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Spatula City

Announcer: theres just one place to go for all of your spatula needs
Random voice #1: spatula city
Random voice #2: spatula city
Announcer:
A giant warehouse of spatulas for every occasion. thousands to choose from in every shape, size, and color. and because we eliminate the middle man, we can sell all our spatulas factory direct t
. where do you go if you want to buy name brand spatulas at a fraction of retail cost?
Random voice: spatula city
Random voice: spatula city
Announcer:
And this weekend only, take advantage of our special liquidation sale. buy nine spatulas, get the tenth one for just one penny. dont forget, they make great christmas presents. and what better
O say I love you. than with the gift of a spatula?
Random voice: spatula city
Random voice: spatula city
Sy greenblum:
Hello, this is sy greenblum, president of spatula city. I liked their spatulas so much, I bought the company.
Announcer:
Spatula city - seven locations; were in the yellow pages under spatulas.
Neighbor: my, where did you get that lovely spatula?
Singers: spatula city: we sell apatulas, and thats all

song performed by by Weird Al Yankovic
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Surprise Bent Spatula

If you can not use a spatula,
In the way it is intended.
Do not leave it bent.
Such as those creatures,
Who would have you believe
They know something about their use.
And surprise when it is discovered,
They do not!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The First Line is the Deepest

I have been one acquainted with the spatula,
the slotted, scuffed, Teflon-coated spatula

that lifts a solitary hamburger from pan to plate,
acquainted with the vibrator known as the Pocket Rocket

and the dildo that goes by Tex,
and I have gone out, a drunken bitch,

in order to ruin
what love I was given,

and also I have measured out
my life in little pills—Zoloft,

Restoril, Celexa,
Xanax.

I have. For I am a poet. And it is my job, my duty
to know wherein lies the beauty

of this degraded body,
or maybe

it's the degradation in the beautiful body,
the ugly me

groping back to my desk to piss
on perfection, to lay my kiss

of mortal confusion
upon the mouth of infinite wisdom.

My kiss says razors and pain, my kiss says
America is charged with the madness

of God. Sundays, too,
the soldiers get up early, and put on their fatigues in the blue-

black day. Black milk. Black gold. Texas tea.
Into the valley of Halliburton rides the infantry—

Why does one month have to be the cruelest,
can't they all be equally cruel? I have seen the best

gamers of your generation, joysticking their M1 tanks through
the sewage-filled streets. Whose

world this is I think I know.

poem by Kim Addonizio
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tale of Three Cities

New York blasted London blasted
Singapore -
Ripped off each other's metaphoric balls,
Crumbling walls.

Priapic city monoliths -
Blue-sky scraping bastards -
Shout about their height (but really length) .

V8 arseholes didn't care -
Pumping shit into the air,
So long as they were always there to
Fart aloud a smoggy cloud,
Laughing at the weak asthmatic,
Humoured that it seems traumatic.

Watch the greedy cities oozing
Chair-bound fat committees, though they
Look a bunch of titties as they
Waffle on about the pound.

Ever thought to look around and see
That they were dead?

Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010

city city city city city city
city city city city city city
city city city city city city
city city city city city city
city city city city city city
city city city city city city

poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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That's a Bit Too Kinky

Your cookies sought,
Does not release the thought of nookie!
The moment I feel the sweetened heat,
Of your oven...
There is a temptation,
To have my hands on your buns as well.
Just the smell of it quickens my rise!
Are you surprised,
I am stripped and appear butt naked?
I have been practicing that all day!
What are you getting ready to do...
With that spatula,
You hold in your mittened hands!
That's a bit too kinky for me.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Big City Type

I woke up in a big city apartment

Rode to a big city job

On a big city subway

With hip, big city people

Worked at a big city job

In a big city skyscraper

Stood in a big city line

For lunch, heard big city jazz

On a big city radio station

It was like a big city scene

In a big budget movie

When I realized I had become

The big city type

I always wanted to be

Yet I was still me

poem by Adam Artois
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Weird Al Show Theme

Oh, this is a story bout a guy named al
And he lived in a sewer with his hamster pal
But the sanitation workers really didnt approve
So he packed up his accordion and had to move
To a city in ohio where he lived in a tree
And he worked in a nasal decongestant factory
And he played on the company bowling team
And every single night he had a strange recurring dream
Where he was wearing lederhose in a vat of sour cream
But thats really not important to the story
Well, the very next year he met a dental hygienist
With a spatula tatooed on her arm (on her arm)
But he didnt keep in touch
And he lost her number
Then he got himself a job on a tator tot farm
And he spent his life-savings on a split-level cave
Twenty miles below the surface of the earth (of the earth)
And he really makes a might fine jelly bean and pickle sandwich
For what its worth
Then one day al was in the forest trying to get a tan
When he heard the tortured screaming of a funny little man
He was caught in a beart trap and al set him free
And the guy that he rescued was grateful as could be
And it turns out hes a big-shot producer on tv
So he gives al a contract and whaddya know
Now hes got his very own weird al show
(much unintelligeable talking and yelling)

song performed by by Weird Al Yankovic
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Gandhi Ii

Announcer: next week on u62...
Announcer: hes back
Announcer: and this time
Announcer: hes mad
Announcer: gandhi ii