Let’s face it: we’re not all George Clooney.
Most of us need a little help scoring with chicks.
Our *****—the archetypal genital signal—
Are hidden from sight, &
****** wagging
Will get you arrested.
Perhaps, pheromones may be the answer.

Dr. Winifred Cutler’s Bio:
(As read by Don Pardo, postmortem).
“Biologist and behavioral endocrinologist Dr. Winifred Cutler was the first to establish the presence of human pheromones in 1986 when her team removed sweat from human underarms and found that only the odorless materials that contained pheromones remained.”

Blessed are the
Underarm Sweat Removers,
A Labor cohort
Soon to be SEIU smorganized . . .
Organized, smorganized. | Karen Koedding, Productivity ...
https://www.linkedin.com/.../organized-smorganized-karen-koe...LinkedIn Organized, smorganized. Jan 7, 2015. 209Views; 11Likes; 3Comments. Share on LinkedIn; Share on Facebook; Share on Google Plus; Share on Twitter.
Ka-Ching.
Ka-Ching.

And Andy Stern’s suggestion,
Probably the best for anyone
Searching for a new mate, or
Wanting to move up,
Move up to a new relationship plateau,
Move up to a higher class of ******?
Open your nostrils.
Take a deep breath.

Bio continues:
“Dr. Winifred Cutler
Founded the Athena Institute in 1986,
Selected that name
Signifying the mission;
Helping women increase
Wisdom and skill,
Relative to
Their Bodies,
Their Health,
Their Wellbeing.”

Why not a Nobel for Dr. Cutler?
Testimony follows:
“Pheromones magnify my mojo.
I wear the love potion that makes
The most gorgeous gal in the bar--
That kind of gorgeous gal,
Usually out of my league—
Makes her look my way.
Welcome, my fingers
Touch her siren shoulder.
She turns,
‘What do you want?’ she asks coyly.
‘Um, want to dance?’ I manage.
She grins, looks me
Up and down—
Mostly down—
And says, “Not really.”

The verdict?
Apparently, the scent of pheromones is
Still overpowered by nerves.
Let’s face it:
Women can smell fear.

a hundred years of rain
drops down the tall, tilted rooftop
towards the porous landscape below,
as love soaks, the dust settles.

dreams of fluid summers
in the nineteen hundreds,
children's laughter echoing
through candle lit halls of timber,
front porch rocking chairs squeaking
after grandpa's dinner
where this happy home
is a dream you'll remember.

Mr Cutler had passed away
the room was cleared and ready
for the next resident
clean sheets

pillowcase
fresh blankets
the curtains taken down
and washed and dried

and put up again
but that didn't stop Sophia
penning you in
standing with her back

to the door
blocking your escape
he is dead now?
this Mr Cutler?

yes died the other day
you said
nice bed
she said

you looked at
the candlewick bed spread
blue and smooth
yes guess so

you replied
you gazed at her
with her blonde hair
tied in a pony tail

her ice blue eyes
focused on you
her Polish English words
harsh yet also soft

you could **** me there
she breathed
rather than said
too risky

you said
more exciting
she uttered
her Polish tongue

brutalizing
the English
who will see?
the old man dead

who else
will come in here?
some old boy might
come in by mistake

you said
an audience
will add to the fun
she breathed out

the words
you could smell
their sensuality
no I can't

I have baths to do
you uttered
looking at the door
behind her back

they can wait
she said
or you could
bath me first

she said smiling
I've got to go
you said
someone might need me

I need you
she uttered
here on the bed
I can't

you said
if you try to leave
the room I will scream
she said

I will say you try
to touch me up
as you lot say
she put one hand on a hip

and the other
against the door
they wouldn't believe you
you said

let's try
if I scream loud enough
and cry they will
she said

she mimed opening
her mouth and screaming
ok
you said

no need to scream
she smiled
good boy
I like you

she said
moving away
from the door
and unbuttoning

her blue overall coat
revealing her tight
short dress
her ******* pressing out

the top
she dropped her overall
on a chair by the window
and drew the curtains

that's better no?
it made the room darker
the shadowy light
made the moment surreal

come on
she said
mustn't waste time
and she began to undress

and you stood there
open mouthed
and doomed
when someone

called your name
down the passageway
Mr Elks needs you
where are you?

oh ****
Sophia said
dressing quickly
and standing

by the sink
out of sight
of the door way
sorry

you said
maybe another time
and you opened the door
and closed it behind you

as Matron arrived
ah there you are
Mr Elks has been
calling for you

I think he needs to go
to the bathroom
o right
you said

just been making sure
the place is ready
nodding back
at late Mr Cutler's room

ok
she nodded
and gave the door
a quick look

and then went on ahead
leaving Sophia dressing
and forsaken
no ****

for her today
and followed Matron
with no
more to say.

You could hear her
calling your name
along the passage
her Polish kind

of broken English
was unmistakable
you hid by the sink
of Mr Atkinson's room

the other side
of the panel
which hid you
from view

from the door
Benedict are you up here?
Sophia called
you leaned back

as far as you could
in case she should
open the door
and peer in

you could hear
her flip-flops
on the linoleum floor
I want you

she said
want you
speak to me
you noticed Mr Atkinson's

Rupert annual
on the dresser
across the room
(he had a child's mind

and loved those books)
you also noticed
a glimpse of your refection
in the dresser's mirror

black trousers
white coat
red tie
and white shirt

she'd stopped outside
the door of Mr Cutler's room
she knocked
and opened

Benedict are you here?
no
you whispered
in undertone voice

where the **** are you?
you heard her say
she closed Mr Cutler's door
and waited outside

the room you were in
you sensed her breathing
her tap tap on the door
you squeezed yourself

hard against the sink
last time she'd caught you
up here on the old men's wing
she had you

on Mr Haymaker's bed
her slim 19 year old body
wrapped about you
her blonde hair tied

in a black bow
her body saying
go go go
Benedict are you here?

you shook your head
hands behind your back
your backside pushed hard
against the enamel sink

I want talk to you
she said
she opened the door
and looked in

out of the window opposite
you you could see trees
swaying in the breeze
the sky grey blue

she came into the room
and picked up
the Rupert annual
from the dresser

you saw her blue uniform
the back of her slim body
the narrowed waist
the shapely backside

the well shaped legs
her blonde hair
tied at the back
with the familiar ribbon

you bit your lip
and held your breath
she scanned through
the annual

flicking pages
gazing at pictures
if she gazed
in the dresser mirror

she'd see your reflection
Benedict
she said to herself
I've red underwear on

you stopped breathing
stared at her back
the way she stood
she put down

the annual
on the dresser
retreated back out
of the room

not turning to look
around the room
the door closed
you heard her flip-flops

move away
along the passageway
no one would believe you
if you told them

and whatever they may say
you had escaped
from Sophia
for another day.

From monday through wednesday leaves have crisped up cutting cutler hall streaks and a car flying twisting down route fifteen
mean trucks made kind passing over with and around gas injection wells quite old and scenic.

No more free merchandise.
Nothing soft or sturdy.
Nothing even red and dripping.
Raised eyebrow fooling into choking
uncomfort
unsound
reasoning.
I never thought about it like that before.

There was a glorious mix
In 2006
When King Xerxes started ******* with Gerard Butler
By sending his empire’s army
Until that one dude threw a spear like Jay Cutler
Xerxes cheek he was harming

You want land and water? You better stop talking ****
Before Gerard Butler kicks you down the big *** pit
That’s in the middle of our city with no hand rails
Because we believe that caution is where man fails

Gerard Butler will beat all the *****
Of the Persian masses
In a narrow passage

They needed help
To protect themself
The Arcadians are total *******
But they make a fine mess of things
So they caught the immortals looking
For a Spartan death sting

There’s an obese guy with swords for arms
He doesn’t mean anything to the plot
His fellow soldiers are the only ones he harms
He’s just an interesting thought

Gerard Butler wouldn’t let that ugly ****** in his squad
Because he was so flawed
So he pulled a lever and his ties were severed
So the Persians would be better
May that ******* live forever

They proved a god king could bleed
And screenwriters don’t history read
Because that **** is for Athenians
Who like to focus on dreaminess
And not being badass
Or wearing dope masks

So thank you Zack Snyder
After blunt met black lighter
My eyes got smacked wider
In a land where abs are tighter

Oh, on this wondrous Sunday morning glow
The birds are singing pleasant frilly notes.
However, these things I have to forego,
For on a wretched sonnet I now dote.

I’m five lines in, yet nine more lines to go.
The sun is shining; how can I kick-start
This tort’rous sonnet which I think a foe,
Then finish up, and make some real art?

The eve’ning’s come; Oh, this is hard to write!
The TV’s on and while Jay Cutler drops
The football, I’ve been working hard all night
Been harvesting my thoughts as if they’re crops.

At last, I’m done! I’m finished with my quest!
Goodbye, my poem, I’m off to get some rest!

i stood before the mirror,
pale as a powdered lie,
with strands the colour of fallen empires
and dignity rubbed dry.

the bleach had no mercy,
the dye had no aim —
i emerged from the wreckage
with only myself to blame.

my scalp, a battlefield,
my pride, a powdered wig.
i whispered threats to heaven
with a plastic comb so big.

the townsfolk fled in silence,
the moon refused to rise,
and even my reflection
looked away from my disguise.

somewhere between brass and madness,
i found a kind of grace —
the lord of bad decisions,
with toner on my face.

so let the ships keep sinking,
let the storm winds howl and hiss —
i’m lord cutler beckett, darling,
and i was born for this.