Tag Archives: humor



It is after midnight. The perfect time for a dipshit. It is also appropriate that I am posting this on an extinct blog. I lost faith in this irreverent blog because my dipshittiness almost got me sued. There was a time when I was a true dipshit. I didn’t take myself as importantly as I do now. Now, all I do is write poetry and transcribe someone else’s thoughts, dreams, and desires. Which is fine, but……what about my own? Mine have been on hold, until I get that job, have that money, get rid of the bedbugs, fleas and whatever. My true mojo was out there in that indefinite future. The same future in which everyone recognizes my genius, and where I don’t get laid every night because sometimes I just need to take a break from all that female adulation. Pretty fucked up, I’m sure. Hey, maybe I’m just a dipshit in disguise.

Just one of those guys

a dipshit in disguise

walking through his neighborhood

and never sees a Goddamn thing

His hopes and dreams

recorded for anyone to read

long after he’s died

a dipshit in disguise

Hey, that was supposed to be funny, and it turned out sad. Much like my life. But nobody cares about an uneventful life, if I’m going to be sad, I need to be SAD in a big dramatic way. You know, wearing the same clothes for weeks on end, so sad that I forget who I am and need to be put away somewhere, except these days there is nowhere to be sent, so I would just wander the streets, all my old friends avoiding me when they run into me in some doorway, lying in my own urine. Now that is a degree of despair which demands attention. It is the sort of thing a dipshit daydreams about, isn’t it? A way of gaining attention, instead of living up to what it means to be a human being.

But dipshits are angry little brats who never asked to be a human being, and quite frankly, resent it. There seem to be more dipshits today than when I was growing up. It used to be that no one ever aspired to be a dipshit. If you wanted someone to straighten up and stop embarrassing you and him or herself, just call them a dipshit. Back then, only Beat poets would welcome the company of a dipshit. Today dipshittiness is a growing industry. Comics? Most of them are just dipshits. Our culture has turned away from erudite humor, and have settled for dipshit culture. They are everywhere. I can’t go down to the local Walgreen’s without there being at least a couple of dipshits standing in line, if you can call it standing. Usually they are weaving around the line, and swaying on their feet like a drunk, except dipshits are drunks that never become sober. There am I, obviously a very important person compared to them, and I get more annoyed by the minute, muttering under my breath, “dipshits!’. Now, I do make one significant exception in regard to dipshits. I cut teenagers some slack because teenagers by their very nature have always been dipshits. That is what a dipshit really is, someone who is not a teenager, acting like a teenager.

As I admitted above, I am a closet dipshit. I used to be a dipshit right out in the open. I didn’t care. I missed the days when I was a teenager and shot my mouth off at every opportunity, regardless of whether I was making a fool of myself or not. A lot of people pointed out that I was a fool in those days. My teachers, my brothers, my sister, who often called me a dipshit, and my mother. My mother went to great lengths to explain to me that it was a sin to call someone a fool, then minutes later called me just that. My mother was a real dipshit, but saying that to her would earn me a good smack in the mouth from my father. Actually my father never smacked me, but come to think of it, I never called my mother a dipshit either.

When I think about it, being called a dipshit is a double insult, not only are you shit, you are a dip of shit. In other words, you aren’t THE SHIT, you are just a dip of it. You aren’t enough to bother with, an irritant, a bad joke, sort of like a flea. Even a punk is a step above a dipshit, because a punk knows better, and a dipshit never ever knows better. A dipshit can be counted on to do the faux pas, the wrong move, to be in the wrong place at the right time, or the right place at the wrong time, or just some sort of mistake in the scheme of things, awkwardly existing like a meal that absolutely no one has ever ordered. But there you are. After a while, you begin to stink from neglect. Such is the life of a dipshit.

Maybe this post will revive my dipshit spirits. Maybe I will retrieve my wise ass reputation, which was never wise in anyone else’s eyes, only stupid, only just being a dipshit. Maybe I will post more onto this defunked, debunked, defucked, blog, and make it relevant again, maybe I can go back to not being important or special, not the sort of voice in the wilderness you want to heed, but the sort of voice in the wilderness that irritates you to no end. Advice from a dipshit. What happens when an entire society descends into ineptitude and even mayors and congressmen, and sports figures are dipshits too! Doesn’t that change what it means to be a dipshit? When dipshits cease to annoy or offend, they have lost their right to being called such.

In ancient Rome, the dipshit had a special status. He would stand in the Forum and defecate, urinate, or masturbate, in plain view of the crowd. Then, whatever this filthy nitwit had to say was considered to be an oracle, the voice of the Gods, or failing that, he was considered to be quite wise. Could this be the origin of the expression: “Holy Shit!” You’ve got to admit, when a guy dumps a load, or shoots a load, you tend to notice. What he says would probably be remembered. But he would be considered a real jackass, a real dipshit.

I make no claim to be the voice of the Gods, and I have no plans to defecate or masturbate outside the local Walgreens, but I feel that my dipshittiness serves a purpose, if only to puncture my toxic pride, and the toxic pride of others.

It remains to be seen if there will be more posts like this one, or if this blog, which isn’t quite dead, but certainly smells funny, will become active once again. If dipshits could read I am sure they would enjoy this post. But a dipshit must never be made to feel good about his or her self, their magic lies in their utter disregard for themselves, their total lack of ego. Others might mutter, “Look at that fool, he doesn’t give a shit about anything, including himself.” to which I’d say “I disagree. I think he gives a shit. Didn’t you see him at the Forum?”

All Male Zone


All you women can just butt out

We don’t need you lurking

While we be jerking

This is an all male zone

so get out

I know we got shit for brains

and we only got ourselves to blame

It’s ok with me if we go down in history

Let the chips fall where they may

This is an all male zone

Twist and shout

This is an all male zone

so get out

Who cares what we do

So long as it doesn’t get on you

This is an all male zone

so get out

Illuminati Illuminati


Illuminati Illuminati

Don’t spill your drink on me

I sent in my contribution

Now let me be

Illuminati Illuminati

Please don’t be naughty

Close the door when you go potty

You are a shame and a disgrace

Your dancing is frenetic

And your voice lacks grace

Illuminati Illuminati

Taking out loans and wrecking my car

Making way too much noise

Whatever you do you won’t get far

Without your filthy radio

And naked rodeo

Illuminati Illuminati

Excuse me while I blow my nose

Illuminati Illuminati

Are you still here?

Why can’t you get the hint?

Nobody wants the Illuminati hanging around

Have you felt the wobbly men?


So have you felt the wobbly men?

Bouncing around the back of your brain

Taking pictures

Leaving trash behind

and building fires

Leaving you with the worst kind of headache

And the probing can drive you insane

They want to help you live your life

In a more responsible way

They say

But they are nothing but a nuisance

I wish they would just go back from where they came

These wobbly gobbly men with no chin

You sit at your desk with a head full of rubber

You dot every i, cross every t

Like some hideous machine

Another sad victim of the wobbly men

They say they want to live, they say they want to be

They say a lot of things that aren’t very smart

They got chewing gum for brains

They found a way in one day

I think it was 1953

And although the party has long been over

These wobbly men refuse to leave


Weirdo Magnet


Don’t wanna be no weirdo magnet

Don’t wanna go to extremes

Show all my pain

To a sick and aimless army of voyeurs

Being on the edge isn’t always fun and games

It gnaws at your heart and brain

Far from being a spectator sport

It is a virus, a meme

Eager to infect your brain

Weirdos love me it would appear

And people just like me

Anxious, searching, full of love

and sometimes fear

The darkness is near, but I do not embrace it

I no longer find it so entertaining

So to those on the fringe who court danger daily

I wish you peace, and answers to your deepest needs

You will need all the help you can find

and all the courage you can muster

But I don’t want to be a weirdo magnet

Stay away from me

His penis hanging out


There he is again

with his penis hanging out

He doesn’t seem happy

His penis looks sad

His libido left a long time ago, he said

And left no return address

But still it hangs out

If it had a voice I could probably hear it whisper

I’m still here, I’m still here

I’m not dead yet