Oh, Rock Slut!

As promised to my friend LC yesterday, and in honour of F-Day, I am lightening up on the heady discourse and shifting to a more air-heady theme. Here, now, is my ode to the more glitsy, gutsy and gobbley of the female persuasion- the rock tramp.

Oh, Rock Slut A Poem, by K-Dough

Oh rock slut, when you held my spiral-permed locks to keep my head out of the toilet, I knew that there was love inside of you- or would be imminently.

But I made the mistake of licking your face, in the heat of a steamy hotel bathroom, and ended up with a foundation-caked tongue.

I will never forget the sweet words you sputtered as we met in the small town arcade:
"Heyyyy, Yer in that band playin' over at the hotel, eh? You from Turanna?" Or as you looked up at me in that room full of onlookers, pulled the gristlehunk out of your face, and queried: "Can we kiss first?": The memory is like a balloon angioplasty to my weiner.

You giggled, drunkenly as I scrawled "Rapunzel, Rapunzel, shit out your spleen" on the filthy dressing room drywall.

You snorted, and Dr. Pepper squirted out of your perfect little model nose, when I pulled out my dick and stuck it in our stupid light tech's ear as he slept - unawares.

You suffered my childish tantrums about how my art would suffer if the bar owner wouldn't give us a free case of Blue.

You helped me spray and tease my do, and let me borrow your zebra-stripe shirts and spandex and rubber bangles.

You bought me cheeseburgers and made me bottle-tokes and let me stay at your passed-out Step-Mom's house when I was in town.

You introduced me to all your local girlfriends, who also dropped to their knees at the flick of a fly, thanks to your expert tutellage.

But most of all, my little rock slut, you masturbated with a giant carrot and then let me put it in your ass after I fucked your sister with it. It brings a tear to my pants even now.

One thing I gotta say sweet little rock slut: You're special - and I mean that.