Pigs in Blankets

“How comfortable are you with crazy ’cause I got my feet up smoking a cigar baby and I just failed my ninth Rorschach test?”

Part 1: Out of Network

Dr. Sadhill’s Office

Joy, Joy, Joy,

can’t play in the sandpit nicely anymore,

what a shame—

Sending your little pigs to do something

You could never do anyway—

Write well.

You thought you were a wolf,

yet that little den you called a mansion

blew down before the mortar could dry

exposing the weak and spineless swine you really are.

With no mask to hide behind,

no fake fur to pretend,

now look at you,

spreading the flu,

infecting the searchers of souls,

the broken and malleable,

and the easy-to-confuse,

but that’s what you do, isn’t it?

Taking advantage like a disease,

you’re Haram,

and you’re no different from any other hog,

rolling around in your shit,

sending it flying through the air

while you throw your meaningless fit.

Keep thrashing about while no one cares,

cause you’ll soon be forgotten anyways.

It’s not our fault you quit.

Before you strain yourself in your old age,

trying to build enough breath to take down my piggery

sit back and relax,

because it’s I who will be doing the blowing,

and trust me I can fucking blow!

If you want to see me in full destruction mode,

remember this,

I’ll take myself out too just to win.

I’ll sacrifice the king just to kill the queen,

and I’ll wear every pawn in my path as body armor.

I am the definition of a Phoenix,

and I have done it thrice before,

bringing the force of Tsar with me,

I have no more fucks to give!

…but before I do

I recommend asking another Doctor for a second opinion.

Part 2: Always Get a Second Opinion-

Dr. Jennison’s Office

The clinic door’s part

a referral in hand.

“Let me see what you have,”

the receptionist demands.

She looks up at you

eyes twisted and confused.

“Are you ok?”

“Off your meds again today?”

“Is another one of you coming out to play?”

“You seem befuddled.”

“Let’s see if the doctor is in

so, he can check your head

before it’s too late.”—

’Before it’s a straitjacket and pills

for the rest of your days.”

“Please take a seat

he’ll be with you right away.”

The intercom sounds

over speakers echoing down

darkened frigid hallways—

"Calling Dr. Jennison, Dr. Eriabas Jennison to 73.”

He steps into the room marked with a number

reminiscent of that special day in Garwin.

He checks your chart

and struggles to find any beating in your heart.

The prognosis isn’t good.

“Ma’am you’re Bi-O-degrading

and shortlisting the Polar opposite of Alive,

so, I am forced to prescribe,

permanent rest in a bed

dirt-lined and divine,

but it’ll be you who decides when it’s time.”

“A couple of questions,

before you get this filled.”

Would the great Adam or Mary endorse

this blood being spilled?

Are Steve and Lizzy

squirming in their graves

watching their precious daughter misbehave—

Nearly seventy-two

and just now acting out her terrible twos?

July ninth is coming so soon.

“How does it feel

to be overwhelmed with the blues

celebrating underinflated geriatric balloons?

At your age,

I’d expect the cake to give you heartburn.

So, eat up you miserable buffoon.

Tapping his pen upon his lips

The Doctor’s thoughts were deep and thick.

He never likes to let it slip, so, he just asked,

“How do you say Ima knock out your tooth?”

“I know I’m not a dentist,

but does subtracting a Zero from the world make it Toth,

and is that how cavities are removed?”

Unless of course it grows too deep—

Going that far requires RCT,

The root canal is pulled out and killed.

After all the nerve must die,

but again, I’m no dentist.

It’s just the pill I prescribe.

Part 3: The Padded Pigsty for the Uninsured.

…You’ve been here all along.

Turned away

with no insurance to pay

You’re dropped off

at the Looney Bin

Where a stolen name is an unoriginal sin

and you’re smiling happily,

but you live that reality of two faces split.

Isn’t that an Apple file manager

or a TV Show that never amounted to shit?

It’s funny how managing anything

is not quite your strength,

like your businesses,

your sanity,

perhaps your meds were thrown down the sink.

That’s how you ended up here

strapped to a bed next to me,

or am I in your head?

Perhaps it’s insanity.

See, not all wine becomes finer with age—

Some turn rancid and decrepit,

and some have always been tasteless and bitter.

The kind of shit people sip up

only because of the label that was slapped on it,

but deep down everyone knows it’s trailer park piss.

I know trailer park shit when I see it

because I am it.

See, the differences between you and me are,

I’m comfortable living in this ghetto,

surviving among the grunge,

and I prefer being spread-eagle front porch nude,

I don’t care who sees my wang

’cause there Ain’t much to see.

So, let’s make it dirty.

I am a pig in shit too baby,

and I’ll be rolling just like you—

Hell, I’m next to you,

and if we’re gonna be roommates in this padded barn

at least make the conversations interesting.

You’ll settle in fine,

I know crazy is confusing, but give it time.

I know ordering your personality off the dollar menu isn’t sublime,

but how ’bout an upgrade this time?

Want a new face on the side

to match that personality change for an extra buck?

Hey, while you're ordering grab me something.

I’ll take a number 2

and I’ll smear it all over Iowa.

and I’ll take a side of whatever pig you send my way.