“I would like to thank the Academy or whatever the fuck this roomful of people is who wish they were me at this moment……for giving me this award for poetry. You know, when I started my writing career writing comedy porn stories for magazines like Nugget, Rascal, Topper and Vue and the street vending machine porn rags that were the craze in the late ‘70s, people said I would never make it as a writer because those magazines were filth. This is them talking. Not me.
But, yeah, they WERE filth. I mean, it’s not as though they were wrong about that. But can we move on? I wrote filth but it was comedy filth. I wrote COMEDY porn stories. Do you here-gathered know anything about the porn industry?
Hey, I see you old codgers wondering if your wives sitting next to you are glaring at you right now to see how you are reacting to this question. I can see your nervous faces. Hey, fuck them bitches, boys.
Which in fact is what porn stories are: they’re stories of guys fucking bitches, like your wives sitting here this evening, but the IDEA of the whole thing is to give the guy reading it a boner, so he’ll jack off. I know what you’re saying: “That sounds like total fucking faggotry to me.”
Ya know, it sounds like total fucking faggotry to me too, and that is why I would like to continue with my acceptance speech and just kinda leave this for now.
I then graduated to Easyriders, although I suspect that most of you here in this room, and in fact in every other room on earth, would say that going from porn to Easyriders was not graduating, it was
the final step down into obscurity and uselessness. Ya know, I get that a LOT and I try not to pay a lot of attention to it.
Once in a while, yeah, it kind of intrudes into my consciousness and basically ruins my day for a few hours, I gotta admit. In fact, I seem to be drifting-off right now since bringing this up.
I have here a bottle of Riazul Tequila that I brought here for the occasion, I’m gonna have a swig right now, ok?
Ok. Now then. So, I went from porn to Easyriders and a lotta people say that’s going backwards, but not for me. Easyriders readers didn’t have to read porn to get boners and fuck chicks, that’s all they were doing already, getting boners and fucking chicks.
So, all I had to do was be funny. Piece o’ cake. Plus, you had to be careful not to piss them off. Bikers have a lot of notions all you hahaha commie fucking assholes in THIS room would not approve of. Hey, fuck you, grampaw. When did YOU win the fucking Pulitzer Prize for poetry. That’ll happen when I quit fuckin’ your wife.
Where was I?
Oh, yes, Easyriders. So as far as I myself was concerned, I figured E.R. was actually for me the highest I could ever go. Ok, ok, ok, hold on everyone, let’s give mr. child-molester over there with the bow tie who is having a fucking conniption fit, let’s give him his moment of glory.
Ok, sir, you have the floor. What is your fucking problem? No no no, don’t repeat it, I heard you loud and clear. For any of you deaf codgers who didn’t hear, Senyore Perfect in All Things wants to know why Easyriders, which is one word, has TWO capitalized and separated letters in its abbreviation version. Wherein, I would ask Mister Hasta Know Everything why his daughter has syphillis when the only thing she fucks is hardcore dykes from the Daughters of Sappho island of Lesbos on Planet Cunt? Yeah, that’s what I thought: you gut no answer. Prick.
Which brings me now to my award for poetry. Combining ejaculate with a Vice President of the United States, teeth, and references to other bureaucrats contributing semen to the same set of teeth, all within four brief stanzas ending with the time-honored mention of a famous road-sign advertising campaign from the highways of the ‘40s……..I agree: it’s fucking more bitchin’ than the 30 year old Sophia Loren sitting on your face. You ever see Boy In A Dolphin?….
She comes up onto that rowboat
from the water and them two fucking milk hydrants on her chest are damn near inside your own gullet as you sit there dumbfounded……..Ain’t nuthin’ like what I’m seein’ in this room your endentulate bags o’ bones are callin WIVES. Holy shit.
Anyway, thanks for the award, and God Bless the Creative Arts!”
