Fall in love with yourself,
And you’ll never be lonely.


Always cum before making important decisions,
So as to avoid deciding with your genitals.


There are times to fight,
And there are times to kill.
The rest of the time,
You may as well chill.


Know your ability,
And live accordingly.

Even if it be more,
Or less,
Than you’d hoped for.

Even if you must teach,
Instead of study.

Instead of play.

Instead of write.

Instead of pay.

Instead of reap.




While there are exceptions to every rule,
Watching Germans Tango,
Can frostbite your eyes,
And deep-freeze your soul.

Be forewarned!


Virgins are too complicated,
And not really worth it.

Better focus on the already-broken-in…

*For the averagely-hung and above.


I cannot relate,
To those who do not masturbate.
They’re perpetually irate,
Like those who do not urinate,
Or deliberately constipate.


With humility I face
This wonder of nature,
So much of women’s grace,
In so small a feature.

I, too, lose my mind,
When my cock is sufficiently catered to,
But for a core to be hard to find…
Is this not wonderous to you?


‘Man, she’s got balls!’

‘She’s got some real balls!’

‘She’s got bigger balls than he does!’


All still deemed great compliments…

Can you believe that?!

Even feminists,
Complimenting each other’s courage,
With reference to each other’s balls…

‘Why don’t Basque women wear mini-skirts?’
My hairy-legged feminist friend asked me…
‘Because then you’d see our balls!’, she said,
Smiling proudly…

Still brainwashed into seeing,
All that empty space,
In their sweet,
Welcoming crotches,
As weak blotches,
Of shame,
And inferiority…

Where only big balls,
Can truly save the day
– Either physical,
Or rhetorical –
Earning that verbal badge of honor:
‘Damn, she’s got some serious brass balls!’

What in the fuckin’ universe?!

How do you still accept this?

How do you cede these core virtues,
To the patriarchy
And their testes?

You’re winning your equality,
As far as freedom,
And opportunity are concerned…

Yet you forfeit your equality,
As far as strength,
And courage are concerned…

‘Grow a pair!’ you’re told,
And you accept it laughingly,
And nod your heads knowingly…

Why would you accept this so willingly?!

Is it because of balls’ reproductive powers?
You got your own tasty flowers!

Or cause ‘balled’ men
Show more courage
Than the neutered?

Have you never been tutored,
In the wonders of your own uteruses?
Those marvelous, life-birthing universes?

Have you never seen the full birthing process?

I’ve seen it up close,
And I can tell you it ain’t close,
As to which requires more courage:
The squirting balls,
Where even the brief squirt,
Is orgasmically pleasant,
Or the nine-month slow cultivation,
Inching towards a culmination,
Of tearing flesh…
Oceanic bleeding…
And life-threatening,
At the very least,
Some serious C-section cutting,
And stitching,
And life-long scarring…

Which body part would you want,
As your protector,
Or general?

Balls that cum and go,
Best case scenario,
Stick around,
And watch the torture?
Or a uterus that endures it all,
And then comes back for more,
And again,
At least sometimes…

‘Man, he’s got some uterus!’
Has so much more gravitas,
In my opinion,
And a much-prettier ring,
Than, ‘Man, she’s got some big-ass balls!
Just look at ’em swing!’

Reclaim your bodies,
My dear, sweet feminists!
Relinquish nothing!

You needn’t be men,
Or have our balls,
To achieve anything!

I wouldn’t even want a woman with balls!

I want a woman with some uterus,
As my General,
My president,
My collaborator,
Or groupie…

I don’t want your balls on my face,

– I have enough for the both of us,
Believe me! –

I want your uterus on my face!
Or at least her sweet secretions,
Saying hello,
And sending her sweet regards,
From your dark,

So go on, sweet sisters,
Start celebrating your uterus!
It won’t neuter us!
Just be a bit new to us,
And re-introduce you to us,
With your newly-intimidating uteristic riches…

But you deserve it!
It’ll make you happy!
And no one gives better head,
Than happy bitches!

*For Professor P.

Vašek‘s balls from COMING SOON, Photo by Sir Tijn Po

Hell Bound

Have you ever seen female Chinese feet,
That have been bound?

Have you seen the process?

The breaking of the bones…

The complete bending over of the toes…

The eternal pain and deformation…

The stench of decay still wafting through time and space…

And to think that many of them submitted willingly!


Catering completely to the male tastes they wanted to conquer…

And some even fought for their right to sport that ‘beauty’…

And then perhaps conquer…

Fought for the right to make their daughters sport that ‘beauty’…

Perhaps giving them the edge,
And helping them conquer…

Have you seen all of that yet?

That is exactly what you’ve been doing,
To your libidos…

Male and female…

For centuries…

All your moralities…
And social constructs…
Crushing gentle, filigree crystal rosebuds…

Naturally curious, delicate desires…

And needs…

So soft and tender…

Think early fetuses…

Needing care and nurture,
In order to blossom and flourish…

But being trampled on instead…

Broken, twisted and bound,
Into unsustainable
– And forever suffering –
Unnatural abominations…

And you’re all so proud of your deformations,
And mutilations,
Labeling them ‘Modesty’…

Are you fuckin’ kidding me?!

You take pride in your shattered cores?
Crushed and caged into unrecognizable,

The stench running out miles ahead of you,
Warning all of us in the know:
‘Here comes an unsalvageable cripple,
Immune to all drugs and therapy,
Forever maimed and pained,
Forever reeking of,
Perverse notions of,

This abuse must be banned!
And the already-crippled,
Given a hand!
Show them as much patience,
As your olfactories can withstand…

So many have unwrapped themselves before me,
Seeking my empathy and sympathy
– Especially in Italy,
Where their wrappings can be truly divine,
On the outside,
But inhumanely deep, cruel, and tight,
On the soul side –
And now my eyes are forever seared,
By sights no one should ever have to see…
And my soul filled with pain and stank,
That’ll never wash off of me…