'i caught vince fontaine putting asprin in my coke at the dance'

kitty got knocked up again.
i came home from a failed date,
(with a stand-up comic, no less)
and there were three nearly hairless
long-limmed rodent-lookin' things
floppin' 'round 'neath the bed.

the fuck am i to do
with these fuckin' kittens?
they're disgusting with their
swollen eyes and squashed-up faces
like infected otters. pretty much
just sit there and flail.

mamma kitty skulks near my feet
as i try to drink down a klonopin,
my new favorite hobby.
i'd lock her in the back yard
if it weren't for the satisfying sounds
of the sucklings that force her supine.

trapped now, eh? smug slut.
readin' martin amis and listening to the Jackson 5
has stripped me of my psychological straight edges:
say goodbye to them right-angles, lady;
close your door to mamma K
and celebrate sentences 'bout beatin' up on a bitch.