What The Fuck?

If life is a song or blast,

I’ve Got No Luck at all.

Brand new silk panties get mussed in the dryer

Stuck on Velcro, silkiness totally ruined

Left with puckered withered drawers

Panties advertised to be all fine silky sweetness

My hard sweated buck consumed!

What the fuck? I’ve got no luck

With men I’m totally yuck

All I get is shmucks.

No need to misunderstand

Feeling all alone

He’s never there when you need him

What the fuck? I’ve got no luck

Like a lame duck, things happen in my life

No rhyme or reason

Feel like an alien

Lost and isolated in Britain

I don’t belong here

What the fuck? I’ve got no luck

Stuck in one crisis after another

A blur of bummer events, 

Lose people I love

Without saying goodbye

OK I admit letting time fly fast

One blast, cast running thru life’s asphalt jungle

Watch boastful people on TV

A plea to humanity to see who we really are, who I really am

Part of we, long lost glee of society, trinity of three

Me, myself and others, a presence of Thee

What the fuck? I’ve got no luck

Standing here, a muse in society without face

Displaced, disgraced, no one cares about my race

I’m doubly screwed, woman first, then Jew, Greek, Spanish, Turkish and Persian,

a few dollops of North African mixed with Middle Eastern.

I’m nobody, nothing to you, you’re nothing too.

Either way I lose

So why does it matter to you what I do.

I’m fucked out of luck no matter what I choose to do

What the fuck? I’ve got no luck

Clock’s struck one. I’ll turn into a pumpkin

Moon struck, sun struck and awestruck

Life should be a well-struck bargain

Instead of what we’ve done to it

A Funny Memory

Florence said, “He’s nice enough, he’s got money, he's a doctor and all but he’s not a lot of fun. Worst of all his dick is so small it’s like a button. I can’t do anything with it.”

“Like a button,” I say unbelievingly, “you mean like this?” and I hold up my pinky to show her.

“No, Florence says, “more like the nail on your pinky. What am I supposed to do with that?”

I look at her in disbelief.

“Oh, I know he’s in love with me,” she continues, “but I have to have something to work with.

“That is just too much to have it so small. Even rubbing on it can do nothing at all. The first time I saw it I was shocked. If I weren’t a nicer person I would have laughed. Maybe he could get a skin graft to enlarge it or if he had some skill or craft, but all he’s got is that little button without a shaft. I’m not a glutton for punishment so I can’t continue to see him no matter how much he loves me. He calls me every day. I don’t know what to say.”

“Is it the same size when hard?” I ask.

“Yes, it’s no prize, a hard little penny he rubbed on my thighs. I don’t want to see him anymore. I’m not shallow. I know the score, but what can I say to him? Your dick is good for nothing, it’s too small?” 

Although this conversation happened in 1998, I recall it like it was yesterday. It's strange how these conversations stay in our minds and replay themselves day after day, even long after the person who said it has passed away.