Saturday, September 14, 2019

Postcards Of Perversion by John Patrick Robbins

       
I believe I will open a gated community for drunks and perverts alike.

So we can live in peace chasing ass and talking shit down at our local bar .

Group activities will include Roman orgies and an all you can eat buffet .

Taco Tuesdays and wet t-shirt contests every Thursday night.

Bloody Mary mornings every day and a little afternoon delight .

A unattended graveyard for those of you demented shits wanting to simply grab a cold one .

I wouldn't dunk my head underneath the water in the hot tub unless you've had your shots.

And the days of riding bare back are best left to legends of the old west .

It would be the destination of all drinkers and horny bastards alike .

Fuck Disneyland well we do have the furries as well.
Just in case you ever wanted to nail Daisy duck .

We would be like the Basken Robbins of perversion .
With a  hundred and one flavors of absurdity .

The party  lights definitely on , so light a real cigarette because the fools are seldom sober and everyone's  half naked it seems.

What some may consider trash is our perverted treasure .

Sending good vibes from often sticky pages .

Wish you were here.






John Patrick Robbins

Is the editor and chief of the Frat .
He enjoys binge drinking constant work and being driven insane by fellow writers .

He also worships the devil and runs the legion of doom.

His publications include .

The Yellow Pages , Ariel Chart , Hustler Magazine, Guns And Ammo , The Serial Killer Qurterly , Ladies Home Journal, The Rye Whiskey Review.


His work is always unfiltered

Kaiser Rolls Do Not Speak German By Ryan Quinn Flanagan




trust me, I have given them a fair hearing,
many afternoons planted down in front of them
with a pencil and pad of paper
waiting to transcribe what is being said,
but nothing is said, in German or otherwise,
and when I go to bed I lay awake thinking I can hear
whispering in the other room
so now I bring my Kaiser rolls to bed with me
and they smell so good that I take one out
and nibble on it every now and then
which is perhaps why they have nothing
to say to me, though I have had women nibble on my earlobe
and I still talked to them;
it seems a little unfair, this selective persecution
really, the silent treatment…
what are we in grade school again?
yes yes, I know I should grow a thicker skin
to match my beard, I am not without fault in this matter
I know this,
but Jesus H would it hurt them to say something,
anything?
Remember back when you were supposed to talk to the hand
and that meant someone did not want to talk to you?
I talk to my hands and they have
nothing to say    
either.





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.

HUNDREDS OF MILES AWAY FROM HOME by K.W. Peery



While
I
sip
this
scorched
breakfast
blend
from
the
truck
stop
styrofoam
I
poured
it
in...

I
wonder
if
the
skinny
lot
lizards
make
time
and
a
half
on
Saturdays
too...

As
I
try
n'
dissect
all
the
twisted
things
lonely
men
do
when
we're
still
hundreds
of
miles
away
from
home




Americana songwriter and Kansas-City-based storyteller K.W. Peery is the author of eight poetry collections: 
Tales of a Receding Hairline; Purgatory; Wicked Rhythm; Ozark Howler; Gallatin Gallows; Howler Holler; 
Bootlegger’s Bluff; Cockpit Chronicles; Hillbilly Hand Grenades ; Hellraiser's Hieroglyphics . 

He is founder and co-editor of The Angel's Share Literary Magazine (Shine Runner Press).

His work is included in the Vincent Van Gogh Anthology Resurrection of a Sunflower, 
The Cosmic Lost and Found: An Anthology of Missouri Poets (Spartan Press), Best of Mad Swirl Anthology 2018 
and the Walsall Poetry Society Anthology, Diverse Verse II & III.

Peery’s work has been published in The Main Street Rag, Chiron Review, San Pedro River Review, The Gasconade Review, 
Big Hammer, Blink Ink, Rusty Truck, Mad Swirl, Veterans Voices Magazine, Outlaw Poetry, Mojave River Review, The Asylum Floor, 
Horror Sleaze Trash, Ramingo's Porch, From Whispers to Roars, Culture Cult Magazine, The Rye Whiskey Review, Drinkers Only Magazine, 
Under The Bleachers, The Dope Fiend Daily, Punk Noir,  Mutata Re, Ariel Chart, The Beatnik Cowboy and Apache Poetry.

Credited as a lyricist and producer, Peery's work appears on more than twenty studio albums over the past decade.


Website: www.kwpeery.com

ALL INDIANS LISTEN TO RAGAS by Bruce Hodder


A fat Englishman in the Indian shop
tells the ever-so-patient young woman who’s serving
that he loves Ravi Shankar.
She smiles politely.

‘And Anousha.’ Misnaming
the great Pandit’s daughter,
he gushes on, speaking of oceans of sound.
I manufacture a cough
to let him know that I’m waiting.

The girl says, ‘They play the sitar, is that right?’
She gives him the incense he’s bought,
then his change,

and with a flurry of more words
about Ravi Shankar, he exits,
missing her put-down completely

Her Sikh dad, hanging up dreamcatchers, laughs.
All Indians listen to ragas, he says.





Bruce Hodder lives with Michelle in Northampton, the most statistically average town in England. He has been published in quite a few magazines over the years, most recently ‘Academy of Heart and mind’ and ‘Winedrunk Sidewalk’.

A Tale Of Multiple Titties By Cuthulu


It was the best of times, it was the worst of times .
The summer had come to a end and once again I couldn't hang on the ocean .

Because they still hadn't made it jazzy scooter accessible and because of those stupid green peace assholes always trying to push me into the ocean thinking I was a beached whale .

Sure I was a little overweight so what?

My big beautiful body still had the right to enjoy the ocean like all these other skinny assholes .

Cuthulu enjoys the sound of the ocean and the salt water really helps my appetite.

I mean those assholes at the Frat really do hurt my feelings never including me in there secret parties or letting me enjoy the group showers .

But screw them cause I don't want to be included in those group showers anyways.

But now their even turning the assholes at the ocean against me trying to take even the most simple joy of watching half naked chics and their boobies bounce from running up and down the beach.

I mean it's bad enough the strip club discriminates against me by not installing a garage door so I can gawk at women in a nice cool enviroment.

They really know how to keep a overweight player down 😭😭😭😭

But my heart much like my never ending hunger will go on .

Stay strong brothers and sistas.





                              Cuthulu

Is the arch nemesis of the Frat which makes perfect sense publishing him being catering to spoiled ego mainiacs is what writing is all about .

Cuthulu enjoys over eating and destroying worlds and has been on a seven year quest to find his own dick.

His newest collection Cuthulu's poetry slash cook book is a collection of high cholesterol writes with pages that usally stick togather.

He has been published at a few magazines that usally fear him sitting on them.

And one that takes months to reply and largley sucks .






ARIANNA ON TINDER by John Tustin


“Most of you would judge my looks
While sitting on the toilet”
She wrote
As I judged her looks
While sitting on the toilet.
She looked OK.
I swiped right, though,
Because of her comment about judging looks
While sitting on the toilet
Because that is what I was doing.
I had a similarly witty comment
Just beneath my picture.

She did not match with me.




John Tustin is tired of trying to write third person bios. fritzware.com/johntustinpoetry contains links to his published poetry online.

I'm Hiding Under Your Bed by Scott Simmons

Do you ever wonder why there are giant sexual Congo lines in Vermont?
Or why cheese tastes better when you have a plastic bag over your head in a convertible?

All of this excitement goes straight to my grandma's carpet but I can't help it I'm not housebroken.
So please stop putting me in the crawlspace with the raccoon people that are trying to eat me.

Also KNOCK KNOCK!

Scott: Get the fuck away from me Scott you fucking scumbag or I'll call the cops on your sorry ass.

So that's why I'm not allowed in public libraries anymore without wearing any pants.
Or maybe that's why I'm not supposed to taser dolphins after they make my butt feel all hurty.

If you thought this write was completely pointless then you have never seen my sex life.




Scott Simmons is considered a pet in 47 states and legally is not allowed to be unattended in a hot car for more than 13 minutes without adult supervision. He has traveled to many strange places inside of his room and is very well versed in the culture of perpetual virginity. So please contact him if you are interested in buying the 1,909 used candy thongs he is offering on craigslist his number is:

832-802-9430 






Postcards Of Perversion by John Patrick Robbins

        I believe I will open a gated community for drunks and perverts alike. So we can live in peace chasing ass and talking shit down ...