I have ______ by the short hairs.
I thought he had the jump on me, but I lured him into my jockstrap—
and jubilation, his ass was mine!

Or is it possible ______ duped me into letting him into my supporter
to flop his butt around in there—
that he has me by the short hairs?

Maybe I ought to welcome ______, be friends with him.
He relished me enough
to move in with my Manhood and administer the occasional pat.

We have each other’s short hairs.
No one will be bailing out.
______ and I together will co-pilot this jalopy into the wild blue yonder.

Strip-search at the Pearly Gate—
“What’s that crumpled in your cup?”
St. Peter closely peers at ______, yawns, then quickly falls asleep.

“______’s not welcome here, the HQ of Eternal Bliss,” says God.
“You may be friends with benefits,
but now it is time for fond farewell.”

I shake my head, refusing. ______ shakes
those last few drops of urine from my lazily-muscled penis tip.
God casts us, tandem, into Hell.

Satan yanks my zipper tightly up
and dumps us without ceremony in the elevator back to Earth.
“O ______, we missed you!” his fans lament.

Up creeps a whitefaced mouse.
It wipes faux ______ off its lips, deleriously grins at him,
and harshly squeaks at me: “Go fuck yourself.”


Forum Comments:Donald
Image Credit:Mark Dixon
Tom Riordan lives in New Jersey. He’s a retired restaurant worker and teacher, and dreams about becoming pope for his next career.

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