The Slugman of Herbert Street – Part II

October 25, 2012

Nothing gnaws at the spirit like loneliness.
Nothing drips like a lonely Slugman does.

The Slugman walks down Herbert Street
dripping from his glans and sluggy teet.

I don’t miss those hippies.
I don’t miss their banjoes
or shoeless toes.
I don’t miss being awoken
from my daily doze.

I finally have time to look at me
and see whatever it is that I’ll see.
is a Slugman?
Under all the drip
what is me?

He holds out his hand and lets a drip rip.
It streams from his glans and onto his hip.

Good show!
I don’t need to drip on hippies.
It’s just as much fun
to cover myself in drippy.

Winter comes quickly.
Herbert Street is slippery
and travelers fall quickly
and the drunks who wander from Richardson’s bar
looking for their drip-covered car
curse the Slugman when they slip in his drip.

“Damn you, Natty Bones!
“Leave my poor car alone.”

Christmas Eve never brings Natty Bones relief.
He fills his stocking with drippy
and tops it off with dry leaves
and small spiders
and calls it Drip Pudding
and feasts
alone, of course
and walks to St. Yves
down the street.

Father Pip’s on the stoop
and won’t let him in.
“Not until you wipe that drip from your chin,
you perverted Slugmin.”
Natty wipes his drip and grins.
“Merry Christmas, Father Pip.”
And without warning, he covers Pip
in freezing cold, milky white drip.

“Looks like you’re having a white Christmas, Pip,”
Natty says as he shakes the rest of the drip from his tip.

A wintry wind blows and freezes the drip to Pip.
“Damn you, Natty! Damn the whole Slugman race!
“Now I have to do Christmas Mass
“with drippy stuck to my face.
“Are you coming in, Natty, you ass?”

Natty says, “I’ll pass.
“I don’t like Mass.
“I’m just here for the snacks.”

He grabs the communion basket with his sluggy paw
and shoves each wafer into his drippy maw.
“Damn you, Natty! Did you eat them all?
“Those are for Mass. What gaul!”

Time passes, as it does.
The Slugman thinks about things
like the way Herbert Street was.
And King Hippie and that hippie baby
who he covered in drippy
and how maybe, in another life, just maybe
they could live in drip-free harmony.

No way!

Natty Bones drips into his hands
as he watches the Times Square ball drop.
On Valentine’s Day lovers leave the Richardson tipsy
and slip in his drippy white slop.

The Slugman drips as the leaves on the trees near St. Yves turn a splendid green.

He tries to drip on April Fool’s Day
but no.
There’s no flow.
There’s no drip dripping from my drip spout!

He can’t begin to explain this drip drought.
A sick April’s Fool’s joke
that must be what it’s about.
Tomorrow I’ll be dripping like mad, no doubt.

Time passes
as it does.
April 2 comes
and goes
and there’s


I can’t even do the one thing Slugmen were put on earth to do.

If I can’t drip, I am no longer a Slugman.

I am only a man.

He looks at his glans
He looks at his hands.
They’re both bone dry.
The man who used to be a Slugman
curls into a dry ball
and begins to cry.



The Slugman of Herbert Street – Part I

August 25, 2012

On Herbert Street near Richardson’s bar
lives Natty P. Bones, a man so bizarre.
He’ll shove ginger root
into his poop shoot
while reading his father’s memoirs.

Oh there’s Natter Poon, the Herbert Street Slugman
a drippy drip drips from his small sluggy slug hands.
Hate to be a nag
but please use a rag
and please have a doctor inspect your drippy drip slug glans.

Natty the Slugman haunts Old Herbert Street.
He drips on each barefoot hippie he meets.
The cops have been called
they’re no help at all.
His drip covers hippies from their heads to their feet.

Hide chubby children from Natty P. Patter.
He preys on the husky, the obese, and the fatter.
He’ll get them to lick
his pale sluggy prick
by telling them it tastes like cake batter.

The Slugman grows figs in a ditch near the dump.
He doesn’t need water to make his figs plump.
For he is equipped
with a life-giving drip
that drips from his glans and also his rump.

Drip drip goes the Slugman
into his drip can.
There’s drippy on his feet.
There’s drippy on his hands.
Who knew that a glans
could drip nonstop like the Slugman’s?

“I am not a slug,” he’ll say.
“I am a man
“who just happens to have a rather drippy glans.”

But no man could drip enough drip from his tail
to glaze Herbert Street in a drippy slug trail.

What does the Slugman do with his day?
Does he tell all the hippies to please go away?
Or does he go to the nearest hospital and say,
“I’ve got a drip and it won’t go away.”

He’s been to St. Vincent’s, Sinai and Woodhull.
He met a drip guru somewhere in Nepal.
The Nepalese guru was appalled.

He said, “I’ve never seen
“such a drip befall a man’s peen.
“I don’t mean to be mean
“but there is no vaccine.
“I’m afraid you’ll always be
“a sluggy dripping machine.”

Natty bought a boat and set sail one July day.
The winds pulled him out to the sea right away.
But the Poon’s constant drip
soon flooded the ship
and that sluggy fool almost got drowned in the bay.

The Slugman drips drippy
on the barefoot hippies
who sleep on Herbert Street.

He’ll say, “Hey there, hippie
“go back to Poughkeepsie
“where you can walk around in bare feet.”

“Herbert Street is where I doze and eat my petite meats;
not where hippies walk around without shoes on their feet.”

See old Natty Slaw
enforces the Shoe Law
Herbert’s elders passed long ago.

But in the year twenty ten
the hippies moved in
all shoeless and playing their banjos.

And they always play banjos
When the Slugman tries to doze.
And he comes very close
to drowning those hippies with drip from his drip hose
(that’s his peen, which by now you should know).
Natty will say, “You think you’re so hip
“but you’re no match for my drip.”
And he’ll drip his drip on those hippies’ afros.

When the Herbert Street hippies get covered in drippy
they complain to their king, who they call King Hippie.

One day King Hippie said, “Natty Slaw,
“Hippies are above that old shoe law.
“We don’t need shoes to sleep on your street.”

“Don’t give me any lip,”
Natty said as he dripped
fresh drippy on King Hippie’s bare feet.

“Enjoy that drippy treat!”

Natty turned his attention
to the hippie congregation
and covered their afros in drippy tarnation.

The King raised his banjo
far above his afro
and swung fast at his sluggy, drippy foe.

He struck Natty Bones
square on his slug nose
which sent him into a deep doze.

But soon Natty P.
was back on his feet
and dripping his drippy on his dry petite meats
(that’s the only thing he eats)
and dripping his drippy on each hippie
without shoes on his feet.

And when the hippies get drippy?
They tend to rebel
and eat the Slugman’s petite meats
and rub his meat with their bare feet
which make Natty P. Bones very ireet.

At night the Slugman drips on his bed sheets.
All day he drips on the meats that his drippy mouth eats.
‘Cause that petite meat’s too dry
for the Slugman to try.
So he drips on it
bit by bit
and eats till he’s satisfied.

One day Sluggy was dripping drip
from his glans up to his lip
and from his lip onto his meat
to make it drippy enough for him to eat.

He strolled down Herbert Street
dripping on each hippie with bare feet.

Enter the afroed Hippy King
who interrupted Natty’s frolicking.

The Slugman said, “Hello there, hippie.
“No shoes, I see.”
And he covered King Hippie
in fresh milky white drippy.

And this drip was a bad one.
The King was real mad, son.

“Slugman!” the King bellowed
“You’re a real shitty fellow.
“I came here to say
you can have it your way.”

The Slugman spoke while chewing his meat:
“You mean, all you hippies will wear shoes on Herbert Street?
“And you won’t touch my petite meats with your shoeless feet
“when I leave them to dry in the street?
“And you’ll play your banjos real low
“so I can doze with my eyes closed
“whenever I choose to doze?”

The King said, “All that and more, Natty Pan
“we have a new comprehensive life plan.
“We’re leaving Herbert Street for good, you see.
“You won’t have any hippies to cover in drippy
“and you won’t have to worry ’bout banjos, or shoes, or feet
“or hippies touching your petite meats.
“After today we’ll never again be on Herbert Street.”

The Slugman smiled a sluggy grin.
“I won’t be awoken from dozes by banjos again?
“I won’t have to drip on the hippies who commit shoe sins?”

“You’ve earned that grin,” said the King.
“You’re a sluggy beast
“but in the end, a friend.
“And you win.
“You won’t see us again.”

The Slugman said, “Not that I care
“but I’d like to know where
“you barefoot hippies will be
“in case I get bored
and want to cover you in drippy.”

“Me and the hippies
“will return to Poughkeepsie
“where shoes are as common
“as snow in Mississippi.”

“I win!” said the Slugman with a grin
and dripped drippy all over the king’s chin.
“One drip for the road, you hooligan!”

The Hippie King bowed real low.
He strummed a minor chord on his drippy banjo.
He hummed a tune in his deep baritone:
“So long, Natty Bones
“we hate to leave you alone
“but you’ve dripped on too many afros
“and you’ve dripped on too many banjos
“for us to feel at home on Herbert Street
“so we’re hitting the road to Poughkeepsie.”

And so the King and his hippies
walked away from Natty Pip.
towards JFK or LGA
or the one formerly known as Islip.
Some slipped in the drip
but still they looked hip
with banjos ‘round their shoulders
and drippy hippie babies on their hips.

Legend has it, a drippy hippie baby
looked back and said this maybe,
“I’ll miss you, Sluggy Natty.
“I’ll miss your drippy drip.
“I wish I were a Slugbaby.
“I wish I weren’t hip.
“And I wish I didn’t have to move back to Poughkip.”

From the Slugman’s eye a tear or two did slip.
Then he covered that baby in fresh drippy drip.




ryanthomasgrim [AT] gmail
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