I’ve been sitting on this announcement for a long time guys, so I want to take this opportunity to tell you, my adoring fans, that I’ve officially launched my music career.

Check out my first single here.

Ok, now that that’s out of the way, let’s get to some haiku about my new profession: Music.

“New music sucks cock,”

said everyone at some point.

But right now it’s true.

Want proof? Listen to this. How far did you get? I know you didn’t listen to that whole piece of shit. It’s impossible. Wanna know how I know? Cause I have friends that work at certain locations; let’s just call them “black sites,” for a certain company; let’s just call it the “CIA,” and they just so happened to tell me that when they want to know shit from Saudi nationals  they lock them in a box and play that song for a few days. I bet you didn’t know that Lil B was on the CIA’s payroll did you? Well now you do know. Fuck I’m probably going to get in trouble.

I can’t draw music, but that awful hip hop was playing at full blast while my bro was asking Abu Ahmed some questions about some stuff.

I thought rap was bad,

then there was Rebecca Black’s

Friday–God awful.

I know you’ve seen the video. Look at the counter. Look and despair that it’s been viewed FIFTY MILLION times. Sometimes I think I hate bad music so much that I just want to retreat into my own world of like minded haters where we can feverishly jack each other off  to our own preferred style of music:

There’s nothing better

than classical music snobs,

except Jazz Nazis.

Ever meet one of these dickheads? They pretend to get physically ill when they’re forced to listen to something that isn’t classical music or jazz. In Yiddish, it’s called “schtick.” It’s when you behave a certain way to indicate something to all the people around you, but all the people around you know you’re full of shit. I got that off of Wikipedia.

Musicians don’t make

any music videos.

It’s a lost art form.

Gather round children and I’ll tell you of a time when there were bands, and the bands would come out with new music, and the music would be on the radio, and the sounds you’d hear coming out of the radio were recorded by the actual people in the band playing real instruments with timing and craftsmanship. Sometimes the videos were as much of an artistic expression as the songs were. Sometimes they were big budget affairs, produced like a movie. Take this video for example. But now, there are no bands, and there are no videos. There is only this.

Can you name any

recent bands or songs that will

stand the test of time?

It’s ok, I already know you can’t. It’s because the best music has already been written quite a while ago. Have you ever heard of “The Beatles”? What about that guy…oh what’s his name…El something. Did you just mentally yell out “Elvis”? For those of you who did, congratulations, I’d like to personally invite you to keep reading my blog, you’re going to fit in just fine here. For those who didn’t, maybe your musical tastes run contrary to the traditional definition of quality, so enjoy this “music” by Creed. God I hate you.

Have you heard about

this guitar player — Jimi

something or other?

There’s nothing better than watching a 15 year old kid realize that everything he’s ever heard in his life was shit, and that all the best music has already been written. It’s almost like classic rock radio is some type of Colonial Williamsburg for talent. I could also make that argument for the ballet, the opera, and the symphony. Rock music has officially joined them. Trapped in amber, faithfully preserved by an army of players whose sole goal is note for note reproduction of the classics. Like these guys.

Some of the best new

music will never get a

national platform.

Want proof? Check this out. Wanna explain to me why this fucking god amongst men has only ONE MILLION views, and the rich highschooler who sings into a fucking computer for her birthday present has FIFTY TIMES as many? I mean what am I, crazy? How did this guy even get one downvote? He’s got 83. The internet really is an awful place.

One Direction and

Justin Beiber both suck dick.

–Behind the Music.

Don’t worry, all the gay high jinks will eventually come out into the mass media. Just like Lance Bass, you can’t stay in the closet forever. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. The self indulgence of this little shithead is sickening. Seventy eight million views? Really world? Really?

No one knows how the

Internet really works:

A series of tubes.

That’s why all those websites end with the word “tube.” Like “YouTube,” or “JizzTube” or “YouPorn” or “PornTube” or “FaceBook”. It’s also why getting a vasectomy is called “getting your tubes tied.” Because your balls are a series of tubes, just like the internet.

The internet sucks.

People like me shouldn’t have

a platform like this.

There’s far too many people reading this horseshit. Why don’t you pick up a real book? How about Plato’s Republic? The Aeneid? Why is it always about jizzing and porno and a series of tubes with you? I’m trying to help you.

My friend told me that

you can hire prostitutes

on the internet.

I’ve never had sex with a prostitute that I hired on the internet, but I imagine the prostitute wouldn’t be smiling during the sex act. Hence the hyper accurate drawing.

From what I understand, it’s almost identical to ordering stuff from Amazon. Except there’s no return policy. And you can get AIDS.

Don’t steal my idea,

but what if porno websites

ended in “dot jiz”?

I think they tried this before by making the website end in .xxx, but the problem with that is that it sucks. XXX is too obvious. It’s not clever, and it’s sort of creepy and weird to type that shit into your address bar. Dot Jiz however would be the best url of all time. It’s so direct, and hip and clever and caries none of the .xxx baggage. Not to mention, you could make a whole bunch of websites that are like parody websites of real websites. Sort of exactly like those pornos that are parodies with clever names. Like “This ain’t Batman and Robin: a romp through Gotham city’s underground anonymous gay sex culture”.

Amazon.jiz

A porn site for men who like

gigantic women.

If you read more books, you’d immediately understand why that was funny.

Internet: all the

porno I could hope to get.

@porno.jiz

Can haiku rhyme? Probably. The first website to get bought up would clearly be porno.jiz. And if you wanted to email the webmaster of that site you’d send it to @porno.jiz. Which is just plain goofy. What do you even call that thing after the dot? Like dot com? Hang on…I’m going to look it up real quick.

Internet domains

are ruled by a council of

seven high Templars.

Apparently those are called domains. According to some websites I just read, they’re owned by a group known as “The Elders of Zion,” who have been secretly controlling all of human history through their constituent groups “The Masons,” and “The Illuminati.” When the Elders open a new domain to the population, it is only by majority vote of the high Templars that govern each domain. Of course the Grand Templar rules the most powerful .com domain, and perhaps by his influence the .jiz domain will be opening real soon.

Websites normally

have names of two syllables.

Hard to use for ‘ku.

Like, I want to write ‘ku about google.jiz and facebook.jiz (which I would rename “FaceJiz”) and Ebay.jiz, and Apple.jiz but none of those make for good ‘ku. You can only use a three syllable name followed by dot jiz to come up with true comedy gold.

The internet has

a dark side: letting old friends

stay in touch with you.

That’s dark as shit. Nothing’s more awkward than denying a friend request from some kid you knew from elementary school. On the one hand, why the fuck would I want to be bombarded with Facejiz updates from some stranger who I haven’t spoken to for the past 15 years and have no interest in whatsoever, but on the other hand, you don’t want to be a total dick and just straight up deny the request. So I let them accumulate in my Facejiz inbox, and then only use my account to stalk girls I wanted to fuck in high school to see if they’ve gotten fat yet or if they’re still hot enough to feverishly jack it to.

You could bank online

then jack off feverishly

without getting up.

You just go to Bankofamerica.com and then open a new tab and go to bankofamerica.jiz for banking and secretary themed porno. God I’m smart.

A weekly schedule

is difficult to stick to.

You have to prepare.

I’m going to take you into my process for a second, gentle reader. The way this haiku blog gets produced is that the team and I gather in my ready room starting Sunday afternoon where we brainstorm ideas for that week’s post. Then I typically move my bowels into my hand to prepare to scrawl some ‘ku onto the walls for the writers to then copy down and then they start fabricating the actual WordPress update. Usually we’re ready to publish by Thursday night. But sometimes. Not every time, but sometimes, I do this thing called procrastination. And those times the post goes up late. This is not one of those times. And I want to stress that I most certainly did not throw this all together at the last minute yesterday. I’m far too professional for that.

Preparing sucks dick

You know what’s a lot more fun?

Procrastination.

There’s certain tell tale signs that indicate procrastination is happening. For example, this morning, I wanted to go to Costco, and the bank, and then do laundry and then get some pictures framed, and maybe then fold the laundry after it was done, and probably clean some of the feces off the walls from last week’s post, then maybe make a sandwich  then probably eat the sandwich. But instead I’m doing none of that. I’m writing this. Cause fuck it. I’ll probably spend the rest of the day feverishly jackin’ it. Because:

Doing things sucks dick

Do you know what’s a lot more

fun? Masturbation.

Self portrait — Saturday Afternoon

That last haiku had so much potential, but “masturbation” only has four syllables. Fucking English. “Masturbation” is not like “procrastination.” That word was fucking built for haiku. But in terms of their dictionary definitions, then yeah, they’re pretty similar.

Procrastination

is a word designed for use

in haiku poems.

Five syllable words are sort of hard to come by. So you gotta utilize those fuckers when you find ‘em. Like the endangered Rhino.

I know that a post

will suck dick if it’s Thursday

and I’ve got two ‘ku.

Look, they’re not all gems. And this is going to be rushed anyways because I really have to go to the bank and Costco, and I don’t want to have to deal with Saturday Costco and the Soylent Green crush of humanity that tends to develop there in the afternoon. So I want to be there when that god-proof building opens, conduct my business, and leave. What was I even talking about? Uhhhhhhh…..I’ll think of it later.

Bitches aint shit but–

fuck it, I’ll finish later.

Procrastination.

Now that’s elevating procrastination to an art form.

I had a whole plan

to make a Game of Thrones post

–I’ll do it later.

Wouldn’t it be cool though if I just made a whole post of GOT spoilers in haiku form to fuck with my audience? Or maybe that’s a dumb idea. Maybe the real comedy lies in doing a totally straight sociopolitical analysis (in haiku of course) of the kingdom of Westeros, and tracing back their feudal form of government to the fall of Valyria. I know what Westeros and Valyria are, but I can’t remember what day Mother’s day is. That’s so fucked up. I’d look it up, but…I’ll do that later.

Anticipation

of haiku money means less

procrastination.

I’ve got big plans for this site…you don’t even know. It goes something like this:

1) Write shitty haiku

2) Put them on the internet

3) ?????????

4) Profit!

It’s fucking bulletproof. 

Why aren’t all girls

into lesbianism?

Pussy is magic.

Have you tried this stuff? It’s fucking magic! I’ll never understand why more women aren’t into lesbianism. Probably because my psychological disorders make it impossible for me to empathize with other people. What? Oh yeah, more ku.

If I was a girl

I’d be the butchest bull dyke

in county lock up.

I imagine I would have been a lesbian long before being locked up in county, but upon being locked up, I would invite all the sexual demons that I had hitherto kept at bay, to dance with me in a hedonistic panoply of bacchanalian  proportions. It would be the fucking fall of Rome in there. The smell would be overpowering. I’m just assuming that all of this would take place in county jail because I assume I would’ve killed a guy while I was all fucked up on PMS or something…you know…if I were a woman.

Because I have a

very feminine nature

I know lesbians.

We just have so much in common. Me, and the lesbians I mean. We both like Ethiopian food, and working out, and hunting, and picking up chicks, and riding motorcycles, and being more educated on average than the rest of the population, and adopting Ethiopian children, and not shaving, and softball. Did I leave anything out? No, got it all.

Lesbians are the

best pick up artists around;

 they convert straight girls.

When I discovered that there was a pornography of that, it basically made it impossible for me to achieve orgasm without it. I will never know the thrill of converting a girl into being attracted to good looking jacked and tan wealthy dudes. But lesbians can collect their conversions and display them at their lesbian conventions and all gain the respect of the lesbian community. I wish I was a lesbian.

Because I have a

very masculine nature

I know lesbians.

Even the supposedly “lipstick” lesbians are quite masculine at their core. I know this from learning mixed martial arts and being beaten up by lesbians. Then going to a bar and getting into drinking contests with lesbians. And then having lesbians hold back my hair as I puke into the toilet. Lesbians are nurturing like that.

After converting

girls never turn back because

Pussy is magic.

There’s no coming back from lesbian conversion, because:

Lesbians are just

girls that have discovered that,

Pussy is magic.

And we all know that:

Pussy is magic

because it can grow babies.

Dick isn’t as cool.

What can my dick do really? I suppose it’s sort of interesting that it can change shape. In that way it’s sort of like the Incredible Hulk, or maybe a werewolf, or like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, or perhaps like that hose that they sell in infomercials that starts off all compacted by then grows to accommodate the water and then quickly shrinks back down again when you turn off the water. It’s sort of exactly like that. But it can’t grow a baby in it, which feels less useful somehow.

My lesbian bar

would be known as “The Dive Shop.”

Because I’m funny.

That’s the best name for a lesbian bar that could ever be. But wait, I’m so good at this, I’ll give you more. “The Lunch Box.” “The Pink Clam.” “Driving Miss Daisy.” “Sugar Walls.” God, I could go on and on…but I’m going to call this a post and leave you with an asinine drawing while I go and employ lesbian pick up tactics on unsuspecting college girls who seem like they’re new in town. I mean, warm up a glass of milk and go to bed. Yeah, that’s what I meant.

Drawing women engaged in lesbianism is surprisingly difficult. But in the end I think I captured it well.

My regular readers know that I’m rich as fuck so it should come as no surprise to all five of you that I’m currently in Hawaii doing rich and powerful shit that wealthy people like myself are wont to do. Since arriving here, you could say that I’ve been struck by the spirit of aloha, and that I needed to share it with the world. So without further ado, I give you, my take on Hawaiiana in “The Rude Haiku Goes Hawaiian.” (Beware the cursed tiki idol, for it brings misery to all who touch it).

Aloha haole

E komo mai Hawaii

Mahalo poi pu.

I can’t tell if I’m a virulent racist or just profoundly culturally insensitive when I assume that native Hawaiians don’t know their own language. Either way, I’m a dick head. That last haiku is gibberish. It’s me making a mockery of the Hawaiian language for the entertainment of a largely non Hawaiian audience. We can all sit and laugh at their comically simple sounding language and wonder how a people so simple could have ever possibly hoped to fight against the white man’s technology. Well I wouldn’t do that, because I’m not a racist. But thanks to Google analytics, I do know that this website is particularly popular in Alabama, a state full of racists.

Apparently the

haoles stole the aloha

they got all of it.

By my calculations, they’ve been doing it since 1778, when the great haole Captain James Cook of the HMS Resolution discovered the islands of Hawaii. He originally named the islands “The Sandwich Islands” in honor of the Earl of Sandwich. I’m telling you this because I already know that you didn’t know that. Because you’re ignorant. If you just read more Wikipedia  you’d be smart like me. Then you could make a shit load of money, and join me in Hawaii so we could continue making inflammatory racial comedy out of a horrific colonial legacy…what?

This is a local

spot haole! Locals only!

I’ll kick your ass brah!

This may or may not have been said to me as I was trying to learn how to surf in Hawaii two days ago. Look, I can’t help the fact that Captain Cook and I share certain facial features and skin tone. You don’t have to shout, and in case you were wondering, no I do not captain a vessel by the name of Endeavour, or Resolution for that matter, so there’s no need to stab me to death and then preserve my body by disemboweling my corpse and then baking it to facilitate removal of the flesh. Read a fucking book why don’t you?

In Hawaii they’re

breeding a class of mixed race

god-like supermen.

This is awkward for me, because it’s a simple statement of fact. Everyone around here is half something, and their hybrid vigor is so readily apparent to everyone involved, that the middle aged haole that come here see it would rather choose not to acknowledge it because the resultant despair would be far too much of a blow psychologically for them. The difference between me and the other haole is that I see the writing on the wall and immediately want to have sex with this incredibly hot green eyed black or native chick (I couldn’t tell which and was too embarrassed to ask) that works at Waikiki Beach Services on Oahu. Just…look…If your’re reading this, leave me a comment with your number so we can mate and produce the fittest children to ever walk the face of this earth (seriously, I want to bang you desperately).

Surfing makes you jacked

and tan. It’s how the mixed race

super men work out.

Because I’m haole and weak as fuck, my shoulders hurt after surfing. My future children will never know such pain because they will intuitively understand how to surf and swim with little to no instruction whatsoever. The  Navy Seals will jealously try to recruit them into their ranks, but their mom will insist that they live a nobler life as an example to the rest of humanity, almost as if to say “Follow me, and I shall show you what the outer limits of human potential look like.” But of course none of that can happen unless you text me your number and let me bang you (I’ll fly back to Hawaii after you read this, cause I’m rich as fuck, or fly you out to me, whatever’s more convenient).

There’s another class

bred in Hawaii: they are

morbidly obese.

This is the dark side of the paradise of Hawaii. Some Hawaiian people, much like the Pima Indians of the American southwest are genetically predisposed to gaining weight because it was a tremendous evolutionary advantage before the invention of the ABC store and fried spam. Seriously, stop putting spam on everything and lose some fucking weight.

You would be obese

also if all you ate was

deep fried Spam and rice.

Look, we both know it’s motherfuckin delicious, but come on. Enough is enough. I love barebacking black or very dark native chicks with stunning sea green eyes that work at Waikiki Beach Services right behind the Royal Hawaiian Hotel on Waikiki beach as much as the next guy, but….I forgot where I was going with that analogy. The point is, knock off the spam.

I mean, you know, if you’re not busy or anything…

Hyperbole is

the most complicated word

in all of English

Was that even a good example of hyperbole? Of course it was. It was the best example of hyperbole possible. It basically redefines the word hyperbole from: “an extravagant statement or figure of speech not intended to be taken literally, e.g. ‘to wait an eternity,’” to an even better definition that is so good that I can’t even commit it to the internet for fear that it’ll blow your simple mind. Speaking of your simple mind.

I was going to

write ‘ku about litotes

but you’re far too dumb.

Litotes is basically not that common at all. It’s not even close to being as common as hyperbole. And my audience doesn’t even care about litotes. Because you dumbasses don’t know what it means. Not even after I included three examples of it in this very paragraph. The worst part is, I know you’re not going to look it up even after I called you out. See what you learn on this website? It’s the equivalent of a college course in dick jokes and stick figures and English literature.

These are the greatest

poetic verses ever

penned in history

This website has changed

Western civilization

in a profound way.

As all of regular readers of this website already know, it’s basically the greatest poetry ever written in human history. There is no better poetry, and that’s a burden that I struggle with every day. I mean, it’s not easy for me as a mere mortal man to comprehend the massive and long lasting influence that my own creation will have on all of western civilization. I mean, it’s clear that writers, students, intellectuals, professors, and the common man alike, in a diverse number of countries are already learning the English language in order to read and quote my poetry in the original language. But what keeps me up at night, what worries me to no end, is whether or not those people will ever truly understand exactly how privileged they were to study my art.

I get millions of

unique visits to this site

every damn day.

That’s how I came to be the most influential poetic voice in all of human history: the internet. Vergil is my fucking bitch. Iambic hexameter? What a fucking punk. Everyone knows that haiku is the most difficult poetic form to master. Even Homer, who is more influential on our civilization than Virgil, but less than me, couldn’t write haiku like a boss.

Fuck haiku about

similes and metaphors.

More hyperbole!

Metaphors are dumb, cause how do you compare something without using the words “like” or “as”? It’s basically as impossible as a haiku website influencing all of western civilization. Wait, does that mean that it is possible or it isn’t possible? Look, let’s not think too hard about it and just do some more ‘ku:

My English teacher

in fifth grade couldn’t pronounce

hyperbole right.

She kept on saying “hyper-bolé.” That’s so totally not how you say that. Of course, because that’s how I learned it, I walked around for the next decade like a fucking idiot saying it that way until my junior year in college when I said it in front of the whole English class and I got laughed out of the building. It was like my own personal Carrie…the blood would’ve been less embarrassing.

Well, since I know I’ve lost the majority of my mouth breathing audience that comes here for stick figures and dick jokes, I guess I ought to throw some of that bullshit in here just to say that I did. This one’s for you:

My penis and balls

are so big that I can’t buy

comfortable pants.

I just want a comfortable pair of pants

Jizz is fucking weird

it comes out of your dick hole

just like it’s urine.

But let me tell you something….it aint urine. When you think about jizz for a second, it’s the strangest fucking thing that could ever be. How come when I rub my fingers, they don’t jizz? Why can’t I have ten digits simultaneously jizzing at the same time?

Of course jizz isn’t

urine. It’s quite different

because it’s white.

I wonder if one day medical science will develop a way for me to change the color of my jizz. I’m not even talking about for like…bitches…or anything like that. I mean just for me. I think it would sort of be awesome to be jackin’ it one day, and have like neon blue jizz that I had to clean up and eventually flush down the toilet.

Pro tip: drink coffee.

It will make your jizz taste bad.

Use as punishment.

Like if your girlfriend has been bitching at you, and you need some get back to settle the score. What’s she gonna do? By the time she finds out about the horrible jizz bomb you’ve planted in your own ballsack, it’s far too late. You’ve already jizzed after all.

If jizz is pale grey

does it mean that you are sick?

My friend wants to know.

Since we don’t have jizz color changing technology, I’m assuming that any change in the color of your jizz can’t possibly be good. Or any change in the texture for that matter. The only thing that could change in a positive type way would be the taste. Speaking of which…

Pro tip: pineapple

makes your jizz taste much better;

use as a reward.

Like if your girlfriend has been really good recently. Like giving you lots of blow j’s and you want to keep the blow j train moving at all costs. Then you want to sweeten that jizz up as much as possible. You’d probably also want to try and drink a bunch of red food coloring just to see if it’ll turn your jizz fluorescent pink or not. That way you could try and jizz in a sweet smelling, vaguely pineappley, heart shape on your girlfriend’s cheek….cause you’re a hopeless romantic.

Sort of like this

Don’t ask me how

I know what makes jizz taste good.

I’m not a doctor.

In the same way that I don’t know that drinking a bunch of red food coloring will turn your jizz a pale pink. What’s more likely to turn jizz pink would be blood. In fact, if you see pink jizz, you should probably schedule an appointment with a jizz doctor. Not a jizz doctor like they have in porno, but a real jizz doctor that has scrubs and a white coat.

Did you know that you

can donate your jizz for cash?

It’s called going pro.

I’ve always dreamed of going pro. From the time when I was just a little kid jizzing for fun after school, till the time that I got more serious about my jizzing in college, I’ve always dreamed of getting called up to the majors. If you do what you love, you’ll never work a day in your life. That’s what my dad said when I told him that I wanted to go pro. But during my senior year, I pulled a muscle during a marathon jizz session, and I never could quite shake the injury. So when I finally got scouted, I made it into a couple of exhibition jizz sessions, but I ended up getting cut right at the end. Hey I gave it my best shot, but the fertility clinic just wasn’t comfortable with a couple hundred more haiku poets running around out there fucking up American society. At least I tried, how many men even get that? What was I talking about again? Oh yeah. Jizz.

I like to think of

my penis like a big straw

in a balls milkshake.

It’s like when you’re drinking a milkshake, and it’s too thick to come up through the straw, and you really have to suck hard on it. It’s exactly like that.

They call it sarging

it’s when losers learn how to

pick up girls in bars.

Luckily for me, I never had to learn how to pick up women. I let the haiku speak for me, and the women follow. It’s called having the gift of gab; women find it irresistible. That’s why I never put much stock in this whole “throwing game” thing.

My game is so tight

there’s a girl sucking my dick

as I write this ‘ku.

See, works like a charm again. I just showed her this, and bam! Instant bj. If I make any spelling mistakes it’s cause I’m jizzing. Just so you know.

Sometimes my game sucks

but it’s cool cause when it does,

I just pay for whores.

That’s been happening a lot lately. Come to think of it, girls don’t seem to be too attracted to my haiku after all. Ever since I put a link to this piece of shit website on my online dating profile, I’ve been getting a lot of messages like, “You’re disgusting!” and “Why would you put a link to this horrible website on your online dating profile, aren’t you even trying to attract women?” It’s cool ’cause I know that when girls say that kind of stuff it means they really like you. It’s called “negging.”

I’m Alpha as fuck,

writing haiku all alone

on the internet.

The most awesome thing alpha dudes like me can do is get drunk alone, and then blog in haiku form on the internet. It’s called being a leader of men. On second thought, maybe I should learn more about throwing game…

Neil Strauss is my God.

He taught me you can have sex

despite looking weird.

Ok, so I just finished reading “The Game” by Neil Struass. I guess it’s cool. Nothing that I haven’t already thought of and perfected already. I don’t want to brag but I’ve been working three sets and number closing since I was twelve. You know, no big deal.

Isolate HB,

disarm the obstacle and

escalate kino.

Ok, so I’m reviewing my last field report, and I noticed that the HB 8 in the four set was responding real well to my negs, but I had a little trouble isolating. I was about midway into C2 when I decided we should bounce back to my place. She put up a little bit of LMR, but I just froze her out till I could f close. It was a damn epic set…I mean, I’m not too sure about this whole “throwing game” thing. That guy Mystery looks like a douche.

How do you throw game?

It takes hard work and practice,

and shit loads of cash

Seriously, throwing game is great, but it gets a lot easier when you’re rich and successful, and handsome, and jacked and tan, and have a lightly trafficked haiku blog on the internet. Wait, what?

With my big top hat

and my obnoxious goggles,

I’m invincible.

I’m peacocking…isn’t that cool?

Ok, so maybe I was a little too quick to judgement there. Perhaps there’s something to this whole “peacocking” thing. Yeaaah…maybe not. I just caught a glimpse of my knee high patent leather platform boots and thought, “you know if I have to dress like this to have sex,  maybe I’ll just go back to the whores.” Perhaps the lesson is, “all things in moderation.” Or maybe it’s “to thine own self be true.” No, it’s more like this:

Throwing game is an

art of the highest order.

Because girls fuck you.

And who doesn’t like that? I guess gay guys. But they don’t need to throw game. They just need to show up. Just like women. Man, being a straight white male with lots of wealth and power sure is burdensome…

Brush your fucking teeth

Then you won’t have to  go to

the dentist’s office

Every jerkoff comedian has some material about going to the dentist. Of course, I have the best material of all because of my special relationship with dentistry.

You hate the dentist

but it’s cool ’cause I know that

he hates you right back.

While I want to stress here, that I am not now, nor have I ever been a dentist, I do know more than a couple of those shit heads personally. And they hate you. While they won’t come out and say it to you, the patient, truuuust me…their hate for you is pure.

I would like to stress

that I am in no way a

piece of shit dentist.

Because dentists are used car salesmen pieces of shit thriving on your misery for their own gain. “Well, looks like we’re going to have to do thousands of dollars of bullshit to your mouth,” he said while secretly finishing the sentence in his mind “…so I can pay for all my expensive shit and buy a better car and generally grow my own personal wealth.” I know this for a fact because I can hear their scumbag thoughts as they count their blood money.

The high pitched shrieking

of the dental drill all day

sounds like cash money.

Now you can hear the thoughts of a dentist too. Read that ku again, and you’ll know the inner mind of all dentists everywhere. They think about that, and lunch. Only two thoughts all day long. Don’t ask me how I know. I want to take this opportunity to stress for the reading public that I am definitely not a dentist.

Dentists are evil motherfuckers….evil and rich….rich as Nazis.

Toothless immigrants

fill my office all day long.

I hate them so much.

My…friend…the dentist knows I write ku so he wanted to contribute to the cause. That guy is evil as shit, cause he’s a dentist. He calls me an anti-dentite all the time, and then follows it up by telling me stories of how he tortures his non English speaking patients with dentistry and jokes in English. Evil motherfucker.

Your rotting mouth stinks.

I know you’re from the third world,

but fucking come on!

I mean just because you’re from the third world doesn’t give you license to not perform basic grooming tasks. You gotta take a shower and you gotta brush your fucking teeth! Being from Haiti is not an excuse. You should waltz into the US and say “Wow! Look at all the water I have available at my house to groom myself with!” But for some reason that’s not how it seems to work…

Toothpaste is a scam.

It doesn’t help clean your teeth.

Look it the fuck up!

It’s the mechanical action of the bristles on you teeth that get them clean. It’s called the modified bass technique, and it’s the only way you should be brushing your teeth: http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/16451532 

The only useful ingredient in toothpaste is fluoride, and you get plenty of that shit in the water. Don’t waste your money. Take it from me, I’m totally not a professional dentist.

All things have a cost.

If you like your dentistry cheap,

check if the drill’s clean.

I know when my hand’s all fucked up cause I broke it punching out a shithead dental patient, I go to a series of hand doctors and say, “I want the finest, cheapest, hand surgery that you can provide please.” Then I typically start negotiating them down, “Do you really have to fix all the bones in my hand? Can’t you just…like…fix the most important ones? Just the ones that will make my hand look normal. And make it quick would you? I’m about to move out of the country forever and I really want to do this before I go. Thanks.” Fucking dentistry. Good thing I’m not a dentist, cause that shit would make me nuts.

One day after my great grandfather died I had to go over to his house and clean out all his shit. While we were cleaning everything out, my mother and grandmother got very excited about a small club with a leather strap that they found. “Why, it’s great granddaddy’s nigger knocker!” My mother exclaimed. That’s when I realized that my family was full of virulent racists, and that I had to get myself in therapy immediately.

After that thought passed, I found a small black journal, and much to my surprise, it was full of haiku poetry. There were no dates on any of the pages, but my best guess is that most of it was written sometime in the 1920′s. So to honor my racist, alcoholic, piece of shit, dead great grandfather, I present to you, my adoring public, a faithful selection of his best work, poetry and prose, as it appears in the weird journal I found. Enjoy–

Back during the war

I invented the brick log–

I call it a blog.

See, what I did was take masonry powder, and cast it into a log shape. So it’s like the best of a brick and a log at the same time. Hell, the US government liked the idea so much, they wanted to start having people bring in their old bricks to make more of ‘em for the war effort. They called the project “Victory Logs,” or vlogs for short.

Dancing the Charleston

Dealing with prohibition

–the roaring 20′s.

Used to be a man could take a stiff drink at the end of the day. Now the doggone temperance movement has taken even that small comfort away from me. What’s a man to do? I didn’t sail half way around the doggone world to get shot at by the Kaiser to come back home and not take a drink of malt whiskey at the end of the doggone day! Now you’ve got dames out in the speaks dancing till all hours of the night. And they call that progress? That’s why I call this doggone decade “the roaring twenties,” cause it done roared over me like a doggone freight train roaring over a hobo in the middle of the night.

Who’s ever heard of

A woman voting? It’s like

the races mixing.

Impossible I tells ya! First women voting, then women driving. What’s next? Women flying aeroplanes?

Got-dang new-fangled

Electricity! Give me

my kerosene lamp!

I saw that doggone electricity kill an elephant at the pictures the other day. Kerosene serves me just fine. Only them Rockefeller millionaire types can afford that electric light anyhow.  Or have electric lights become common by the time I ought to be writing this? I forget right now. Got-dang I need some more heroin.

I can’t wait for the

new Sears catalog to come.

I need heroin.

It’s weird how my great granddaddy had a Galaxy S3 with S Memo handy to draw this picture to accompany his haiku. So weird…

Can I still buy heroin in the roaring twenties from Sears? I forget right this second. The point is, I use heroin to ween myself off of the morphine. Cause that got-danged morphine will kill a fellow. Not like heroin.

Pass the gong around.

My god I love opium.

China town is fun.

O what a high time it is to work all day long and then go down to the yellow part of town and smoke a bowl or two with your best girl! It’s almost as fun as when the Sears catalog finally comes to the house.

President Hoover

seems to know what he’s doing.

Keep up the good work!

Not like that son of a bitch Wilson. When I was getting shelled to hell in the Somme, where was that pansy?

Fuck you Kaiser Bill

Here’s mud in your eye care of

me and Uncle Sam!

There I was. Trapped in no man’s land. I laid face down in a puddle and held my breath as I could hear the Hun advancing closer and closer. After they had gone, I waited till nightfall to try and make it back to my own lines. But since I hadn’t had my laudanum for the day I was a might bit confused. When I finally collapsed over the top of the trench, I didn’t recognize the place at all. That’s when it dawned on me…I was on the German side! Well then I started bayoneting as many Germans as I could. I counted at least 25 dead Hun by sunrise. When I had advanced all the way into the command portion of the trench, I heard Cole Porter music playing on the phonograph. So then I just put down my rifle and pretended I had been sleeping the whole time. Sarge never did figure out why I was the only survivor in my platoon. I got awarded the iron cross first class for that.

I can never tell

which Ford model T is mine–

They’re all painted black.

I’m gonna paint mine blue so I know which one’s mine.

The rest of this shit is written in German.  I guess great grandpa really took those German lessons to heart while he was over there in “The Great War.” I’d include some of his German haiku, but most of them seem to be about the same thing. He keeps using the phrases “Herrenvolk” and “Lebensraum.” Anyways, I’m gonna go get drunk and call that therapist first thing tomorrow morning.