Presenting: Shane Allison
If I Was the Editor of a Literary Magazine
I would reject anything that didn’t have the words dick, tits or pussy in it.
And I don’t mean the Biological terms like penis, breasts or vagina.
Some places don’t take erotica, pornography or gay and lesbian themes,
but I would welcome the shit. I would write the acceptance letters myself
to writers of poems entitled,
Day in the Life of My Big Black Dildo or Brenda’s Fat Cunt Speaks in Tongues.
Give a thumbs up to coming out stories
and leather wearing, whip popping grandmas.
My advice to writers is to send poems
with 12-inch titles, stories dripping wet with smelly plots.
Feel free to send in naked photos of yourself taped to those cover letters.
Double-space if you like to get spanked or like the sensation of titclamps
pinching those rose-pink nipples. Put a real orgasmic feel into your writing.
I want to be able to come with you in your work.
Send religious work only if you have had fantasies about giving God head
or ever wondered how big Jesus’ dick was.
I don’t want sweet, poofy poetry you would give to your mother on her birthday.
I don’t want shit about log cabins and red ribbons in the hair of little girls.
I want stuff about 50’s Hollywood stars doing drugs and twisting themselves in
unusual positions in underground porno films to make ends meet.
I want to read about Marilyn Monroe getting fist-fucked by Humphrey Bogart
or getting her pussy eaten out by Ava Gardner.
Stories about giving your own cousin a blowjob would be great.
I want Non-fiction work about your boyfriend’s semen tasting like macaroni and
cheese or your girlfriend’s cum tasting like lime green jello.
I’m no fickle, vague editor who sugar coats what he seeks.
I get right to the point. If I can jerk-off to it, then I might invite you into
my bathhouse of naughty literature.
I want full-frontal writing that’s not afraid to show me what its got.
The work has to deep throat my interests.
Want to feel like I’m being fucked in the butt with your stories.
It’s gotta jack me off and make me shoot bucket loads.
Want a face full of ejaculate after reading your work.
Simultaneous submitted shit is okay.
A cover letter makes for good foreplay.
Without a self-addressed stamped envelope my mind goes limp.
You’ll ruin that Barry White moment between your manuscript and me.
Don’t be pissed if you get your shit back with the pages stuck together.
Write me some meaty, tender bios.
Come on, be a little nasty. Be creative for once.
Pull up your shirt and let me see your tits.
Zip down those faded jeans and pluck out your prick
I want to know what makes you tick, what drives you to do this.
Give me Homo erotica, Lesbo biographa.
Members of the mile high club have an even greater chance
of getting in.
My advice to beginners and those emerging
from suicidal Goth and love-struck verse, make it stank and rank.
I want to feel the breath of your confessions on my neck.
Show me some nipple, a little pube.
And as for you Robert Pinsky,
good luck submitting your shit elsewhere.