1. "i think the worst part about being blind would be that you'd never know when you're done wiping your ass."

2. "yeah, when all his teeth fell out, his mouth didn't smell bad anymore."



i recently sat down with the internet's daniel bailey (affectionately referred to henceforth as butthole bailey) to get the scoop on his shit-stomping internet poetry skills. he's been described his mom as "my son" and by me as "totally hot". he's probably my favortie peot on the internet. let's see if we can't find open up the enigma that is butthole bailey, just a little more. also, look for butthole bailey to interview me on his blog in the upcoming day or two. we got to the bottom of the conspicuous absence of mastodons in literature and the use of quotation marks around every other word.

butthole bailey, i still urinate like i did in kindergarten, like, i pull my pants all the way down and hold my shirt up to my chin. what's a good rejoinder when i notice someone is looking at my weiner? i usualy say, "how'd that get there?" but i am looking to expand my repertoire.

one thing you could do is put your hands out to your side, away from your body, like you have third degree burns and then cry really hard. then start singing "i will always love you" by dolly parton.

this is good advice butthole bailey. you clearly have experience. my only concern is that my tears would fall on my weiner and then something weird would happen, like my weiner would get sad and start wearing black cardigan sweaters and listening to "bright eyes".

that's definitely a risk. remember when bright eyes was cool?

no i don't. your blog used to be called, "blogging to make middle aged women feel more pretty". i am really attracted to middle aged women and would like to have sex with them. the only problem is, i feel like after i have sex with them i would feel compelled to say something idiotic to make them aware of the age difference like, "oh shit i have to get home and take the garbage out or my mom will ground me and this weekend is the ice cream social at school." do you have any suggestions about how to either avoid this or treat middle aged women?

remember that most middle-aged women wish that their children didn't exist. after sex, hold them very closely, run your nose gently against the back of their neck. whisper, "so...about your kids...do you, uh..." then make a stabbing motion. "you want me to?" if she laughs then totally kill the kids. it will show her that you identify with her, that you understand her and her problems.

oh daniel, you are incorrigible. moving on. this is a choose your own adventure interview. do you:

1. enter the forbidden cave and seek out the mysterious wizard's lair?


2. hop on a hang glider and escape the oncoming gang of warlock priests?

(and why?)

the hang glider option. it sounds way more badass. also, i have a thing where i have to escape religious figures, and warlock priests count.

how come you look so damn good in bicycle shorts while you're rollerblading?

i wax my upper thighs with banana wax.

i like when you do the little half cirlce turn on the rollerblades and then skate backwards doing the "bang bang" motion with your fingers.

i like doing that.

sex is huge these days. if people aren't having it, their discussing it using childhood toys. my parents taught me about sex using legos. how did you learn? and what's a good way to heal a lego-cut on the inside of your butt?

i never learned about sex from my parents. i had to learn about sex at school, which was not the best way to learn. i grew up in one of the most conservative counties in america. fortunately, i didn't end up scarred by that. i learned about how sex works through free internet porn i guess.

in your memoirs "living to live a life that's worth being alive to live" you talk about your meth addiction. you said, "meth is like cheetos because it leaves your fingers all discolored" further thoughts?

meth almost took my life. but i don't regret doing meth. meth introduced me to lots of colorful folks, and by colorful folks, i obviously mean black people. i met lots of black people while on meth. we did meth and wrote really sloppy folk songs about racism. meth was invented by ronald reagan, i think. one time we smoked meth in front of ronald reagan's house. then we ate cheetos. we covered ourselves in cheeto dust and screamed until security chased us away. we were orange for awhile. that's what i meant by that quote. it actually leaves more than your fingers discolored. i don't know. i'm not a very good writer.

how come you ate the fruitsnacks out of my lunch in the breakroom?

because they were delicious, sweet, and cold, and shit. there. look. i've read a poem and know how to reference more famous poems. someone offer to publish my book now.

i don't know. i didn't answer your question really.

butthole bailey, sometimes when i'm playing battleship, and my opponent calls a direct hit, i say "nope," then i covertly move the piece so they won't figure out i'm lying. is that wrong of me to do?

i think it's wrong. you know how they say, "all is fair in love and war." yeah. it's a board game. board games require more dignity than love and war combined.

is that why you fabricate "get out of jail free cards" when we play monopoly you cheating bastard?

i used to carry one of those cards around with me at all times.

butthole bailey, there's this old guy that lives down the block from me. he looks like abe lincoln if abe lincoln were still alive and did heroin a lot. whenever i walk past his yard he yells at me to stay off his yard. i think when he dies, i am going to visit his grave and stand on it, and be like, "get off my yard". what song would be best to overdub in a video of me breakdancing on his grave and why?

bruce springsteen's "hungry heart." i think it would really show your joy.

you've written some poems about beer, and you are a fellow DRUNKard. what is the best kind of 40? my favorite is King Kobra because in chicago they are like a dollar.

i've only ever had a half warm king cobra. it was my first alcohol after a week on antibiotics. i didn't care about coldness. i just wanted to drink. it was pretty gross.

my 40 of choice is mickey's. i drink one before all poetry readings and then maybe get a gin and tonic from the bar where i'm reading. poetry readings are better with alcohol.

lastly, here's a question i am composing in the posting section of my blog, to which i will respond for you because there's nothing you can do about it, you're not even here. butthole bailey, is it true that you suck and no one likes you?

yes that's true, without question.



I wouldn't mind making-out with the lady who played grandma winslow on "family matters"

I can trace my bloodline back to a stone at the bottom of the atlantic.

Whenever I’m having a drink, and somebody says something, I want to do that thing where you spray the drink out on their face. And keep doing it until that person hits me.

I am going to grow my hair out into a ponytail and then braid the ponytail and cut it off. Then I’m going to borrow my friend’s van and shut the trunk with the ponytail sticking out of the back and drive around.

I think about boobs and get kind of hard.
I think about the sound of someone’s head hitting the sidewalk and I get really hard.

Whenever the mailman comes to my door, I want to put my dog on my shoulders and then put a trenchcoat on so it looks like I’m a giant human with a dog-head and then answer the door. I’d totally do that (so the mailman thinks a very tall human with a dog-head lives in my apartment), but I don’t want my dog’s penis to touch the back of my head.

If you don’t have anything nice to say than kill yourself.

In high school my friend and I used to play a game where we’d get a book of matches and take turns holding out our hands while one of us dropped a lit match onto the other’s palm. The goal was to hold out as long as possible while the match extinguished itself on your skin. I got real good at it. Then I was fooling around with this girl and when I went to touch her breasts she saw my hands. she looked disgusted. What I’m trying to say is, find a hobby like an intramural sport.

I have a tube in my left ear drum. I was born with an ear infection. By the time I was one, most of my hearing was gone. Without the tube I can’t hear. When I was five, I was at a restaurant with my mom and my ear drum burst and blood came out of my ear. The waiter was like, “What’s with the kid?”

Here is a partial list of things I feel like:

A wrinkled hot dog spinning under a lightbulb in a gas station.

A pair of shoes stuck on an electrical wire.

The smell of a cough that an old man with lung cancer coughs into his hands.

Something important that was written on a chalkboard and then erased and you can still kind of see it.

A recently shit in diaper with a handful of sprinkles dropped on it.



today at the library i typed in the address to this site incorrectly. a screen popped up with variations of what i typed. the variations included other sites that mentioned my site or had similar content. because the name of this site used to be "fat women with tight vaginas high-fiving" (possibly my best idiotic thought yet), some of the sites listed were porn sites. i clicked on a site that i thought mentioned mine but was indeed a porn site. porn came up on the screen and the lady next to me looked at it then me. i said "dewey decimal" (the first thing that came to mind) then i laughed. i think i am going to change the name of this site to something else.


sometimes when i'm at a party i sneak off and sit in the closet with all the coats and hope that they will eat me. i let the sleeves brush against my face and imagine getting eaten. and it's nice because coats don't have teeth so getting eaten by them would be soft and painless. and the coats smell like people so i'm never alone. whenever someone opens the closet and stares at me, confused, i say, "party--wooo" and they think i'm drunk and leave me alone. but i'm not drunk, just pathetic.



When I’m brushing my teeth I get worried that I’ll swallow some toothpaste and die.
Then I think, “Why am I worried about that? I don’t really have any plans.”
Look at all the dead personalities.
The internet has cancer.
I am walking through a field host to a mass suicide.
Suicide survivor.
Yesterday I ate a lunchable while watching mortal kombat on the Spanish channel and then I drank water straight out of the tap while watching my neighbor water her plants through my window.
I like my dog.
He’s nice.
Sometimes I wish he could talk so we could discuss current events.
But then I worry that he would say purely objective things without the intent to insult me.
Your body is smelly
You are not interesting to me at all and I can understand why no one wants to hang out with you.
If there was a god, when it saw me, it’d be all embarrassed like someone who left a weird message on someone else’s answering machine while really drunk.
I must be a piece of dust because I make your eyes water and try to push me away.
I am insanely horny and I want to fuck my pillow but I am too shy to ask it out.
Here are two “yo mama” jokes I just made up:
1. Yo mama is just like Magic Johnson because the both got AIDS from me
2. Yo mama is so nice, she made me some cupcakes and they were good and we had a nice time together eating the cupcakes and I like her.
Yesterday I walked by the Chicago Police Department Training Headquarters and I passed three cops walking down the sidewalk and one of them was gesturing to the others like he was putting something into a jar and I heard him say, “yeah, the one guy was like, ‘what’s that sound?’ and then I was like, ‘relax, I’m putting your brain back in’.”
My day felt different after that.



hello. i finished a book yesterday. some of the material may be familiar but it is predominately new. i want someone to publish it. if you can make this happen i will give you oral sex (oral sex means gummy worms). i have another book in progress and yet another in less progress. i have worked out some compelling reasons for someone to publish the book.

1. it will confirm to the reader that they are not quite as psychotic as they originally thought.

2. it will probably make people laugh.

3. it comes with a hundred dollar bill inside.

4. each piece of writing inside will give you a blood vessel exploding orgasm.

5. it is not pretentious.

6. i will allow whoever wants to publish it, to publish it for free as long as they make a lot of copies and allow me to create the cover.

7. eugene levy has promised to kill himself if it gets published.

8. (this one is serious) i have recurring bouts of psychosis and if it gets published i might be less violent.

9. if it gets published, trees will have to die. and we all know trees are inherently criminal and abject.

10. i want to be on the today show so i can meet katie couric and then be nice to her for a period of time adequate for her to feel secure in letting me lick her vagina.

11. it is part of my parole stipulations.

12. my dad said we can't vacation on his yacht unless it gets published.

13. it will stop me from being delusional and saying things like "my dad has a yacht".

14. if it gets published my picture might go up on the internet and then everyone will find out i have a lobster head.

the reasons go on and on. i apologize for talking about my work. i know that is lame. but i figured all those rich new yorkers who probably read my blog will now jump at the prospect of this book. and then i can drink wine with them and discuss the theoretical implications of the book. so if you have a rich uncle who is a railroad tycoon or know a publisher who is drunk/high/on acid/crazy right now, then email me quickly and i will email them a copy.



i bought "treatise" by noah cicero today.