Hey, everyone. It's Gene.

I'm guest blogging for C Monks, again. Which is awesome.

It's like a dream come true every time I strap on the Movable Type and get up in this piece. I mean, sure, guest blogging makes me less the Great Oz, and more the 'I'm going to make sure people still visit this blog while Oz is taking care of his munchkins' guy, but I like being that guy.

That guy that is just a fan. That guy that catches the sweat-dreanched jersey after the big game and rubs it close against his overweight body. That's me. I'm that guy. All big man-titted and covered in C Monks sweat.

I like doing this blog more than my own because it lets me pretend I'm C Monks. Which is double awesome. I mean, who doesn't want to pretend they can write awesome poems about car washes and donuts? No one. No one doesn't want to pretend that.

Everyone wants to write awesome poems that get featured for milliseconds on the CBS Evening News. Everyone.

The Pope wants to write those kinds of poems.

Friggin' Wesley Snipes wants to write those kinds of poems.

But, no matter how painful it is for us to admit, the car wash/donut poetry of Pope Benedict XVI and Wesley Snipes will never get featured on the CBS Evening News.

What they both write is stupid sub-par car wash/donut poetry that sucks. They are lesser people than C Monks, Pope Benedict XVI and Wesley Snipes.

Just look at these stupid-weak examples I found on Poetry.com:

Donuts and Fighting on A Neon Rooftop That Also Has a Car Wash (My Penis)
by Wesley Snipes

I'm all bad and stuff,
kicking high and look at my package -
I'm fly. I'm Wesley Snipes. I'm in a cool neon rooftop battle,
and I have a big penis.

Oh! Donuts! Awesome. I'm Wesley Snipes and lets do a donut timeout.
I'm a little tired from kung-fu, and my car is dirty.
Are we finished yet, unnamed action director/studio tool?
I need a car wash. I'll catch you guys in five.

I have time to think and eat donuts in the car wash.
This is nice. Donuts. I can put my foot through a man's head.
I'm Wesley Snipes. Did you see me in Demolition Man?
I got to wear cool futuristic clothes that made my penis look badass.

My penis is huge, and it's not because I'm black.
My penis is beyond stereotype. It's bigger than other black penises.
Unnamed action director/studio tool needs to get a close-up
of what this action is all about.

To summarize what I think this action is all about:
Donuts. Demolition Man clothes.
Car wash.
But mostly, most of all, my non-streotypically large penis.

Jesus, the Car Wash and Donuts Up In This
By Pope Benedict XVI

Peep me in the Vatican car wash,
fly hoes in red robes,
popemobiles,
donuts in my grill.

I call out to Jesus.
I say, Jesus, what's it all about?
He says, Pope Benedict XVI,
you know what it's about.

I say, no dude, I totally don't,
hit me up with some sexy knowledge.
And then he's like, damn, son
you don't even know.

And I'm like, yeah, I don't know,
dude, that's why I asked you.
And Christ is all like, dude,
you got any cherry-glazed?

No, I say.
Christ awkwardly avoids my question.
He talks about his girlfriend for fifteen minutes. The popemobile gets clean.
I go to the mall with my posse and buy a new iPod with special Vatican gold-plated money that is worth more than regular money, like twice as much. I don't even know how many iPods I own now I'm so pope-rich.

______

See? Lame. Nothing. Weak-bad. Stupid-bad even. Wesley Snipes and Pope Benedict XVI have no poetry skills, and can't pay any poetry bills, and I hope to demonstrate this again and again over the course of the coming week. Which is a premise for my guest blogging stint that probably won't make it past tomorrow. I'm going to play Halo 2 now.

See you tomorrow!