Joey Cloudy online

“We who are about to die salute you.” 

for Jack Johnson, Joe Lewis and Mohammad Ali 

    The title of this anti-poem, about death and taxes was originally ‘Killing Two Birds with One Stone’. Then it was shortened to ‘Two Birds with One Stone’. That wasn’t blowing my skirt up so I changed it to ‘Two Birds’. Which would just confuse the hell out of the English, as much as ‘Killing Two Birds’. so I then changed the title to ‘One Stone’. Finally, for reasons I never completely understand and my “…generally careless attitude towards poetry” mine not yours, I finally decided hell, I’ll just tell it to them straight. Fuck poetry.  

     I don’t watch television and I don’t talk about politics much but the other day I saw one of those TV talk shows. The ones that always ends with some scrawny dish water blonde speed freak green tooth cracker from an anonymous trailer park in going nowhere america or some 300 pound welfare queen profanity spewing project bunny taking a swing at somebody for some dumb assed reason. You know these women with a dozen or more little bastards running wild in the streets. How do you end up with 12 kids and 18 different daddies? That’s just a mathematical impossibility. Then I saw a drama set in prison called Oz, and then I watched a ball game. I don’t remember what kind of ball though you know it’s all the same. We pay some pituitary super-sized human fucking freak of nature multi-millions to amass as much muscle as possible. Then we turn them loose with a ball of some sort, on a field or court. We lightly armor them, if we armor them at all, with or without a stick depends on the game. We pit them against an opposing team of pituitary super-sized human fucking freaks of nature, who have also been paid multi-millions to amass as much muscle as possible and do something with a ball, some sort of ‘step and fetch’ I think.  

    Then we get drunk on the weekends and scream obscenities and racial slurs at the telly at the tops of our alcohol loosened lungs until we pass out. All the while being so homophobic, we’re oblivious to the obvious homoerotic nature of these spectacles. When we go to work again we brag or bitch depending on which way the ball bounces about how well or how poorly our team did. As if we had actually suited up. Sounds a lot like our last president don’t it. I guess it must have been some sort of information overload that came over me as I half listened to a story about the federal deficit and the national debt on national public radio. And I innocently wondered to myself and now to you; Why don’t we raise revenue for the state by having death row inmates fight to the death on pay per view television unarmed butt fucking naked just like those goddamned polytheistic sodomites the Greeks used to do it in  ancient times when they invented the Olympics?  

   It would be a cross between American Idol and WWF professional wrestling. Just imagine how much of the taxpayers’ dollars we could save on executions alone. Not to mention the uncountable billions in revenue we could generate using credit and debit cards to charge for pay per view, and lets not forget the cellblock seats tickets sales for live shows. The poor and working classes could watch the Syndicated reruns, the marketing and merchandising possibilities promise to eclipses all other sports in the history of sports combined profits within the first year. Trading cards, Tee shirts, movie rights, comic books, romance novels, action figures, clothing lines, computer video games, video exercise programs, cook books, self help books, sex manuals, cosmetics, energy drinks, a broad way show, legalized betting to raise money for the state to educate our ignorant assed children. Record deals; mostly rappers but a few country and one southern gospel, cable movies of the week, documentaries using the video surveillance cameras real footage from the crime scenes of the condemned and committed. cops video, trial footage, docudramas, all satellite broadcast through CNN. More spin-offs than Norman Lear, spin-offs into other nations prisoners on death row vs. american prisoners on death row it would be just like the Olympics but better because they’re playing keepsies, spin-offs into the women’s prisons, another spin off into juvenile detention centers, another spin-off to mental institutions. Men, women, children, drooling retards and the doorknob sucking crazies all fighting to the death.  

   The last freedom, the undiscovered country, the final frontier, the bloodthirsty sons a bitches already gonna die anyways why not go out in style. Instead of being strapped down put in diapers put down as if they was an ugly old stray cat at the animal shelter. We can now offer these useless douche bags one last chance for blood and glory.  A chance to die with a dignity none of these no good murdering mother fuckers possessed in their shitty insignificant petty little waste of air lives. “I can’t believe god would waste skin on a piece of shit like this” these ultra violent cock-biting assholes on death row. Now the state can give their useless lives a meaning. Their worthless lives value. Now these lazy selfish no good fuck-wads can finally do something right and give a little something back to the community their ill spent lives. A chance to die with something they never lived with honor. a chance for what every dip-shit dumb enough to enlist dreams of a warriors’ death that guarantees a place “…in the halls of Valhalla where the brave may live forever.”   

    We broadcast it internationally televised live kumnate (coma umlaut  find out how to spell this bullshit before you post the next draft) un-armed fight to the death to or “to the pain?” The prisoners motivation is obvious the more fights you win i.e. the more prisoners you execute in unarmed combat butt fucking naked on satellite. broadcast live through CNN on a regular schedule, the longer you get to live. But that’s not all. No, the blood sport champions get a free lifetime supply of steroids, human growth hormones, gene-therapy, stem cells, nanites and anything else they care to ingest. They just gonna die sooner or later anyway who gives two fucks about side effects on a bunch of condemned losers. Why, within a year’s time it would be the most popular highest rated sport in the world.  

    Eventually, it would get out of hand like these things always do. So, soon unemployed wrestlers, boxers, football, basketball, soccer, rugby, synchronized swimmers, speed skaters, gymnast, figure skaters, cross country skiers, rowers, every hockey player, cricket players, lacrosse players, chess players, bowlers and even professional bass fishermen would begin to commit murders, just to get put on death row and have the spotlight and the love of billions on them again.  

     Then those slimy shits that run all the rackets, vice and drugs, the politicians; the real organized crime families’ syndicates would want a piece of the action. Then the fights would be fixed, and the American people would begin their predictable longing for whitewashed version of blood sport. The darlings of the media would follow the story like a dog chasing a car until they found the most notorious murderer of all time. Kept in a mile deep penal facility in a secret location beneath the jungles of South America, yes, they found Hitler’s brain. The nazi scientist had been further along than even science fiction writers had speculated on the super solider project. Unfortunately, the Fuehrer’ brain had been dead a little too long before it was transplanted into this un-aging, perfectly fit Aryan super solider boy body. Consequently, the first few scientists they sent in who greeted him with the stereotypical snapping of the heels together while coming to full attention and shouting “Zeig Hiel!”  Raising their right arms into the air in simultaneous stiff armed slashing knife-hand up at about a 60 degree angle flat palmed down nazi salute were eaten by the Fuehrer. In his current brain damaged state of mind, he took the salute and the shouting as a threat. There seemed a nanosecond of confusion but not before the eyes flashed wide as a primal fear races to register rage. He explodes off the hospital bed. Immediately followed by the unmistakable sound of the snapping of large bones, ligaments and tendons popping like “E” strings the tearing of raw human flesh from the body of the living. Retching guttural cries for help, a symphony of screams, pandemonium on the same scale as the old testament as the Fuehrer rips off the offending arm and uses the bloody stump to bludgeon the rest of the nazis in the room with him to death. None that were in the cell with him on the day of his bloody resurrection will live to see the next. The air fills with futile please for mercy, the one word now the mantra for those who had never shown the world any. The collective whimpered prayers of the atheist in the foxes ensanguined maw denied. The room smells of shit, vomit, urine and blood.  

     The rest of the staff; watches mutely through the mirrored glass. They can only stare in disbelief as their compees, friends and lovers are systematically dispatched. Finally, someone passes air over his vocal cords to shake the silence. “We certainly cannot let him out of the room in that condition.” The SS officer says to no one in particular finding his voice coldly unshaken. Talk about stating the obvious. The rest in the room remain silent, except for someone in the back is softy gagging on their sobs and the thin mechanical whirling of the camera’s electric motors. This is a scene to be repeated, many times. Over the next few decades, it just went on and on and on until one of these goofy nazi fucks finally realized; the fucking Fuehrer was a complete homicidal maniac.  

   Next, they filled the room with enough sleeping gas to knock out an elephant for three days. Then the Nazis sent in a team of neo-SS best of the best to subdue him. The Fuehrer had only been playing opossum. As soon as they were inside of his cell, he ripped the face of off the commander of the team with his teeth and then proceeded to rip the arm off one of the other SS guards and beat the rest of them to death with the bloody extremity. They tried to wait him out but he ate the corpses survived on the raw and rotting flesh of the mad scientist and guards. They could not get in and he could not get out, a Mexican standoff of sorts. So, they decide to observe him, what else could they do? He was their Fuehrer after all. One day maybe, in the future maybe, they could capture him and cure his insanity not likely, but we are talking about white supremacist; (afrikaners, neo-nazis, skin heads, klansmen, daughters of the confederacy, members of the John Birch Society, republicans ect…) so reality has absolutely nothing to do with the equation here.  

     They gave him cable TV, free weights, a library, an underground track and a complete library. An eclectic assortment of musical instruments, a record player and a radio. He had a photographic memory, a gift for mimicry and elocution. He was still a lousy painter. He listened to classical or jazz music when he read or was resting. Gangsta’ rap and thrash speed or death metal when he exercised vigorously. He could converse intelligently, if not expertly on any scientific discipline, he exercised for 12 hours per day every day doing everything from weightlifting to Ti chee from jogging to yoga. When the Internet was invented, they let him log on under a pseudonym. The Fuehrer was even allowed conjugal visits. Even though he always killed the nazi whores who all kept volunteering to mate with him anyways, even after seeing the videotaped footage of what had happed to everyone of their predecessors for over half a century. Knowing what his history was they could not resist this golden boy opportunity, their biological clocks ticking like an evil genius’s time bomb in the countdown to oblivion, drove them to this madness the just like the beating of the tell tell heart. His perfect white male specimen genetically engineered pheromones screaming; echoed subliminal chants, odes to the wombs of Joy Division breeders that reverberated in their drenched loins as they spontaneously orgasm whenever they were within a 666-mile radius. Their fears and reason vanished in the pure lust to mate with the ultimate single white man with no alimony or child support payments, yet. They could not resist the chance to “…give birth to the superman.” And every time he fucked one of these kraut cunts the exact same thing happened. He ejaculated with the force of 12 gauge shot gun. Shooting his molecular acid semen inside of their pulsating gushing vaginas with such savage velocity that it blew the tops off of their empty little heads like champagne corks while they screamed in sensual agony, writhing beneath him literally melting inside, cumming and going at the same time. Babbling non-sequitors like “I want to have your abortion.”  

    Who was it that said the definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over again; and expecting a different result. Probably some 12 steppers. Meanwhile The Colonel down in Georgia or Mississippi or some place so backwards and deep in the American south them niggas don’t even know mister Lincoln done freed the slaves. One of those provincial deep southern fried backwaters with rebel flags and motherfuckers still walking around called the Colonel. Well, once again history repeats itself like a scratched CD, with the precision of a hip hop D. J. Yes, the Colonel wears a white linen suit, a white wide brimmed hat, has a silver immaculately trimmed mustache, and goatee. And, he’s only ever had one idea. He gets the same idea he always gets. The only fucking idea he has ever had or will ever have, again. That if they could find a white death row prisoner who could sing and dance and fight like a nigger death row inmate then he could make one hundred billion dollars. Because this is his America after all, and it is a white man’s world. So, if even those goop gobbling, semen slurping, cum-burping poor white trash whores who make triple XXX porno’s can increase their salary by being careful to never get caught on camera getting their sloppy twats stretched to tearing by any black Mandingo mother fucker in atypical american interracial cyber smut with no production or any other kind of value.  

    After the endless procession of all these wiggers; the Pat Boones, Elvis, The New Kids on the Block, The Beastie Boys, The Back Street Boys, Vanilla Ice Ice Baby, Condo Lisa Rice, Michael Jackson and m & m. it should come as no surprise that the Fuehrer was an overnight success. Ratings, which had already broken all rating records, now skyrocketed. Every one of the white mans burdens tuned in, waiting in vain for blind justice, karma, and the circle of Devine retribution to give the Fuehrer his comeuppance. Prisoners from Bangkok to Buffalo were on a waiting list for a year to fight their way to the top of the championship so that they got a shot at the title fight against the Fuehrer.  

    Everybody all over the world hated the Fuehrer and bet everything they owned against him, booed him through their TV and computer screens and some even hissed their impotent venom into their radios. The Chinese hated him. The Japanese hated him. the Muslims hated him. Of course, the Jews hated him. the French simultaneously pissed and shit themselves whenever he fought. Every person of color universally hated the Fuehrer. However, the Colonel was right about the White people. Every white person on the planet from Johannesburg to Dallas loved, worshipped and idealized the Fuehrer without fail. He was after all, The Last Great White Supremacist Hope they never had in the good old days of real boxing.  

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