Drugs Aren't Always Fun, Kids by Kevin M. Hibshman

Here are a few important health and safety tips:

1.Always make sure you grab the intended prescription bottle.
If you mistakenly ingest your room mate's muscle relaxants instead of your blood pressure
pills, you may notice the following:
Inability to wake up.
Showing up to work wearing two different pairs of shoes.
Blurred vision.
Difficulty in completing a single thought.

2.Monitor your alcohol consumption in public to avoid:
Being unable to reach a bathroom before relieving yourself.
Becoming overly flirtatious which can lead to unforeseen and unwanted situations you are too smashed to apologize for.
Going home with a stranger you discover you loathe as soon as the buzz fades.
Driving home from the bar in a snow storm with someone who has somehow drank twice as much as you did.

3.Never combine rum, whiskey, Kahlua and vodka within the same half an hour as the effects will be startling but highly unpleasant.

4.If the police arrive, try not to converse with them.
5.Don't imbibe alcoholic beverages on the way to the amusement park.

6.You may realize that you have smoked enough medical marijuana when: you cannot see anymore but you're still laughing.
You no longer care about what you're laughing at.
Bright flashes of light begin streaking across the room but no one else sees them.
You hear yourself talking but no longer feel yourself talking.
All of your friends bid you goodnight suddenly and rush out the door.

I hope you will find these tips helpful.

Kevin M. Hibshman has had poems published in many journals and magazines world wide. In addition, he has edited his poetry zine, Fearless, since 1990 and is the author of sixteen chapbooks including Love Sex Death Dreams (Green Bean Press, 2000) and Incessant Shining (Alternating Current, 2011).

Shazbot Bloody Shazbot by John Doyle

I couldn't be more certain if I tried, 
that you are an apple,
that I am a gnat,
not a gnat called Natalie,
that was Jack.
And I am a high-rise Judas Christ, you are Jesus Iscariot
parking in a blind man's spot, a blind man
who stole a walking stick from a cripple,
there's no thieves left with all this honour,

honour died in that train-wreck in 1895.
You were once the petroleum queen of Pepsi town
the one time I could take nothing from you,
North-West somewhere, I was downstairs and drunk,
congratulations girl, I said, and hiccupped, leaving for the station

 John Doyle became a Mod again in the summer of 2017 to fight off his impending mid-life crisis; whether this has been a success remains to be seen. He has has two collections published to date, A Stirring at Dusk in 2017, and Songs for Boys Called Wendell Gomez in 2018, both on PSKI's Porch.

He is based in Maynooth, County Kildare, Ireland. All he asks is that you leave your guns at the door and tie up your horses before your enter.

A Pretend Beatle by Dan Provost

Jimmy wanted everyone to know he enjoyed the Beatles rhythm section…
Rain was the best song the fab four ever recorded, reminding anyone in earshot.
No one cared.
“They” continued to laugh at him.
 
He took an old broom, cut himself a wig from mother’s corpse.
…and performed as Paul McCartney most nights.
 
The fake Höfner 500/1 Violin Bass in tow.
 
The state hospital staff had to drag him to bed sometimes.
 
Facility ordinance prohibited his concerts to go past
 
8 P.M.

Love it!

Dan Provost's poetry has been published throughout the small press for a number of years.  Some recent publications include: Ariel Chart, Poetical Review, Merak Magazine, Oddball Magazine, Deuce Coupe, Misfit Magazine, the Rye Whiskey Review, Cajun Mutt Press and the Dope Fiend Daily.  He has two books coming out in 2020.  Under the Influence of Nothingness by Kung Fu Treachery Press and Rattle of a Realizer, published by Whiskey City Press.  He lives in Berlin, New Hampshire with his wife Laura and dog Bella.

Assholes To Ashes by Scott Simmons

There were four of us on the cover.
And five before we wrote it.

After two years only half still speak to one another.
Because of course what are brothers really for?

All of it was over shit that barely made one cent.
It mostly only paid in kiss ass compliments. 

But somehow even that went to our heads.

If you write long enough don’t except friends.
Or leaving without having a broken heart.

There’s no glamour only words on paper.

Scott Simmons has recently arrived through a time portal after a tough divorce with his future ex wife and he now lives in cargo van outside of I-Hop.  It's  not recommended to engage him in conversations as he will likely urinate on you and does not believe in the concept of  personal space. Plus his writing also sucks.

This is why we need to outlaw time travel now! #voteyes4theFuckScottSimmonsBill

Facebook by Rathnar Kilbane

Do you want to post some kitten pics today?
Do you wanna share some shit that's really gay?

Ahhh Facebook.

Would you like to see a bathroom selfie today?
Do want to go to jail from all the way until May?

Sitting at home and smoking crack.
Wish I killed that wench who stole my heart and never gave it back.

Blood and guts and some casual rape.
And if you pretend to be an insane outlaw, I will be happy to show what real insanity is like.

Facebook, I think I will friend request a two year old today.
He can't speak a word, but with a keyboard he has a lot to say.

Blood guts mixed with misery and if you wag your ass at me.
I will always be happy to take a bite!!!

Inspired to the dwarf Lord Glen Danzig 

#behead #all #poets #including #myself #johntrovoltafever

Rathnar Kilbane, is the poet laureate of Iceland.

He enjoys raiding villages and pillaging.

His scrolls have been published many places, such as.

The New Yorker, The Old Red Dragon Review, Esquire Magazine, The Dope Fiend Daily, and The Modern Viking Spring Catalog.

He was recently nominated for a Pulitzer for his soon to be published scroll from High Times Magazine.

I Will Alert The Media by John Patrick Robbins

And let all the so called news outlets know we were never friends to begin with.
As they scratch their heads questioning, who the fuck cares?

Which could destroy a writer's ego in itself just to discover.
The world doesn't revolve around them and there is more to this world than poetry and papercuts.

So as I pen these words dear reader I will let you down easy in this statement.

Like me or hate me I could give a flying fuck either way.
Because opinions are like assholes and the art scene is more toxic than a sewer and smells far worse.

So you may be on your way now.
It's been real and it's been fun.
Least that’s the bullshit I will sell you to get your ass out the door.

What did you expect a fucking gold star and a cookie?

How bout a cheap insult and swift kick in the ass instead.

Bye bye now my darlings.

John Patrick Robbins is possibly the greatest human being since Rasputin.

He now resides as the overseer of the Golden Dawn and when not using his dark powers enjoys stamp collecting and serial killing.

He works as a camp counselor at Camp Crystal Lake where he is hosting a writers retreat for writers he would enjoy murdering.

Where he will drag his critics deep into the woods and paint the forest with their blood.

His work has been oddly rejected by.

Family Circle, Esquire, Jugs, Rolling Stone Magazine, Tiger Beat, This Old Whore House, Better Homes and Gardens, The Village Voice, Serial Killer Quarterly and all of his many ezines due to backroom politics.

He is also currently in training for the 2023 drinking Olympics where he will be defending his title in keg tossing.

He is currently on drugs.

Thank you for reading your a lovely bunch of coconuts.