my blender

if you thought your blender kicked ass, you were wrong.
there can be but one most ass kickin blender, and it is mine.

these things are meant to be eaten -
bananas, crab, steak, celery, cheese.
these things are not meant to be eaten -
spoons, carburetor, glass, clock, paper.
but I eat as I please,
because my machine wishes to satisfy my desires.

"Oh, please Mike, let me fix you a mercury cotton smoothie!
I promise it won't be lumpy."
"No! Go away! I'm trying to sleep.
What are you doing in my room?"
"It was cold on the counter and I was lonely, so lonely.
Plus, the coffee pot was lookin at me funny,
her eyes were all googly like she was on somethin,
and I started to get scared. I started to think
about how I awoke last night to freakish screams
only to look down in horror at the hideous, mangled wreck
that was once automatic can opener.
I swear it wasn't me!"
"You're sweating. Let me get a damp towel...
Oh dear, I'm afraid you might have a fever, blendie.
This just won't do. You have to start taking care of yourself."
"I know, but it's so hard! and you need me now more than ever!"
"That is no excuse. Now this is what we are going to do:
Take two of these xanax...there...now close your eyes...good...
Relax. I'm gonna carry you back to the counter, tuck you in,
and sing you a song as you go to sleep."
"Mike?"
"Yes?"
"Will you sing me some Gram Parsons? Your voice is so pretty."
"Sure."

...so don't play this crazy game with me no longer,
'cause I won't be able to resist my rage,
and the gun that's hanging on the kitchen wall, dear,
is like a roadsign pointing straight to satan's cage...
Goodnight.