Seventeen syllables — Shinto Twitter*, as I like to call it. So few words from which you can unpack so much meaning and interpretation, a “hint fiction” of sorts. Or just a way to kill a few minutes between meetings. Enjoy some of my favorite compositions, by subject. I’d warn you about the adult content, but I’m sure you’re desensitized by now if you’ve spent much time around here.

* not to be shortened to “Shitter”

[ribbon toplink=”false”]Bad Television[/ribbon]
o wretched Orson
Mindy’s phantom incubus
scrambled eggs bear Mearth

shorty got secure
Willis be burning Bridges
Plato’s dead sexy

don’t hassle the ‘Hoff
his buoyant casting saved lives
here comes the montage

Pamela gave rise
before Tommy steered that boat

syndicated Flo
our love is so wrong, so right
wanna kiss her grits

Alice, my chanteuse
cats screw with more harmony
over easy, please

wait for me, Vera
thought when you said “just the tip”
dinner was on you

[ribbon toplink=”true”]Heavy Metal[/ribbon]

sales aren’t what they used to be

amps on 11
armadillos in trousers
smell the glove, honey

Cum on Feel the Noize
contradicts your hushed namesake
are coffins soundproof?

Cookie-Monster throat
no syllable coherent
hail nü-Hamburglar

[ribbon toplink=”true”]Video Games[/ribbon]

curvy pink-bowed wife
Pacs on the pounds once married
blue and swallowed ghosts

miner works the shaft
spelunking my Commodore
Lode Runneth over

Madden superstar
you got cut in training camp
ironic design

[ribbon toplink=”true”]Zombies[/ribbon]
undead Bobby Flay
I’ll have mine stir-fried, thank you
raw brains give me gas

actor seeks agent
Thriller, Shaun, 28 Days
no speaking roles, please

sinewy goodness
jugular fountain of youth
dibs on the bimbo

hello, IRS?
can I still claim dependents
if my wife ate them?

’til death did us part
sickness and health and rigor
gave it my best shot

army of darkness
stop-motion skeletal hacks
oh, If Chins Could Kill

sweetbreads are offal
try the eggs-n-brains scramble
here at Café Zed

Romero script pitch:
eatin’ ain’t cheatin’ at the
Brothel of the Dead

props to the O.Z.
hare rolled back the stone, laid eggs
dyed for risen Christ

fine, eat the limpers
that low-hanging fruit of flesh
I like ’em brainy

it’s not the thrill of the chase
but … save me some face?

we got it backwards
title refers to humans
the true Walking Dead

goddamn, Maggie’s cute
zombpocalypse was worth it
let’s repopulate

[ribbon toplink=”true”]Miscellany[/ribbon]

their little secret
suitcase and a cloud of dust
not daddy’s weekend

respirator off
peaceful smile gives them solace
do angels wear black?

king dealer busted
keep your hands where I can see
welcome to Vegas

crime-scene tape unspools
evidence suggests passion
we share DNA

bound by wanton weight
she yielded as shell to sea
chaste dream and caught hell

“A Close Shave”
swerved ’round a Mustang
steel casket of mangled dreams
just outside Burma

“A Bird in Hand”
gnashing teeth, held tongue
middle curled inside your palm
let that finger fly

“No Soap Required”
hors d’oeuvre bubbles blew
’cause kids helped in the kitchen
said they’d washed the grapes