Going Nuts

Not a spark of electricity in this whole damn house

Not enough melatonin to knock my ass out

My dreams are lysergic, my reality is no different

Going nuts in a dark room with demonic visions

My body could fry a whole carton of eggs

My throat slime could melt through my nonexistent neck

My nose is undergoing medieval torture

A mountain of tissues ruined in short order

Coughing up a storm of pandemic proportions

Dreading the days of insurance extortions

No breathing apparatus to pump my lungs

Waking up from dreams that feel like drugs

Alcoholic syrup is the only solution

To keep me away from the mental institution

The late night is over, the day starts at dawn

Still the electricity won’t come back on

I slosh along like a radioactive blob

Throat’s too sore for corn on the cob

I might as well swallow shards of glass

The next 24 hours can kiss my ass

Nothing to do but lay down and drift

Leaving my thoughts to sort and sift

Through a filter that was never there before

Demons in my head fight an endless war

With swords, rifles, bombs, and nerve gas

Turning my brain into a mass grave fast

The world wasn’t supposed to end this way

But why expect it to last forever and a day?

The power’s back on and so is the news

My fever kills, but millions are screwed

A fever passes with time and some rest

Hits different when the rich see you as a pest

If it had been measles or god forbid COVID

We’d have bigger problems than feeling hopeless

I survived insanity and snot-covered sickness

Got any more tragedies for me to witness?

Going nuts is kind of what I do the best

Don’t believe me? You fail the polygraph test

A Love Letter to Advil

As a loud and proud member of Generation Y

I’ve got pain in my back and tears in my eyes

There’s a war going on in the base of my spine

Flamethrower marines screaming, “Your ass is mine!”

Battle axe barbarians chopping down the tree

Razor claw demons going on a killing spree

Can’t wait for the bone-cracker to fix me up

I need instant healing before I fucking erupt

They call it Advil, I call it magic in tablets

For when I can’t move without yelling, “Damn it!”

A bottle of water cold enough to freeze hell

Swallow the pills and the pain takes the L

Why go cold turkey when it feels so good?

It’s not like I’m floating through the neighborhood

It’s not like I’m a space cadet calling Major Tom

Or drunkenly fucking on Porn Hub dot com

Doesn’t have the same energy as cooking crack

Booger sugar wouldn’t do shit for my back

Don’t have a meth lab on the bottom floor

Not making poison pills out of a nuclear core

The magic medicine works, I’m off to bed

Maybe one day it’ll unfuck my head

I wrote a love letter to Advil liquid gels

More like a commercial with intent to sell

A drug deal without the DEA

Just a fucking parade from the FDA

Clown Grinder

Does this cheeseburger taste funny to you?

It’s ground-up clowns, the whole circus crew

There aren’t enough bottles of Pepto Bismol

To wash down the taste of Bozo’s big balls

There’s a blood-soaked war in your intestines

Bacteria and viruses with automatic weapons

Vomit your carcass inside the fuck out

Or they can exit through the Hershey Highway route

Hellfire fever immolating your soul

Acid trip dreams about your blistered asshole

Stay away from your bottle of Advil

Lest you want to drop a load heavier than an anvil

Get on the phone with the CDC

Clowns’ Decaying Corpses, eat lean beef

I hope someone sends you a Get Well card

“May your anal casualties again become hard”

Who’s in charge of the menu today?

They’ve got a billion in lawsuits to finally pay

Now you’ve got your check, so what’s for dinner?

The mind is strong, but food addiction is the winner

Get the clown grinder ready for another serving

Diarrhea Armageddon is never too unnerving

A weight loss strategy for the new age

In history books, you’re thin enough to be a page

Grocery Store of Broken Dreams

Roses and chocolates for the not-so-happy couple

When it comes to the law, they’re constantly in trouble

Black eyes, long cries, and cocaine covered nostrils

Only broken bones will be found in their fossils

A frozen pizza can feed a family of four

But not when the mother isn’t alive anymore

A single dad with gray hairs and noisy kids

He bottles his anger with the tightest lid

A bag of cheddar cheese sour cream potato chips

Is a fat man’s only friend when his self-esteem dips

He breathes like a windstorm, his T-shirt is damp

But life itself isn’t worth giving a single damn

A bottle of Advil in the hands of a grandma

Looks natural after the loss of the grandpa

A cell phone in her purse the size of a brick

But nobody calls, not even when she’s sick

A price gun in the hands of a check-out clerk

Will get a lot of mileage in this endless work

Take home a skinny paycheck, be a wreck

One dollar away from the homeless trek

Screenwriters, actors, and the bleeding hearts

Are part of this community that’s falling apart

It’s called the grocery store of broken dreams

It’s easier to fail and chow down on ice cream

How am I any different from my fellow shoppers?

I too have a cart full of frozen cheese poppers

I too was a dreamer once upon a long time

I too live in a town where stars never shine

I too have a stomach that stretches my shirt

I too have a mind full of trauma and hurt

I too have a heart that’ll never beat again

I too will never know if I’ll breathe again

Maximum 3

When I was a kid, long before I figured out what the fuck I wanted to do with my life, my first option was to just invent new things. New videogames, new movies, new TV shows, but in this instance alone, new medicines. And because my mind was thoroughly power-washed by TV advertisements back then, I was convinced that Advil was better than Tylenol and Bayer, Tylenol was better than Bayer, and Bayer was better than nothing. “It takes two Tylenols and three Bayers to match the strength of one Advil liquid gel”. If that wasn’t enough to get my creative wheels turning, there was yet another commercial on TV to wash my brain some more. It was for a medicine that combined Nyquil and Advil into one capsule. The message I received had nothing to do with falling asleep and resting easy. The message I got out of this was that more medicines equal faster healing. So…my genius idea for an all-purpose medicine…was a pill called Maximum 3. Why? Because it was maximum-strength and three medicines combined into one. The leading pills only had one medicine and were minimum strength. Three is obviously better because in America, more is always better. But as an adult with a better understanding of how pharmaceuticals work, I realize what would happen if a normal-sized adult took one swallow of Maximum 3: they would drop dead! There wouldn’t be enough Pulp Fiction needle juice in the world to wake up somebody from that kind of overkill. Come to think of it, there actually might be something similar to Maximum 3 out in the world. The Sackler family made a killing off of it in the blue-collar market. I might as well give my customers a bag of cocaine at this point.