Ode to David Carradine

****************************

Fuck you, world.
Yes!
Fuck you.

For crying over Michael Jackson's tomb.
For bombing my eardrums senseless.
For repeating his stories
on how “Bad” was “Billie Jean” at “Beat[ing] It”.
(It being MJ’s ding dong, of course).

Pff!

A skinny white sphincter with a pulse and a whine
Overshadowed your death, my friend,
Carradine.

Seventy-two years of age
and you were still jacking off like a superstar sage.

Locked in a closet?
Auto-erotic asphyxiation?
Oh man, it sounds so cool and awesome!

Strangling your balls with a strap,
The tip of your penis pointing up.
You took from no one crap.
You fell in nobody's trap.
(well maybe in your own)

BUT NO!
You all cried for Jackson.
Fuck you!
He didn’t even know Kung Fu.

Farewell, you crazy old master masturbator : ~ (
You used your hands well.