N3F4RIOU5

Vivophilia

by Verse A. Phile

Dearest Vivian, holy Vivi, sweet … uuuggghhherrr … Viv,
so alive, so well, so vivacious. My Zombita. I am your
Hummmbert Yummbrrrainsbert, and you are my supple
tender fleshling, but older. Yeesss, muunccch older.
Damn, why are you so old?

I can’t stop thinking about you, my loins,
they burrn for you… shit, really, I didn’t know
inflammable meant flammable! I think I just saw a chunk fall off!

“Her skiiin’s so flesshhy,” they teese…nnmmm.
“She breathes such fressh air!”
Ughh…errr (unintelligible gurgles)

I wish I could eat their brains… but it doesn’t work like that.
You know that. You’ve seen What’s Eating Gilbert’s Brains.

No one understannds my love, our love, our cross-starred
love. Commmme closssser, my guhhh, Ghouliet, my deear,
fear not my zom-pals’ stumbles and groans, bring your table
and crystal ball and Aunt Jemima turban and your four
young… mmmeerrrh… lively friends all dressed in bllack,
the blackness, black as the… euurdhfgh… dirt
that is my eeerrr eternal comforter.

(Eeegat! Your stunnning beauty has turnt me… bebghr…
Zomb-emo!)

Coommme, bring, come closer to my ramshackle abbbode.

What!?

… I just saw you here last week …

No!

It’s the Denny’s dumpster behind Church’s Chicken.

…

No, the other one.

I will wooo you with ssstttrawberry syrup, so sweet and
blood red, and if all goes swirls and brandy,
I’ll soon see your moons over my hammy!

… Fuck you! Of course it still it works!

No, no. Yes. Oh. I’m sorry. No, I really am. Of course.

I would pass up a left-lobe luncheon, I would become
a parietal pariah for but a quick nibb nibb nibbble on
your nubile cartilage.

Oh Viv, my Viv, I’ve lost my tendons, I’ve brittle bones,
I haven’t had a body massage followed by a Grande Coffee
Light Frappucino in ages! I’m oh so ohh soo stiff…
for you! eeuhhhrghg…

You inhabit my undead daydreams — we walk/stumble,
hand in missing limb, on the beach of the blackest part of the Dead Sea.
Then we lower to the sand particles and thump-a-dump-bump.

Zombie style.

My Vivian, grant me this one wish and I’ll beee yourrs forrevvver.*

Your Zomeo,

D. Dick Grave

*Meaning, during our killer makeout session, I’ll swiftly, gently insert
my thick milkshake
straw into your
nose and enjoy my
eternal desserts.
Egyptian style.
And then you will enjoy yours.
With me.
Forrevvver.

Tags: bad puns, Nabokov knockoff, zombies

Llamaent

by MC Poetry

Hello, you corndogs
You shufflers of men!
Listen to me.
No, I mean it. Stop—
Come on. That was uncalled for.
I say, today we all hang our heads together
As brothers.
And not just because the Arby’s is closing.

We are sad
The way that the Transformers movie was sad.
And we are drunk on the beer of sadness
The way that Shia LaBeouf flipped his truck when he was
Allegedly not drunk on actual beer.
So you see, it is truly a small world.

Why are we sad? you ask.
No, really, is that what you said?
We are sad because we have lost
One of our own. A true gentle
Man. He called himself Billy
And we called him that too.
Sometimes even to his face.
Although he preferred to be known as Mac,
We couldn’t do that.
Steve Jobs would have killed us for that shit.
You don’t even know.
One time Doug drove him from the airport
To a Chuck E. Cheese’s in Cupertino.
Doug made a joke about the Newton
And Steve ripped his tongue out
And fed it to a tech blogger.
I’m gonna get shanked with a dirty bomb
Just for telling you that.
You don’t even know.

Billy was a good man
With a good head on his shoulders.
He liked his head. He always said
That it could think, and it could drink,
And what it drank would fill a tank.

No, not a real tank. A fishtank.
Shut up already.
Yeah, he drank gasoline.
Come on.

And so today we mourn our friend.
We have made ourselves true men
And shufflers of men.
We have not buckled under the ass-pressures of life
The way that Billy did when that tweaking linebacker fell on him.
But we should not think any less of young Billy
Because he wasn’t a dick until after he got old.
Anyway, they’re charging us by the hour
So we must say good-bye
Even though Billy will always be with us
As little bits of gunk in the cracks in the sidewalk
In the place where that linebacker snorted
Six chunks of peanut butter crank
And tripped his money maker right off the third-floor balcony.
What a way to go.
The mortician spent a day and a half
Massaging out the assmark.

Friends, compartments,
We should all remember
That Billy was a corndog
Just like us.
He could fight, and he could shuffle
Men from place to place
Just as good as anyone
Who received an equal or lesser performance review.
We hold our candles to him.
He was a father to us all.

Seriously, he slept with your mom.
You didn’t know that? I thought you knew.
He dated her for like six months.

Shalom, Billy!
And a good day to you, sir.

Tags: Arby's, bad puns, Billy, Chuck E. Cheese, eulogy, Shia LaBeouf, Steve Jobs, tech bloggers