I do keep a pair of red striped white socks stuffed in my pants; Get your mind out the gutter. I know what you’re thinking. “Them there socks make up 9 inches of the 13 inches from earlier.” Yeah, you’re right …. because I was referring to my shoe size, not my penis, genius. And I know what you’re not thinking judging a book by its cover, “He gotta put ‘em somewhere since it’s a fashion faux pas to wear ‘em with Sperrys.” This reminds me of how much you and your girl got in common. My ensemble was the topic of our conversation last night on the phone. She asked, “What you got on?”


Fisherman hat

Navy blue shirt

Anchor print boxers

Dockers

Boat shoes


Translation: Wave goodbye to your relationship.

And nahhhh N word y’all can’t still be ‘endzzzz!
Advertisements

Computer Love <3

I typed H-E and paused by pressing the equal sign on the keyboard.

This was more than a blinking text cursor.

The other half was batting it’s eyelashes.

Was it flirting?

Flashing a lowercase L?

Or telling me I’m number one?

I pressed play by clicking the greater-than sign on the keyboard and proceeded to type A-R-T.

The word transformed into a picture of the word. It was a bigggggg heart. And I guess that’s what made the only thing move was the spinning beach ball, although, I wasn’t on the net.

Cursor stuck.

Cursing FUCK!

Freeze!

Froze.

Cold heart.

The mouse was just eating out of my palm, but now I’m jerking it back and forth like some string cheese.

It came to as I bowed over the desk and the arrow shot straight for the heart but because the cursor is tilted it missed.

Now the cursor is a small hand L gesture. What?! How am I a loser? I’m not responsible for the arrow being slanted. Hell, I don’t even shoot my gun sideways. I’ll leave that to your modern-day Robin Hoods. I wouldn’t try to attack the bottom of the heart with my pointer even with the heart looking like a bottom, if I may point out. I may cum across as anal paying attention to de-tails like that but fuck it!

Again, why should I have to rest an L on my forehead when there is already an S curled up there? Who am I? Clark Kent at The Daily Planet. If I throw up L then I gotta throw another L up. Laughing like shit ‘cause that’s like the bat-signal for you-know-who to roll on over to my cubicle, batting her eyelashes like Barbara Gordon. Aight, you keep doing that and your lashes gone get stuck in your eye, gone be blind as a bat. Aight, enough clowning around, let’s show my computer love like I-T.

We caps-locked lips. She lifted her foot off the ground. “Damn, her leg looks like an L.” My S curl became erect. Still a little crooked though.

Now the cursor is the rewind button, which is the less-than sign, neighboring the number 3.

We tilt our heads to the right when we’re trying to understand something.

“Understand?”

“Understood.”

To the beat.

This is our song. Let us have the floor, please.

WordPressident #10

You can tell how long the skirrrt was that Mercedes matured
Went from a narrow body staying in its lane to a wide body hogging up both
The driver is indecisive
There’s a fork in the road
But if they had my view at 30,000 feet they would see it’s the forked tongue of the devil
And they’re on the highway to hell no matter which way they turn
Now I could be wrong ’cause I have some wings on the left and right
And some creative clouds that look like the periodic table
All blocking my view
The pilot points out symbols BR, BA but over the intercom he’s breaking bad
Or is it due to my ears popping ’cause I ain’t hearing this extra extra shit
Like spelling exxxtra with 3 X’s
What is this? word porn