POINT: MOON
Gather round people,
Hear my merry hum
For now it is night
And We’ll be graced by the light
Of the great big ball of cum
There are those that say it was made eons ago
and made of solid rock
But that doesn’t phase me, I know better,
This is work of the divine’s cock
When I was younger I told my parents
“Mommy, Daddy, I want to go to space”
They thought that meant “astronaut”
But I wanted extraterrestrial jizz on my face
I made short work of college
I was on a mission from god
In only three years time
I was able to graduate Cum Laude
I studied rockets for years,
I learned all there is to learn
My life’s work will be finished
When I taste that celestial sperm
And so I work all day and night
As though I’m Possessed by a demon
You may laugh now, but i’ll go down
As the man who proved the moon was semen.
As the man who learned how it is that the moon came to be.
COUNTERPOINT: EARTH
“It’s just a plant man” he says, pulling out a jar of indica-sativa hybrid, labeled “booty-tang sativa hybrid” with a label from some dispensary
“I don’t know, weed always gives me anxiety...”
“it’s n a t u r a l, it’s from the earth, don’t worry about it.”
“Well ok, nothing ventured, nothing gained.”
He takes his ‘flower’ and begins chewing it in his mouth.
“Aren’t you supposed to use a grinder for that?"
“Nah, too many chemicals, metal shavings and the like, we’re keeping it organic.”
He chews and chews, until the weed is a soggy pulp. He regurgitates it like a bird, it falls to the coffee table with a wet squelch.
“That was awful...”
He smiles, and gives a wink. He reaches down to his foot and peels the skin off his foot in a deft swoop. It makes an unholy ripping sound. Nerves were certainly destroyed. He lifts up the sheet of foot skin, nearly a centimeter thick, and begins packing the sloppy weed into the skin and begins rolling.
“What the hell are you doing?!”
“It’s natural bro, it’s organic, no harm no foul!”
“That’s disgusting!”
“It’s nature.”
The “joint” begins to take form, though it’s hard to call it’s shape a form. Wet sloppy weed drips out of the foot-skin, with a soft drip, drip, drip.
“Don’t you need a filter? No no wait forget i asked.”
He smirks knowingly. Slowly, he begins ripping large tufts of hair out of his head. He goes until there is very little left, he is nearly bald now. He methodically looks through each individual hair before picking the perfect one, just the right length. He begins bunching it up. He stuffs it into the end of the joint. It does not fit.
