“That’s the problem with drinking, I thought, as I poured myself a drink. If something bad happens you drink in an attempt to forget; if something good happens you drink in order to celebrate; and if nothing happens you drink to make something happen.”—Charles Bukowski
Pedicabo ego vos et irrumabo, Aureli pathice et cinaede Furi, qui me ex versiculis meis putastis, quod sunt molliculi, parum pudicum. Nam castum esse decet pium poetam ipsum, versiculos nihil necesse est; qui tum denique habent salem ac leporem, si sunt molliculi ac parum pudici, et quod pruriat incitare possunt, non dico pueris, sed his pilosis qui duros nequeunt movere lumbos. Vos, quod milia multa basiorum legistis, male me marem putatis? Pedicabo ego vos et irrumabo.
I will sodomize you and face-fuck you, Cocksucker Aurelius and bottom-man Furius, You who think that I’m a pussy Because of my delicate verses. It’s right for the devoted poet To be chaste himself, but it’s not Necessary for his verses to be so. Verses which then have taste and charm, If they are delicate and sexy, And when they can incite an itch, And I don’t mean for boys, but in Those hairy old men who can’t get their dicks up. You, because you have read of my thousand kisses, You think I’m a pussy? I will sodomize you and face-fuck you.