Posted by: Ron DuBour | November 28, 2018

“The Church of Tits and Ass”~by Michael Graves


(Adult content)

 

“The Church of Tits and Ass”

Image may contain: 1 person, smiling, text

The morning sun awakened me
a chill was in the air.
The sound was loud from down the street
there were people everywhere.

“What’s all this racket going on?”
I asked as a man ran past;
“Everyone’s going somewhere, and
I don’t want to get there last.”

He turned his head and said to me
“You’re late, so hit the gas;
everybody’s going down
to the Church of Tits and Ass.”

St. John’s a politician,
he comes from my state, back home.
A first class proselytizer,
he spouts verses from the tome.

He’ll promise to grant your every wish
even get you resurrected.
He’ll work any angle he can find
to get himself re-elected.

You’ll find him on any Sunday, preaching
filling the air with gas.
Belting out the holy writ
at the Church of Tits and Ass.

Mary is an anchor, on
the TV evening news;
spouting nasty, little stories
(from her producer’s personal views.)

Any subject’s good enough
if there’re decent ratings in it.
More viewers mean more commercial dollars
any way you spin it.

A sensational story’s better
and she’ll pretend that it’s got class.
She’s singing from the hymnal
at the Church of Tits and Ass.

Cousin Tom’s an artist
he was actually once quite good.
Until he started painting like
the critics said he should.

One line here, another there
it’s all so formulaic.
The colors are predictable,
they’re all quite algebraic

I hate to point it out to him
I know he’ll think it’s crass.
But his soul’s in chains in the basement
of the Church of Tits and Ass.

Eloise, the model, struts
in silky lingerie.
She won’t get out of bed for less
than ten thousand bucks a day.

“My body is a temple” she says
“Come worship at the shrine.
If it’s pearly gates you’re looking for
for a price I’ll show you mine.”

Her hair is blinding, like the sun
in various shades of brass.
She’s just been granted sainthood
in The Church of Tits and Ass.

Bernie, he’s a private boy
his persona simply glows.
He rides his jet plane to and fro
as his reputation grows.

He’s selling his predictions
calls them prophesies from God.
None of them come true, but
no one seems to think it’s odd.

His followers are happy clams
shelling out big wads of cash.
Piling it in the offering plates
at the Church of Tits and Ass.

Young Timmy, he’s so full of drugs
he can’t tell wrong from right.
He grabs a gun and shoots away
at everything in sight.

It’s not the guns that make him shoot
at everyone around.
It’s the pharmaceutical “mood controllers”
that put him in the ground.

I took a look around and saw
the shit was pretty deep.
The people all were quiet, and
they looked a lot like sheep.

The usher pointed to a seat and
pushed me toward the pew.
“Just take look around,” he said,
“there’s something here for you.”

“If this is all you’ve got for me,” I said,
I think I’ll pass”
I’ve got far better places to be
than the Church of Tits and Ass.

— Graves 12/15/12


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