Archive for May, 2010

ARRR!

Posted in Flash on 10/05/2010 by todcrouch

Once upon a time, my pirate father and I were stranded on an island.   He had a bag of rations, as did I.  After three weeks,  I killed him.  Only natural for an eight year old.  When I ravaged his rations, I only found stones in his bags.  When I ate him, I understood sacrifice and never stopped sacrificing.

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The Forty Year Old Hipster

Posted in Flash, shorts on 10/05/2010 by todcrouch

That tandem bike you’re riding alone after you broke up with your bartender girlfriend really takes you down a notch, don’t it? And your blazer with the elbow pads and Buddy Holly glasses (or as you call them “elvis costello glasses”) just make you look like an even more undateable, pathetic douchebag.  Say hi to all those neighbors you have in shittown, buddy.

Catering at The Consuuuuurvatory

Posted in Flash, shorts on 10/05/2010 by todcrouch

In my white dinner jacket, I avoid the lusty attempted eyeraping of misinformed cougars.  Sadly, they are dairy cows to milk.  They could never survive in the wild.

Whore envy #2

Posted in Flash, shorts on 10/05/2010 by todcrouch

Oh, the ex-boyfriend that I never got over, why do you poke me?  Do you do so to rekindle what we had together that you gave up for a college crush who left you out to dry and which my wrath will delete you from my friend list for ever?  Are you starting a slow burn to put this bitch In heat? It doesn’t matter.   Delete, my long lost love, where we can be eternally in each other’s trash bins and finally agree on something.

Whore envy

Posted in Flash, shorts on 10/05/2010 by todcrouch

His dick is so big, his foreskin is partially digested.  He gets so much ass, you need a colostomy bag to keep up.  He’s so versatile, you might as well fuck a Swiss army knife.  (ugh) He’s such a cunt, his tongue doubles as a maxi pad.  And it’s so about him, you better be his autobiography.

Catering poem #12

Posted in Flash on 10/05/2010 by todcrouch

And here, you sit in some tunnel forgotten by god, hoarding food like light starved vermin, hissing about the length of a break eating lukewarm chicken in a graveyard of dreams, concocted by hateful immigrants too ambitious to wake up.  I pass no judgementfor I too am suc an undertaker of dreams, channel surfing with one eye open.  The lighting is bad and I sit on the bleached tile in the shadows.  They can’t get you when you slouch, protecting the queer shoulder from being flayed by the wheel, fired for being a poet.  The grand hall is em pty.  Only then will I dance.

You Are Not Going To Date Me

Posted in Flash on 10/05/2010 by todcrouch

Look dude, you are so pretty you actually make a mockery of beauty. You’re like a Hobbit eating an Ice cream cone in a bunny suit on a pony surrounded by hula hooping corgi puppies. I just can’t take you seriously. And you don’t have to keep telling me you’re 19.  I get it.