Hail Satan by Ping Ping The Panda

Hello dear reader,

My name is Ping Ping and I would like to take a second of your time to speak to you about the dark Lord himself Satan,

You know when I was approached by the church of Satan to be it's official spokesman.
I was like these fools got to be trippin'.

Then they offered me some big bucks and some big titty fat booty bitches, I'm fuck like yeah! I'm down.

So now I'm here to convert as many lost souls to burn in hell with me.
Hey your life sucks to begin with or you wouldn't be reading this shit mag.

Like sell your soul today and get something other than a case of diabetes laying your ass on the couch.

Sure you may have to kill a few people but who gives a fuck?

People are mostly all assholes to begin with.
Hey remember soon as the world comes to an end the dead will walk the earth.

It's like a badass slayer video.
So lets all get fucked up and drink one another's blood and have an orgy.

I recently got high on acid and lit a Wal-Mart on fire, oh well one less corporate Nazi shopping center to put every other small business and barely pay it's employees around.

Join the dark side, cause our music is awesome.
And being evil kicks ass.


And remember if you don't join.
I will be forced to creep into your house at night and eat your entire family.

Sorry but I tried to get you to join nicely.

And remember to subscribe to our newsletter and don't forget we also have an exciting coloring book just for the kids so nobody's left out.


Join today or I will fucking kill you!!

Have a nice day and he is watching from the abyss.

Toodles.

Ping Ping is the new spokesman for the Church of Satan.
He enjoys killing, Binge Drinking and orgies.
When not busy doing the devils work he also collects fine art and wine.

DON’T PICK MY BRAIN. By Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal

Don’t pick my brain.

There is nothing 

there. Don’t pick my

bones. I don’t taste 

too good. Don’t pick

a fight with me

because I’ll let

you win. Don’t pick

sides because I

don’t care at all

to be chosen

or pushed away.

Don’t pick my eyes

out vulture. I

will not provide 

a single ounce

of nourishment.

Luis was born in Mexico, lives in California, and works in the mental health 

field in Los Angeles, CA. His poems have appeared in Ariel Chart, Beatnik Cowboy,

Dope Fiend Daily, Unlikely Stories, and Zygote In My Coffee.

THE TEENAGE BAND by John Grey

We were crap at first.

But we had the instruments,

the amps, and we looked good on stage.

We needed the attention,

the applause.

Did we get better?

Yes.

But not as good as we wanted to be.

Friends and family,

and kids with no place else to go

came to see us.

Our gigs were the same few places.

We got paid enough for picks and drumsticks.

We figured our audience deserved better.

But we gave them 

barely recognizable cover tunes,

a couple of lame originals,

a hideous drum solo,

and loud riffs

that our bassist never could follow.

The clapping seemed more sympathetic 

than genuine happiness.

But we stuck with it.

As folks tell you,

if you stick with it

something good is bound to happen.

It never did.

Truth is,

if you stick with it

it just means

you’re stuck with it.

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in

Hawaii Pacific Review, Dalhousie Review and Qwerty with work upcoming

in Blueline, Willard and Maple and Clade Song.

Beef Curtains (2) By Ryan Quinn Flanagan

Saw this thing on social media

where some woman claimed to have

sent a picture of her vagina to some guy

who wrote back that he loved to eat 

at Arby’s as well.

It was probably a joke, but you can never tell.

The world is changing clothes all the time.

I noticed that only men were laughing.

Which happens a lot nowadays.

It gave me a good laugh as well.

And why not.

Ryan Quinn Flanagan is a male gigolo for hire.  Presently residing along the sunny shores of Guantanamo Bay, Cuba where he spends his days drinking discount Tequila and accusing chemtrails of being "sky farts."  His work can be found both in print and online in such joints as: The Rye Whiskey Review, The Dope Fiend Daily, Outlaw Poetry Network, Horror Sleaze Trash, and Under The Bleachers.

FEETZ. By John Tustin

Show me the arches

Show me the toes

I hate the shoes

But I do love the hoes!

The underside wrinkles

The furrowed sweet soles

Give me the tingles

Deep down in my soul

Show me your feetz

Press them against me

Just be discreet

Don’t dare charge a fee

Show me the ankles

Show me the calves

Instead of the Have-nots

We can be Haves

Show me the tiddies

Show me the butt

I might like chubby toes

But I do love a slut!

John Tustin might like pix of women's feet sent to his Facebook inbox but he hates to write third-person bios. fritzware.com/johntustinpoetry contains links to his published poetry online.

Cover Charge. By Linda Kleinbub

 Broken souls gather

buy the two-drink minimum,

look for romantic remedies.

Your advice was

Don’t write about life

write about art.

I say, Paint me black

splatter your pigment

on my wedding dress.

You’re a beer-soaked barroom,

I’m an engagement ring

lost on the floor.

We Fred Astaire tap dance

in the curb’s holy water.

Your kisses were jewels,

dope bought on the Lower East Side.

We crawl out of abandoned squats,

you say you speak fiction-

your heart is exposed,

I tell true stories,

you are forewarned.

Photo by Arthur Kaye

Linda Kleinbub is the host of the monthly Fahrenheit Open Mic, the founder of Pen Pal Poets and the curator of a summer reading series at 6BC Community Garden. She received her MFA from The New School. Some of her work has appeared in The New York Observer, The Brooklyn Rail, The Best American Poetry Blog, Yahoo! Beauty, First Literary Review-East, and multiple anthologies. Her first full-length book of poetry is forthcoming from A Gathering of Tribes Press / A Fly by Night Press. 

Reflections From The Gutter by Ron Murphy

Once upon a time  there was a man with a perfect voice.
He wasn't like those others, that spoke in riddles or allowed a woman to choose were they were going to eat for the evening.

He stood tall and kept those others in their place.
He was a true man, he cut his grass and cussed his dog for pooping in the hot tub.

Once this man had a home.
Until his cold hearted bitch if an ex blackmailed him with some pictures of him with her sister and grandmother.

Fuck you Kodak.

My life has been hell ever since.

Ron Murphy: Is the voice over legend of poetry and often judged and seldom impersonated by crybabies who can't take a joke yet sure can copy and steal.

His work has been published in.

Hustler, Esquire, Water World Qaurtely , The Bathroom Wall, The Dope Fiend Daily,  Sex On The Beach And Sand Up Your Crack Review, And The Crayon Anthology Series.

He is currently in the witness protection program.

You're Welcome.