Sex to me is like going to the toilet. 

—Charles Manson

I gotta take a piss. Can I use ya head? 

—Bobby Peru

Welcome to Sexy Sadie’s Shakti Temple,
home of Charles Manson’s sex toilets.

Inner circle potties, double-
pointed ovals, blood-pink
deodorant screens, mindless
G-spots, empirical
prostates of mind; when you
cum, make your stupidest
face, go full
retard, get your entropy’s
worth for the
day.

Let them
eat
urinal cake.

Step right up!
Time to play port-o-roulette.
Everyone’s a winner!

A blowout, the color you make
when you mix
all the fingerpaints, extremities
stretched to impress, broken-
down elastics, shit piss
blood cum tears colored outside
the lines, spilt cum cow
milk all over your Baby
Van Gogh; hang it
on the walk-in
where you have
all the bodies
stacked, flash-
frozen, vivi-
sected.

It’s time the tale were told,
the Story of Port-O.
Y’all take a listen!

Out of order, chaos
only, over-the-top
brimming, prized sex
toilet overflowing, blue ribbon
shitter you can always spy
by the way it oozes soft
deposits, the cum of dirty
dozens fizzing
like hagfish; unclog it
with a Barbie
Dreamhouse plunger
or the suction
cup tip of a Nerf gun
bullet.

Anybody wanna take a ride
on Charles Manson’s sex toilets?
We got bargains galore!
When ya here, ya family.

Perfect, brand new
soft and supple buoyant trick-
john so clean, no light at the
end;
you can fuck it ‘til you see
clean through, ‘til the pipes
clear, ‘til there’s enough
give to make an echo
echo;
you can look that pisser
in the kisser, make
that fissure speak its truth, make
that asshole use its inside
voice.

Use ‘em like the restroom,
use ‘em like the commode,
the bidet, the soda fountain,
let ‘em carbonate your ass,
tell ‘em jokes for the john,
make ‘em laugh ‘til they hydraulically lift and eject
you.

If it’s yellow, let it mellow.
If it’s paternity orange or emotional brown,
flush it
down!

Christmas morning under
the Christmas tree, red and green
plaid flannel pajamas, open you up
like a Christmas present,
flapjack snaps unsnap,
snap-snap,
a USDA Grade A
rose;
spread the crescent
moon, get a good hard
look at that erectile
oinker standing tall at luncheon
pinnacle;
run a daisy chain on the ham-
bone, lap up the cherry
cordials, say howdy-ho
while you pump ‘em fulla
miracles;
call ‘em dummy dumpsters,
call ‘em mayo dispensaries,
call ‘em God’s gift to Jesus
Christmas.

Be a sweetie and wipe the seatie!

Thank you for visiting
Sexy Sadie’s Shakti Temple,
where you don’t just cum,
you arrive.

Now, go out there and BE somebody!

Go out there and PEE in somebody!