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PostPosted: Sat Sep 21, 2013 2:36 am
by admin
Don't Kill Nobody, by Charles Carreon


Might it be possibly
Worth a try to govern
Ourselves peaceably, following
At least the 6th
Commandment my friends?
Just resolve not to kill anybody
Plan ahead so when someone
Says to kill someone else
You ask why they don’t do the
Same to themselves and rid
The earth of their wasted girth.
Just resolve you won’t
Kill nobody’s brother, sister,
Father or mother, write it down
Just like I did, teach it
To your little kid,
Don’t kill nobody!
Don’t make it complicated
It’s totally underrated
Peace is an option if you
Have a plan. You can trust
The next guy as far as he
Trusts you, and it’s always
Great when no one pulls a gun.
Violence is bullshit, so chicks
Don’t fuck a guy who
Thinks it’s cool to kill
Somebody’s kid. Why reproduce
That killer seed? Find a
Nice guy and do the deed,
It’s nice to know he
Didn’t kill nobody!
Don’t kill nobody!
Don’t kill nobody!
You never know
When someone might kill you!
You wouldn’t have too
Much to say, having just
Been blown away,
But if you could I bet
You’d say,
Don’t kill nobody!
Don’t kill nobody!
Don’t kill nobody!


PostPosted: Sat Sep 21, 2013 2:37 am
by admin
Don't Let It Get You Down, by Charles Carreon


In a world full of woe and trouble
There’s just no place to stand.
We worship at the House of Mammon
All over this Promised Land

We walk our dogs and wash our cars
Sip latte from a cup
Read about the people our bombs are killin’
We just can’t give it up.

There’s gotta be a way
To a better day
But I just ain’t found it yet
Put a message in a bottle but it ain’t come back, so
Don’t let it get you down, no
Don’t let it get you down.

Yeah in the world that our fathers wounded
We’re standin’ with empty hands
We took all the good times for ourselves
And made other people’s plans

We sooted up the skies with our lies
Plugged the rivers with our wasted dreams
Killed women, children, men like flies,
Cause they stood in the way of our schemes

Yeah they’re flying the flag of the USA
All over this bloody ground
But cheap gasoline is on the way
So don’t let it get you down, boy
Don’t let it get you down.

Yeah everybody’s got a piece of the plot
You can cash it on demand
Our money’s plastic, that’s fantastic,
Spend all that you can!

While huddled masses yearn to breathe
We tighten up the coil
Extract the wealth, abuse their health
Some blood must flow with oil

Yeah they’re cursing the name
Of the USA all over this tortured earth
But it’s still a place of sacred birth,
So don’t let it get you down, no,
Don’t let it get you down.

So saddle up now, time to roll
Into the desert sands
That Wolfowitz sure had some balls,
And Rumsfeld is the man,

The Chief’s the best that could be found
Amid piles of skull and bones
And Condi’s here, so please wait, dear
While Karl gets the phones

If these clowns aren’t yours
Then whose are they, and who
Said they could stay?
Votes don’t mean nothin’, but a gun’s still somethin’
So don’t let it get you down, no
Don’t let it get you down.


PostPosted: Sat Sep 21, 2013 2:39 am
by admin
Don't Mess With My Mom, by Charles Carreon


(Dedicated to Matthew Inman of the Oatmeal)

I'm the pterodactyl killa'
From the City of Tucson
Ya' mess with me baby,
Come and get it on.
There's never been a fight that I backed away from,
So next time remember,
Don't mess with my Mom.

You make fun of my name,
The noble Carreon,
We came here with Cortez,
And our legacy lives on.
The battles that we fight
Are the ones that must be fought.
When the smoke clears, Matt,
Your army will be gone.
Next time remember,
Don't mess with my Mom.

Your allies are the fools
Who cut and paste all day.
They think they're important,
But their anger is impotent.
They say nasty things,
But they don't get paid.
Their ignorance is deep,
So ya' get 'em on the cheap.

Your humor's scatological,
Your mind is pathological.
Did someone drop you on your head,
When you were in your baby-bed?
Did they take away your rattle,
And teach you how to tattle?

Whatever the reason,
You have committed treason
Against decency and sanity,
You're offensive to humanity.

But never fear --
I'm here to liberate you.
There's no chinks in my armor,
So I don't have to hate you.
I raise up the sword
That vanquishes disorder
I place you without passion
In the matter transporter.

You see, winged reptiles
aren't needed here.
What we need is thoughtful people
Who are decent and sincere.

So get behind me, Satan!
You're just a bit of roadkill,
Like the thief of Sex.Com,
Just another fool,
Who thought he was the bomb.
Next time, Mr. Inman,
Don't talk about my Mom.

Andrew: How do you respond to someone who says, “This is the worst comic I ever saw in my life"?


Matt: When I used to work for people I had this sense of diplomacy. I had to respond like, “Well, I’m sorry you feel that way. I appreciate your criticism,” and blah, blah, blah. Now I work for myself and really no one can control what I say. So usually I tell them that I slept with their mom or I say the most vile, awful thing I can think of. If you read my Twitter account, it is like Hitler’s port-a-potty. It’s the worst thing that you’ve ever seen, just this awful stuff that I say to my critics on there. Just to troll them, mostly. So that’s usually how I respond to it. Like a drunk 15 year old, I think, is the best way to put it....

Andrew: What about in the beginning when you were going into Digg and you knew that if you won this group of people over, they’d send you massive traffic and if you turned them into haters, they’d bury you and you wouldn’t get anything from them. At that point, weren’t you nervous?

Matt: Yeah. At that point, I wouldn’t have gotten on Digg and been like, “Hey, your mom and I made love under the stars. Ha ha ha. I liked it.” That probably wouldn’t go over so well. But now I’m kind of at this comfortable level. And part of my writing style and the persona that I have online is sort of this crass, bloated, obese, drunk monster. So, in the beginning, you’re absolutely right, probably insulting my critics wouldn’t have gone over so well....

Matt: I think the feedback that has changed my comics somewhat wasn’t from comments, it was from traffic. I found that certain themes, that if I attack, will actually drive traffic like crazy and that other things won’t.

In particular, writing about a gripe. It’s the stand-up routine where someone gets up there and says, “What’s the deal with airline food?” You take that and you apply it to a comic. Those ones go crazy. Like, “Things That You Shouldn’t Do In E-Mail,” “How to Suck at Facebook,” “Words You Should Stop Misspelling,” these are all gripes. That was one that changed. But that is, hopefully the one that stands alone. I try to make things that I think are funny and that I enjoy. But the gripe one is one that I sort of embellished a little more because it seemed to resonate with people.



PostPosted: Sat Sep 21, 2013 2:45 am
by admin
Dorothy Chandler's Dead, by Charles Carreon

Dorothy Chandler's dead,
You can be sure of that,
Yes that's what I said:
"Dorothy Chandler's Dead"
And there's a parking
lot named after her,
And everyone remembers her,
But Dorothy Chandler's dead.

Armand Hammer is alive,
But hardly a living treasure;
I'll wager it'll give a lot of people
pleasure when he kicks the bucket
And anoints his heirs with big gouts of
sticky black cash.

Frank Sinatra is alive,
although entombed inside himself
in a private room in the same wax museum
where Liz Taylor gets her hair done.

Billy the Kid is
neither dead nor alive,
like an arsenic spring,
that glistens even as it zeroes
every living thing,
and mocks the sun with a
skeleton face.


PostPosted: Sat Sep 21, 2013 2:46 am
by admin
Dream Descent, by Charles Carreon

Two seagulls in an updraft
One of them's me
Talking to an eagle telepathically
We say, let's play
He says, you better be fast
We say, let's show him what we got, and then
A bit of turbulence tips me off the shelf
A flutter and my airfoil's lost,
I'm headed down, down, down
The earth getting bigger,
Clearer every second
The streetlines and the landscape
Comin' down with the wind in my ears
Comin' down with the breath stuck in my throat
Comin' down wondering can I brake in time
Comin' down and I realize
I can do this
I can do this
I can do this
Slow my descent steadily
Wind in my ears
Steady my fears
Comin' down
Comin' down
Comin' down
Reassume my weightlessness briefly
Just before my feet alight
On solid earth
At a walking pace
As I reach out my hand to catch the hand
Of a girl I know,
Riding her bicycle
Our fingers gently touch and
She says, “How'd you do that?”
“Oh,” I say without excitement, “I know how.”

(Tucson, Nov. 2008)


PostPosted: Sat Sep 21, 2013 2:47 am
by admin
Elvis Must Die, by Charles Carreon

Elvis ushers in a New Age,
Elvis walks, Elvis talks,
Elvis must die.

Evil manipulators have Elvis' brain
in a jar in a casino basement,
And they're going to use it
to stage a psychic assault
on humanity.

Elvis was seen shopping at a K-Mart;
he bought a polaroid camera, a comb,
and spent a long time looking at
automotive accessories.

Elvis was seen walking
a twelve-year old girl to
the Minute Market on a Sunday afternoon;
they talked about loneliness in the afterlife,
And she said she knew how it must feel.

Elvis was foolish,
leaving psychic traces everywhere;
Now his face is subject
to the voodoo flock.
All those grasping souls--
could you imagine if he had to spend a lifetime
with each one ...?


PostPosted: Sat Sep 21, 2013 2:49 am
by admin
Engine, by Charles Carreon


Engine --
Look at you, drinking gasoline
in a steady flow,
Purring with the easy shake of the
Turning the fan and circulating water
to cool yourself
Easy as can be ...
We use, but rarely admire you,
Your faithfulness, your loyalty,
your rhythm,
Nimble as a dancer's step ...
All know the greasy metal,
the stink, the heat, the cracked
and grimy gaskets, the defeated clutch,
the shoeless brakes that have eaten
into their drums, exploded mufflers,
failed tires, dead batteries,
While so few have appreciated with
the steady beat of all the engineering
ticking fine --
It's a miracle, and a homey one at that:
So many things working together to turn
a single shaft.
Valves opening and closing to the
predetermined rhythm
of the ever-turning crank,
Communicated through the simple mechanism
of a chain.
Oh spark-plugs, sparking at the command
of the
loquacious rotor
Oh silent coil secretly amplifying
the power of the battery
Oh carburetor, mixing air and gasoline
like an alchemist
Oh oil-pan humbly lying below all things,
filling up with sludge and filings --
Oh engine, we take for granted the burden
you bear --
mutely your cylinders and rings wear away --
your flywheel loses its teeth --
your valves become encrusted --
the intelligence of your steel decays,
is worn away by time -- you fumble,
you falter -- the trim muscles of good
compression waste away -- gravity gets you
down -- you do not make the hills, you
pull the load anymore.
Oh worn away, oh broken down,
Oh tired and unsteady, you are
passed on to the poor,
To those who gamble on a transmission
And play Russian Roulette
with a recalcitrant starter.
And you will try, you will exert yourself
To uphold their faith,
Drinking watered gasoline, putting up with
Quantities of cheap oil that you
Blow out in a sickly exhaust.
So come away, come away then
There is no heaven for you, to be
By grace or works !
Render them good service --
Three-hundred dollars worth and then,
in the parking lot of the supermarket,
in the carport,
on a long haul over a steep hill,
Give it up --
Burn your bearings,
crack your head,
throw a rod,
Give it up ! Disintegrate the order
that maintains you,
forget the intelligence that makes you
different from scrap,
Annihilate the hot homeostasis that
maintains your monotonous life --
Give it up, like a fevered
And submit to the junkman's hook.


PostPosted: Sat Sep 21, 2013 2:50 am
by admin
Everybody Wants To Be Like Paris Hilton, by Charles Carreon


Who's useless?
And clueless?
An accidental nudist
With a smile perfect for TV?

Who's famous?
Who's gorgeous?
An ego that's enormous
Whose shoes are trimmed with purple mink?

Everybody wants to look like Paris Hilton
So it could be anybody,
Just like you are nobody,
'Cause today is just another day,
and Hey! They're towing your car away
Yeah, they're towing your car away.

On TV, we see them,
Dressed up in crazy clothing
Then we all wanna do the same

We're boring,
we're stupid,
And no one wants to see us--
I hate my stupid name

If only we could all be like Paris Hilton,
Free to charge it and take it away
If only I could be like Paris Hilton
I'd fly to Hollywood and there
I'd permanently stay.
But everybody wants to be like Paris Hilton
Where it's always recess and time to play
Because when your name is Paris Hilton
Every day is a beautiful day.

Who's useless?
And clueless?
An accidental nudist
With a smile perfect for TV?


PostPosted: Sat Sep 21, 2013 2:50 am
by admin
Evolution, by Charles Carreon

Click here to play "Evolution," sung by Charles Carreon

You don’t believe in evolution
You think it messes with your soul
You want a spiritual solution
That gives the President control
And as for stuff like Revolution
Better keep that shit down in the hole

Yeah, old Jehovah drives a Caddy
He keeps the Devil in the trunk
They drive all over hell and Vegas
Playing shows and getting drunk
They do some massive entertaining
No time for scientific junk.

The Holy Spirit’s like Big Pharma
Creating custom DNA
So an immaculate conception
Was nothing more than child’s play
As for the vaunted resurrection
That was a clone we packed away

Now science fiction makes it easy
Mix truth and fantasy and luck
Combining television shaker
With ice and soda shake it up.
Serve to an ignorant population
They’ll drink it down and then shut up.

You don’t believe in evolution
You think it messes with your soul
You want a spiritual solution
That gives the President control
And as for stuff like Revolution
Better keep that shit down in the hole


PostPosted: Sat Sep 21, 2013 2:51 am
by admin
Explode on the Border, by Charles Carreon

I’m the man in the taco stand
With the detonator in my hand
Please don’t come one step closer
Unless you want more cilantro

Explode on the border
In a tarpaper shack
Explode on the border
Cause they’re never gonna take me back

I got a dark nefarious plan
To make this place like Afghanistan
Make everyone speak Spanish
They’ll all be beaners when I’m finished

Explode on the border
It’s a culture war
Explode on the border
I’ll show you what this burrito’s for

You gotta hate the people you exploit
Demonize them, make the crawl
Never show a speck of thanks
Now you wanna roll out the tanks

So we’ll explode on the border
Won’t that be fun
Explode on the border
Golf carts burning in the sun

They ask me for my papers
I got the detonator in my hand
They’ll never take me alive
‘Cause I’m the suicide taco man

Explode on the border
Gimme my desert back
Explode on the border
And enjoy your a heart attack