Thursday, December 23, 2004

A Christmas Message from Hilton Hightower

Fuck you!

Better

I can laugh at your problems
because I am better than you
and don't have any of your problems.

I'd love to fart right in your face.

Today

Teenage pregnancy is an epidemic in America.
A very funny epidemic.

Hilton's Conversion

I can still remember when
my alien godfathers decided
to give me the gift of robotics
and replaced my brain with a robotic
thinking module.
That was the day I went from being a half-assed
dumbshit human to a full on ass-kicking robot.
It started on a cold December day, not much different than today,
and I was down in the creek bed, trying to pull that
goddamn cow loose from the freezing water.
That whore cow somehow got down in there
and couldn't get out.
This was still back when "doing a good deed" appealed to me
and I knew the other settlers needed that cow to make it through
the winter.
Now I'd let that fucking fat cow freeze and die.
I was one step from death myself out there in the freezing conditions,
waist-high in subzero temperatures, my body started to give out.
Three years later, I awoke onboard a ship on its way to Tau Ceti
and the system of planets revolving around it.
My brain had been fully replaced already,
and they were preparing to give me a new arm
for the other one had been mutilated by an alien version
of the sewer rat.
Much to my surprise, they gave me an arm with a goddamn
laser cannon extension.
Now if you fuck with me, I will annihilate everything you've
ever stood for.
My visit at Tau Ceti was eye-opening.
Those demonic robot aliens taught me the proper way to hate
life and every aspect of existence.

By the time I returned to Earth, I was a changed man.

Please, Evolution, Get Rid of Some of these Bastards!

Natural selection
doesn't work very
goddamn well.

Wednesday, December 22, 2004

Jack (Kerouac) Off

Hilton Hightower will always remember
Jack Kerouac as a giant poopstain in the toilet
bowl that people call life.

Ode to a Real Jerk

Allen Ginsberg needed to be beat.

The Dumbest and Most Insulting Thing You've Ever Done part 2

If you've ever written a poem to another person
when you were drunk,
go get a gun
and eat lead.

Poetry is even worse than normal when it is
written by a drunk asshole.

The Dumbest and Most Insulting Thing You've Ever Done

If you've ever written a poem to another person,
call that person right now and apologize.

A Poem Directed for the Narrow Region Right Between the Eyes of Poets

I hope you are offended easily.
Take a look at your pathetic life.
Does it make you happy to write about
thunderstorms and cats and love and sex
and war and relationships?
Does it make you feel good when you write some
really overused imagery like
smoke or fog or sand or bone?
You are a pathetic waste of life with not even a shred
of an original thought in your head.
Yes, you.
Don't feel like you're special or different.
You're not.
You're just as pathetic as anyone else who's ever thought
it would be a good idea to pick up a writing utensil and a piece of
parchment and write some dumbass treatise on your own thoughts.
Here's a worthwhile exercise:
try to figure out how much time you've wasted in your life
writing your pathetic excuse for art and how much time
you've wasted reading it.
If you've ever thought you needed to read it in front of other people
you might as well stop figuring and shoot yourself
because that makes you unbearably stupid.
Poetry readings are ego fests for people with a lack of intellect.

I'd like to blast all of you stupid, moronic
imbeciles with an electric guitar
right up side the head
and then savor the sound of the feedback.
I'd record it and name it "The Ballad of Me Kicking Some Lameass Poet's Ass!"
and I'd listen to it every day.
Kicking a "real" poet's ass is the only thing that might bring a smile to my pathetic, ugly face.

Unlubricated Fisting (A Tale of Seasons and of Greetings)

For Christmas, I think the whole world
deserves a painful,
unlubricated
anal
fisting.

Tuesday, December 21, 2004

Mending Wall

Why do people like Robert Frost?
Because he acts and looks like
a poet is supposed to.

Friday, December 17, 2004

Thursday, December 16, 2004

Look

There is a bookshelf
in the corner
of the room.

The Joy of Life

Being born is one of the most terrible things
that can ever happen to a person.
You pop out of that slimy canal, open your eyes,
and think, "Oh shit, I left that for this?"

Then you've got to learn to eat and shit on your own.
And it only gets worse from there.

Sprite

A Sprite can is only so beautiful
when it is popping out of someone's butt.

Wednesday, December 15, 2004

Eggs in the Devil's Handbasket

Paprika is the worst spice.
It's such an ugly color and it smells like shit.
Why do people even put it on deviled eggs?

Janitor Poem

This poem is a janitor,
knobby and gnarled with beef jerky skin,
who would like to tell that bitch diva poem to go fuck herself.

Diva Poem

This poem is a celebrity diva,
rich and pretty in a frightening way,
doing interviews about how hard it is to be a top actress.

Especially Considerate

This poem hates poetry, especially
highly crafted poems with lots of consideration
to form and content and imagery and symbolism.

Stroke That Damn Thing Down

This poem is actually a book full of really good poems,
poems by academic snobs who only publish each other
and wank each other off.
This poem is really happy to know it's such a good book,
and people like it.
It's going to go to a snobby party now and eat cheese
and talk about how fucking great it is.

Oooooowaaahhhh!

Chok, chok, chok.
Ch, chok, ch, chok, chok, ch, chok, ch, chok, chok, cha.

Mega Reptilian Jesus W. Bush

America,
imagine a creature so terrible,
so heinous that the sheer sight
of it turns your blood to ice.
A creature of terrible dimensions,
taller than a dumptruck,
shoulders wider than a yoke of oxen,
arms as big around as telephone poles.
A creature with the torso of a man,
and the slithering underbody
of a mythological snake.
A creature with two heads
sprouting from the same disfigured neck.
Riding above the right shoulder is the human head of George W. Bush
wearing a moronic smirk and a set of empty eyes.
Riding above the left is the head of Jesus H. Christ,
with flowing long hair and come hither stare.

America,
this monster lives.
Today.
And it's in your backyard right now.

Tuesday, December 14, 2004

The Matrix; or A Message to Movie Fans Holding Out Hope for a Better Way of Life

If you think that anything
even remotely similar to the Matrix exists
you are among the dumbest homosapiens
crawling this shithole planet.

This is it.
Look around and breathe it in
'cuz it's all you've got.

HighQ

You're not half as smart
as me you dimwit.

That Filthy Stinkin' Polyploidy Polly Hayes

Polyploidy Polly Hayes was a goddamn sonofabitch.
He believed in social Darwinism and Pringles
and putting too much chlorine in his swimming pool
that his disgusting kids swam in all summer long.
He sucked his teeth while he watched reruns of A-Team
and felt that people are "inherently good"
because he saw his macho heroes on TV
rise up against the man.
But he was only 47 years old . . .
still very immature for a filthy stinkin' human.

That dirty, stinkin' sonofabitch
Polyploidy Polly Hayes.

Monday, December 13, 2004

Winter Poem; or Winter is a Disgusting Waste of Time

Snow is a cockamamy
excuse for people to be happy and festive
during the most depressing time of the year.

Snow causes pathetic people to say, "Look,
it's snowing. Boy that's pretty." or "Look,
we're gonna have a white christmas." or "Look,
I can piss my own name into that pristine whiteness."

Snow is nature's way of taking your eye off the ball
you stupid moronic humans.
Don't you see? Winter
is depressing and stupid, just like Spring, Summer, and Fall.
And a lot like you.

Take it from me:
Winter is only good for holing up around a fire
and getting piss-drunk and reflecting on how
you've wasted another year holding off death.

Writing My Way into Someone Else's Pants

I've never seen a more pathetic
and useless
group of people
than MFA students.


Saturday, December 11, 2004

Flitter

People
who love
birds are flaky
and stupid and need
to get a goddamn life.

1 plus 1 equals 2

One day I was eating the corpse of
a recently deceased friend
when I got a telegram from an old
neighbor.

He told me to stop in any time and see
how he'd "fixed the place up."

I took him up on it, and then I had two
corpses to eat instead of one.

Q & A

Why do poets waste all their goddamn time writing stuff down?

Because they're pathetic losers with nothing better to do.

PHD

University professors
are dorks and social dimwits
who wear ugly, outdated clothing.

Hilton Hightower says . . .

if you go around bragging about how into T.S. Eliot you are, you probably aren't worth knowing.

Predetermination

Politics and professional wrestling
are like perverse, disgusting twin brothers.

Both consist of oiled-up men
in stupid-looking clothes
talking smack about
each other and arguing about
stupid shit.

And, in both cases, all outcomes are predetermined.

Wango

Lincoln, Illinois sucks huge wang.

Standing

This poem stands for something.
And that's why it isn't worth a shit.

Robots

I hope robots do take over the world.
At least they are logical beings that don't
destroy everything they touch
like you pathetic lousy humans.

Assholes.

Hollywood

Watching movies
makes me feel
like tearing my eyeballs out.

Friday, December 10, 2004

My Friend

Go to hell,
dipshit!

Diagnosis

Being a doctor isn't that hard.
I just don't listen to a word
my patients say, and diagnose them
with whatever I feel like.
They're all stupid anyway,
and don't know any better.

Hypocrite

I'm the biggest hypocrite
in the world.

Is this poem good enough?

Is this poem good enough to win me an award?
Gosh I hope so.
That's all I live for in this stupid, pathetic world.
See how angry and dark I can be.
I'm mad and artistic.
Now, if I could only come up with some angry words.
I'll sip my glass of wine and take off my turtleneck.
Now, I'm angry. Watch me write. I hope it's good.

Hilton Hightower's Tips on Parenting

This poem is about pathetic teenagers
who think they're so goddamned smart.
If you read it you'll become a lot less shitty
as a parent and probably won't even
drive them to have unprotected sex
or drink too much, or even worse,
listen to horrible pop music
and hang out at malls.

It's Fall

The other day I went outside to pick up some colorful leaves.
I stepped in dog shit.
And came back inside.

Hack

Meeting Bruce Lee
really isn't a big deal.
He was just some hack kung-fu actor
living on a mythology founded in
cheap cinematography
and cat-like screams.

So stop writing essays about how your mom met him.
It gets old. And it's boring.

Dairy Queen Car Show

I am the most insane person you will ever meet
at a Dairy Queen Car Show.

Thursday, December 09, 2004

75,000 Years

I'm holed up here in my compound
trying to hide from "them."

I got tired of fighting,
tired of running.

They've been after me for at least 75,000 years.

Wednesday, December 08, 2004

Standardized Macaroni Parcel

Hate is a powerful emotion.
I only hate things I don't understand.

Humor

Nothing in this world is humorous,
especially not you and your pathetic existence.

Oh wait, actually you and your pathetic existence
are pretty funny.

Hilton Hightower says . . .

I'm the baddest man alive. Rambo would have crapped in his pants and cried if he'd ever met me in a dark alley.

Arrrrgh, Matey!

I once knew a pirate,
sailed with him for five years.
He was a smarmy fellow,
and downright filthy when it came to bathing,
but he was always good for a laugh,
especially when he drank.

If you think ninjas are tougher than pirates,
I'd oppose you outright.
This pirate friend of mine,
was a hard mofo.
He spent ten years in the federal penitentiary
for killing professional boxers and female basketball players.

We fought once, and I beat him by gouging his eyes
and lowblowing him six times in a row.
He still managed to stab me twice in the heart,
but I came out on top.
I always do.

He was the one who gave me a true appreciation
for hating people and things in general.

For that I'm truly grateful.



Walt Whitman

I walked with Walt Whitman,
and not in a stupid metaphorical way.
I really walked with him one day
in a park in Washington, D.C.
and that dick wouldn't scoot over,
so I punched his damn lights out.

Poetry

That reminds me.
There is no such thing as good poetry.

Writing Poetry

Writing poetry is a huge waste of time.
Take it from me,
I've been writing poetry for at least
seven hundred thousand years,
and I've never written a single good poem.


Hilton Hightower says . . .

poets are stupid, fake people
who live lives of
pretentious imagery

Page 9

When the new Fantomas record comes out
I'm going to have it uploaded directly into my brain
so I can hear it all the time
like I did with my Perry Como collection.


iPod

If anyone gets me an iPod for Christmas this year
I'll bust that thing to pieces.
I hate music.

Birthday

I'm almost a million years old this week. Can you believe I've been around almost as long as stupidity? I was reflecting on my life last night, and it made me happy:

snorting cocaine with Castro
the opium parties with Coleridge
sniffing glue with the Ramones
the tuna fish sandwiches
eating from a can of nickel dog food with a spoon
living on that planet that revolves around Tau Ceti as an alien prisoner-of-war
being converted by that vampire
being converted by that priest
being converted by that prostitute in Vegas
the hot dogs
the Fantomas concerts
the week I spent working at that slaughterhouse just outside Ann Arbor
the six years I ate nothing but jelly beans and beef jerky to stay alive in the crawlspace under that house in Dallas (thanks Dan for bringing me that grub)
the day I taught high school English to that family of robots from Germany

So many memories.


Beautiful People

Every person I meet
is dumber than hell.

Three Times

I told you three times already Mr. Bank Manager.
I was a Navy SEAL.
So you take my check, and you cash that
sumbitch,
so I can leave here before I cause a scene.

Hilton Hightower says . . .

writing poetry can give you an inflated sense of self.

My thoughts on a dog terd.

A dog terd is like a flower
made of crap
and mushed into a log.

Hilton Hightower thinks . . .

hot dogs are a man's best friend.

Hilton Hightower says . . .

NAFTA is a controversial pile of dirty stinking crap.

Tuesday, December 07, 2004

Poems from the Book

Here are a few terrible poems from the book:

Kick

I swear to God.
Don't make me kick you in the balls.
Again.


Friendship

Don't take this personally.
You're not very smart.
At least not in a common sense way.


Poem with Personality

If this poem were you,
it would waste its time reading poems
about stupid, pathetic stuff.


Spotlight

Pop culture is the greatest invention ever.
It gives hollow, pathetic people
a place to feel good about themselves,
even if they have no talent
and secretly hate themselves
with their big smiles that flash
in the spotlight.


Dope

If anyone ever tells you
that poetry is better heard than read,
kick them in the balls.
That means they’ve bought into
the idea that poetry
should be a community event.
They're the kind of person
who sits in the third row
with their eyes closed
and with a stupid blank smile on their face
pretending to let the words flow over them
when really all they’re thinking about is how their wife is cheating on them, they're impotent,
they hate their job, they can't write,
and all they really want is a good nap.

That's stupid. Nothing in this pathetic world
is more boring than a lame dope in
a tweed suit, reading some garbage
about love in the trees.

The Book is Finally Available!!

You can now find my book, This Book Sucks! A Terrible Book of Poetry, for purchase exclusively at www.cafepress.com/thisbooksucks.

It makes a great Christmas present for pathetic losers who enjoy poetry, humor, chainsaws, and bleeding gums.

If you want, you can also sign up to be a member of the most terrifying e-mail list in the universe by sending an e-mail to hilton_hightower@hotmail.com. There will be monthly updates about my pathetic and dangerous life, and other crap from time to time.

Here are some reviews of the book:

"This is the worst collection of poems ever written by an insane former Navy Seal with a penchant for eating teeth."
-- Conroy Brisbane, historian

"If I ever read poetry that's worse than this, I swear to God, I'll kill someone."
-- Larry Tukarowski, literary critic

"One time a drunken clown ran over my dog right after my wife divorced me. Even that was more fun than reading this crapheap of "poems."
-- David J. Everson, loser

"This poetry made my bones hurt it was so bad. But it was still better than the crappy collection of poems I published last year to impress my pathetic colleagues."
-- Larry Vermillion, lousy college poet

Popcorn

About the only thing I don't hate
in this pathetic, useless world
is professional wrestling, and
maybe popcorn.