flinttownzero.com

A Zimbabwean man was busted on Sunday at 4 a.m. penetrating a donkey tied to a tree in his backyard (with his penis). The man, 28-year-old Sunday Moyo, admitted to the court that it indeed must have looked bad — but hear him out! Because only a few hours earlier, the donkey was a human prostitute.

From New Zimbabwe:

"Your worship, I only came to know that I was being intimate with a donkey when I got arrested," [Sunday Moyo] began.
"I had hired a prostitute and paid US$20 for the service at Down Town night club and I don't know how she then became a donkey."

According to The Herald, he also claimed he was in love:

"I think I am also a donkey. I do not know what happened when I left the bar, but I am seriously in love with [the] donkey," [Moyo said.]

Moyo was charged with bestiality and ordered to undergo examination by two court psychiatrists. As for the donkey, she has mostly forgotten about the incident, and is currently eating a wormy apple. [newzimbabwe.com]

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GETTING IT RIGHT by Matthew Dickman - This is GOOD POETRY.

Wed, 26 Oct 2011 19:14:08 -0700

GETTING IT RIGHT

Your ankles make me want to party,

want to sit and beg and roll over

under a pair of riding boots with your ankles

hidden inside, sweating beneath the black tooled leather;

they make me wish it was my birthday

so I could blow out their candles, have them hung

over my shoulders like two bags

full of money. Your ankles are two monster-truck engines

but smaller and lighter and sexier

than a saucer with warm milk licking the outside edge;

they make me want to sing, make me

want to take them home and feed them pasta,

I want to punish them for being bad

and then hold them all night long and say I’m sorry, sugar, darling,

it will never happen again, not

in a million years.

Your thighs make me quiet. Make me want to be

hurled into the air like a cannonball

and pulled down again like someone being pulled into a van.

Your thighs are two boats burned out

of redwood trees. I want to go sailing. Your thighs, the long breath of them

under the blue denim of your high-end jeans,

could starve me to death, could make me cry and cry.

Your ass is a shopping mall at Christmas,

a holy place, a hill I fell in love with once

when I was falling in love with hills.

Your ass is a string quartet,

the northern lights tucked tightly into bed

between a high-count-of-cotton sheets.

Your back is the back of a river full of fish;

I have my tackle and tackle box. You only have to say the word.

Your back, a letter I have been writing for fifteen years, a smooth stone,

a moan someone makes when his hair is pulled, your back

like a warm tongue at rest, a tongue with a tab of acid on top; your spine

is an alphabet, a ladder of celestial proportions.

When I place my fingers along it there isn’t an instrument in the world

I’d rather be playing. It’s a map of the world, a time line,

I am navigating the North and South of it.

Your armpits are beehives, they make me want

to spin wool, want to pour a glass of whiskey, your armpits dripping their honey,

their heat, their inexhaustible love-making dark.

Your arms are the arms of nations, they hail me like a cab.

I am bright yellow for them.

I am always thinking about them,

resting at your side or high in the air when I’m pulling off your shirt. Your arms

of blue and ice with the blood running

through them. Close enough to your shoulders

to make them believe in God.

Your shoulders make me want to raise an arm and burn down the Capitol. They sing

to each other underneath your turquoise slope-neck blouse.

Each is a separate bowl of rice

steaming and covered in soy sauce.

Your neck is a skyscraper of erotic adult videos, a swan and a ballet

and a throaty elevator made of light. Your neck

is a scrim of wet silk that guides the dead into the hours of Heaven.

It makes me want to die.

Your mouth, which is the mouth of everything

worth saying. It’s abalone and coral reef. Your mouth,

which opens like the legs of astronauts

who disconnect their safety lines and ride their stars into the billion and one

voting districts of the Milky Way.

Darling, you’re my President; I want to get this right!

—Matthew Dickman

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A good friend of mine pointed out that wearing the same, 3+ year old shirts and pants isn't going to cut it for attracting women. It works for me cause it's one less expense but I do see the value in his argument. Anyone have any pointers to what is in st

Sun, 23 Oct 2011 17:58:15 -0700

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flinttownzero.com

I think today is missing a #1 before the 3.

~~ROCK-OUT!~~ \m/ (^_^) \m/

The hardest thing you could ever do is get old. And it's the only thing you can't control.

I'm always looking for my next first.

I need to listen to some New Music that's utterly BADASS before I lose my faith in music. Suggestions?

If you don't mind me asking, what's your New Years Resolution?

Have. SAFE New Years Eve: Heath Ledger skate boarding over Christian Bale on the set of The Dark Knight.

Partying with my cat tonight.

Cause nothing sez im a douchebag more than having the top down in the winter.

Today in 1939, Montgomery Ward stores introduced a new holiday character: Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.

BEST Christmasy-type Poem I could find this year...

Super 8 IS great!

I bought a new tire yesterday, had a blow out today... now i'm not able to buy another one since I bought my kids a bunch of presents.. #gokarma

The world is completely EFFED! IMO there is not enough vigilante activity. Where's the Boondock Saints?? I'm looking at Sandusky and his ring of SICKOS...

None of us asked to be here...

EAS flaw? Well, it didn't alert us all at once. 2:00 for my friend, 2:07 for me.

I will fight for you...

Man Caught Having Sex with Donkey Claimed It Was a Shapeshifting Hooker

GETTING IT RIGHT by Matthew Dickman - This is GOOD POETRY.

GETTING IT RIGHT

A good friend of mine pointed out that wearing the same, 3+ year old shirts and pants isn't going to cut it for attracting women. It works for me cause it's one less expense but I do see the value in his argument. Anyone have any pointers to what is in st

ROCK-OUT! \m/ (^_^) \m/