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I think Newamba Flamingo is very talented and comical...I love his writing,
I have known him for about two years, reading his stuff...he's a really
decent guy and is smarter than one may think...he's educated and
funny....he's one cool dude.
thats just my opinion but I'm sure he has lots of fans who agree
Dystopia, USA, 2034:
Fade in
A mad frenzy consumes the floor of the Senate...
armies of frothing hip hop mermaids wearing strap-on dildos
pour in through barbed wire air vents...
They
smother, mount, and rectally copulate with stammering Senators
in a manner strikingly similar to the animal sex frequently documented on nature TV shows
Many of the Senators cry out in pleasure
while others demand tougher laws against hip hop mermaids
with strap-ons who crawl outta air vents and anally penetrate politicians' persons...
Fox News anchorman parachute into the fray,
disrobe, and compare penis sizes amongst one another...
reporters with the smallest penises must fist themselves up the ass
and sing the Star Spangled Banner repeatedly
Feral cats with flamethrowers
leap from the Senators' briefcases and set their own armpit hair on fire
in defiant protest of the mermaid animal fucking and ass fisting penis size contest
A trumpet sounds...
Hairy bikers in Vanilla Ice clothes arrive in waves
erupting from a trap door
bike and all, onto the Senate floor
The President of the United States accompanies the bikers...
stepping out of the sidecar of a motorcycle,
he climbs up onto the central podium of the Senate rotunda, bobbing his head...
(The President is known to be the most evil and despicable man on the planet,
often duct-taping a midget cameraman to his stomach,
storming into public bathrooms [both male and female],
kicking in doors of stalls,
taking humiliating video of the occupants,
and squealing opera at them in a hostile tenor)
Today the President wears his customary uniform of adult diapers,
paper Burger King Crown, hot pink cape,
black sling stiletto heels, chain link monocle,
and toxic mumu made of crisp dollar bills fused together by the saliva of starving children
A corded microphone drops down from the ceiling,
and he bellows into it in a hideous falsetto—
"Stop, collaborate, and listen!"
and pulls a flaccid, carrot-shaped penis out from underneath his mumu,
raises it in the air and shoots fireworks from it...
the Senators, bikers, cameramen, and reporters all
drop to their knees, bow to the President's genitals,
weep, and attempt to slit each other's wrists with
the tips of the hip hop mermaids' strap-on dildos...
Fade Out
Madison Avenue, NYC, 2027:
Conan O'Brien, comedian and host of a late night talk show, loses his mind...
during opening sequence of interview
he pounces on a monochromatic movie starlet
and begins eating her alive as if he were Hannibal Lecter
The crowd screams and shrieks, scores run toward the exits
But countless remain, thinking it's just part of the show,
and laugh uproariously as Conan cannibalizes the starlet
His face caked in blood, Conan proceeds to walk like a bear into the crowd
and runs row to row with his right arm extended,
slapping people in the face in one fluid motion,
somewhat akin to dominoes falling,
every now and again he stops, rips off a toupee, throws it to the ground,
stomps and/or pisses on it, dropkicks an elderly Japanese tourist in the jaw,
insults someone's teeth or hairstyle, or worse, tells a woman that her dress
or pair of pants makes her look fat and that her shoes are distasteful...
When Conan reaches the top row,
a sabre-toothed tiger falls into the studio through a rupture in the roof...
it snarls, roars, and then gorges out his jugular,
killing him instantly...
The audience jumps to their feet and gives a riotous ovation
Soon after, the crowd turns on itself, punching, clawing, kicking one another...
swarming soccer moms attack the show's band,
tear out the Rastafarian bongo player's hair,
then collect used diapers from garbage cans,
commandeer segways, and empty out into the New York City streets...
throw diapers at random people in hamburger costumes,
do impromptu impressions of Mr. T getting fucked up the ass,
and occasionally make really annoying bird sounds at street musicians...
(The random people in hamburger costumes
are later plagued by erections lasting four hours or more
and must be carried away on stretchers to hospital by men that look like Marge Simpson)
Meanwhile, in a press release, NBC announces the sabre-toothed tiger
that mauled Conan to death
will be the new star of a reality TV show about extinct animals
who appear from nowhere and attack and kill homicidal comedians...
Gulf Coast, Present Day:
People in shopping malls tend to get really angry when I sneak up behind them with clippers and shave off a portion of their hair.
XII:
I walked into Wal-Mart dressed in Eskimo gear and jumped an imaginary jump-rope all through the aisles
and stagedived off a dining room set and yelled "I want a new television" at the security guard
who escorted me out the door while hitting me in the head with a broom.
So I didn't buy any new televisions.
And I cross-country skied through the city streets back to my home where I
flapped one arm like a bird and practiced my mating call.
XI:
One of the circus clowns I have duct-taped to my balcony had a boa constrictor erupt from his mouth.
That circus clown broke free and ran into my apartment, tried to fuck the floor,
and then frantically banged on my neighbor's front door, repeatedly requesting to use the bathroom.
X:
I called up a phone sex hotline and impersonated an elderly British woman.
IX:
Thought about punching the snaggle-toothed Jamaican busdriver that has one eye which is slightly bigger than the other.
VIII:
Saw a short Pakistani man in a one piece pink miniskirt sleeping on the roof of a cop car and
screamed out my window to him about the naked man with a machine gun
that lives in the park and says he gotta octopus and a banshee in his fanny pack.
The short Pakistani man subsequently
accused me of riding kangaroos like ponies and dancing like a gay person...
neither of which I deny.
VII:
unbeknownst to me, the pelican faced math teacher
that crawled out of my toilet punched the broken kitchen sink.
VI:
Thought back to when I was a transvestite:
I done dragged my psychiatrist by his webbed foot
and phoned the man of self-destruct on a payphone, and told him I
found an ass-painted toilet abandoned beside a graveyard; it probably don't belong to nobody.
V:
Took a mule ride on a sand dune canyon and stuck a crayon in ma rectum and sang Enya and later watched the Conan O'Brien show; you know, Conan's hair is not really hair, it's a toupee-like mammal with frog legs, which once leapt off his head during a live taping and bit audience members in their noses; after that it calmly crawled back up on Conan's head, and everybody acted like nothing happened, and they all went on with the show without further incident.
IV:
While hang gliding, I picked up a hitchhiker with a shrunken head and mechanical feet
who said that Octo-Mom windsurfed the Caribbean and
got shipwrecked on a verdant island infested by one-legged turkeys with mohawks and nose rings,
and the turkeys purportedly ripped her apart and sent her remains by carrier pigeon to:
The Stolen Cat Living in a Dishwasher.
III:
Viewing too many LOLCAT pictures can cause erectile dysfunction and abnormal vagina movements
!
Drunken Cell Phone Call to my Baby Mama, 4 AM:
Hi. I went into the department store, tried on a little black dress,
and proceeded to pay for it with a wheel barrel filled with 50,000 pennies.
I dumped the pennies at the clerk's feet and said "Merry Christmas, motherfucker!" CLICK.
My phone doesn't seem to be working properly anymore
so I'm mostly communicating with people via smoke signals, telepathy, and sign language.
MANATEE COUNTY COURT, 8 AM:
Furthermore, Your Honor, I talk like a pirate on the phone when I call customer service representatives...
And after I found the Loch Ness Monster in my bath tub performing analingus on 50 Cent,
I ran like a dog and urinated on fire hydrants.
II:
DIDN'T I TELL YOU MY NAME IS NOT PAUL
?
I:
The talking lizard I hallucinate when I have the sexual encounter
with disgruntled poets wearing Richard Nixon masks in parking lots of dimly lit motels on Route 1 says he saw
"JLO'S BUDDI TURN INTO HOT AIR BALLOON. SHE FLY AWAY AIRBORNE BY HER BUDDI."
"...."
/dragon shit is frozen on my vanity mirror and
you can throw a dead horse through my window but I still won't shave my uneven facial hair growth.
FUCK
Newamba Flamingo used to be a transvestite. Now he’s a poet, which is kind of the same thing, who harasses people with his poetry and prose via the Internet. He also hosts an online radio show on Blog Talk Radio that he hopes an alien, kangaroo, or his long-lost psychiatrist, Dr. McGinty, will call in to sometime.