The Sound of a Cocky Alert

Whoop! Whoop! That’s the sound of a cocky alert.
Whoop! Whoop! That’s the sound of a cocky alert.
Why did I drink whisky?
Do Cocaine, and eat at Crif Dogs?
Why is Bed-Stuy so far from the Lower East Side?
Why is my ass clenched so tight Jude Law couldn’t fuck it?
Please! Old Man!
Give me those Depends!
Quickly, ‘lest this G Train turn into a Port-O-Potty.
You! Yuppie! Hand me the cork,
From that fine bottle of wine!
I’m in need of a plug to hold back this fly-arrhea!
Franklin Ave.?
Surely, those fancy jeans will be soiled by Myrtle-Willoughby.
Still, I would do more coke if given the opportunity,
And a chance to hide these shit stains, from the Nordic
College soccer player, who insists on following me home,
In golden light, the avatar of L.L. Cool J appears.
‘Explosion. Overpowering’.

by Mike Dolan