December 16, 2003
100th ENTRY/NEAL POLLACK ROAST
Today marks two special occasions. This is the 100th post since the grand re-opening of my blog. I would like to thank all of you who keep me going, send me links, hate mail and encouragement. Big thanks to Bill Van Loo, who has been the man so generously donating space. Second, Yankee Pot Roast has decided it a good idea to roast Neal Pollack all week. In keeping with that spirit I turned on John Coltrane's Sun Ship, drank a large pot of Sanka straight from the pot and vomited up this piece of poetry. But before I do, I'd like to send a shout out to Neal for being such a good sport and a classy guy.
Neal, bitch.
1.
I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by Neal
Pollack
not of Jackson in spelling or in talent
2.
whose ego
exceeds the total landmass of four Canadian provinces and
whose asshole
outstretches the distance of Newfoundland
whose gential sores
went unchecked for six months
all the while
serving more women
than mcdonald’s does cheeseburgers
whose foot fetish with long time mistress
donald rummy
was secretly documented by
grainy digital night cameras
who brought forth hillary duff to an
unsuspecting mass audience
while all the time she was carrying his unborn seedling.
who loved to vomit
iron hot bile
and rolling rock
on midgets
at the St. Mark’s Hotel;
all the while watching
scat films and Tom and Jerry cartoons
shagging legless Korean callgirls with bad acne
at 4am in the alleys of the Bowery
who secretly led a double life as the fashion consultant to the nation of Islam
3.
there once was a man named Neal
who lacked any sex appeal
your music came detuned
from a tone deaf muse
that shrieked like a dead baby seal
4.
simile: reading work by Pollack is like having massive anal leakage after eating a bag of WOW! Chips.
5.
the stopwatch on career read fourteen minutes and fifty five
and we regret to inform you that you were too busy sucking on corporate cock
to do anything
with the
last
five
seconds