Cinco de Mayo, 1969 by Bruce Morton

Marines don’t cry. But these did.
I saw it, I sat there and watched.
They were sucked in by the draft,
Riptide undercurrent we all feared.
Commanded by General Hersey
To report, so they reported and
Were told to stand and swear
An oath then were told to count off
By fours. By force of concentration
Tried not to lose count. Number
Threes step forward, “You are now
Marines!” Holy mother of shores
Of Montezuma! Semper shit! What
To do? Fall in. Hope to survive.

--

Bruce Morton divides his time between Montana and Arizona. He is the author of two poetry collections: Planet Mort (2024) and Simple Arithmetic & Other Artifices (2014). His poems have appeared in numerous online and print venues. He was formerly dean at the Montana State University library.

Welcome to the Darkside by JPR

Where the Queens sing show tunes and the boys all want to be girls as the girls just want to be left alone with their umm, best friends and maybe a few glasses of wine.

The polys just want to love everyone. I can't handle dealing with my issues let alone fifteen others but props to them for multi-tasking you naughty children of the night’s uncertain and often delicious promise.

To the S&M freaks who need a good spanking to all the kinks of this strange party with an exquisite soundtrack.

Minus the dipshits who hate everything and who secretly yearn to dress up like adult babies who just need to snuggle with a sweet leather daddy in the shadows. Your secret is safe with us, of course, wink wink.

To all the nutcases: if you’re not crazy then you're just plain boring or one of those other people.You know Jesus loves you but you're going to be pissed when on that sad day you arrive at those pearly gates.

To have the big boss greet you in heels and body glitter with a little poodle in hand and a pool boy within arm’s reach to look at your repressed ass and say:

“Oh girl, strip off those clothes and hop in the pool, you uptight sexy bitch, you!”

Remember you’re a socially repressed, quasi nazi. Bullshit ain't fooling nobody; we know deep down you are secretly a princess, my dear.

Come on over, sugar pants, admit it.
You always wanted to hang with freaks.
Dominatrix you surprised, saggy diapers.
Admit it turns ya on.

Dedicated to backward dipshits everywhere who hate what they all secretly yearn to be:

Free…

John Patrick Robbins passed yesterday, yet he managed to write this bio today.

He runs his cult on Knotts Island, NC, where he also runs his private zoo with his twelve wives.

He is seldom seen and is thought to be able to teleport into other dimensions. He is also the inventor of Spanx.

He recently sacrificed Scott Simmons to gain the power of never losing the remote.

He is currently working with Netflix to bring his musical to the big screen based on the life of Flipper.

He is part owner of Instagram and can secretly see all those private selfies you take in the bathroom. By the way, someone needs to flush.

He will be on tour this summer in Norway, opening for the black metal band Rotting Corpse to support their children's album Murder Your Parents And Eat Your Neighbors.

He is the author of one million books within his mind.

He is allergic to oxygen and happiness and owns a thriving cemetery business in Rhode Island.

He enjoys serial killing and collecting the finger paintings of Betty White.

He is recorded in the Guinness Book of World Records as the Greatest Bio-writer in history.

He has never eaten at the Olive Garden.

He likes fine wines and boobs.
You read this entire thing.
You really need a hobby or a cocktail.

Or maybe some soothing shock therapy to celebrate Mental Health Awareness Month.

Also, everyone is out to get you. But no, your house isn't haunted because even invisible people don't like you.

He is also an Employee of the Month down at the Piggly Wiggly.

So, suck it and have a nice day.