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My Robot Is Pregnant theme song!

tough guy poetry and manly stories of loneliness
all contents copyright Jon Rolston 2004, 2005, 2006

November 25, 2007

A La Carte

it’s raining.
no, that’s just water. falling from the sky.


Toot Toot goes the Tugboat




Twelve poems written while living at the Marconi Hotel in North Beach, San
Francisco, California.

Click here to download this secret
pocket recording of their debut reading done for Una Puna, a lovely stripper
at The Lusty Lady, a legendary peep show also in North Beach.

Its a january shower
in San Francisco
which means it’ll stop soon
like your father’s bad heart,
so stop being mad.
I get my cock up
big & stiff.

Open a window, make it a parade.
Jon’s back in town.
My hands make the magic
but the woman, that black one
afraid of witchcraft, Santeria, afraid of
dust and my old used shoes,
she isn’t around to watch.
So there’s no one around to believe me.

My fast hands move in the dark
where magic disappears.
I’m trying to tear myself
a new asshole
so to speak.
Next time someone shows up for a visit,
I’ll bend over.

It stopped raining by the time I got back outside.
I remember finding first the one hair,
and then later, another.
And how green and fresh the broccoli was,
but I couldn’t eat it.
Batman in New York,
stopping for a hot dog with everything.
His boots touch the sidewalk, just like

the rest of us.
We walk on the ground,
feel lucky,
then feel terrible
with the weight
of our special power.
a world wide web…

I walked through Chinatown,
up to the Roaring 20’s strip club
and entered the little black door next to it.com
That took me home.©
for 4 days I didn’t sleep well.
Noise light & fear

was the fistfight
that rubber stamped my eyes
Day 5 I hit the canvas
and it was lights out
I didn’t feel a thing.
I came to at dawn
it felt good to finally lose.

You’re a dump truck
A big 10 wheeler.
Across the street
the ear piece is dangling from the payphone.
We lost communication
so we talk to ourselves.
Somone’s gotta hang up that phone
so calls can go through.
I climb on you Ms. Dumptruck

you treasure chest
Then I get tired of the garbage.
You put a sweater on and built a fire
You called to tell me you’re cold.
"I just want your heat. Come home. You don’t even have to look at me."
The repair man was coming tomorrow.
Her name was Toni.
I stayed here

with a jacket on
a hat on my head.
Sitting away from the window
Then went to sleep,
still a little cold.
I can sit here and soak
in my own farts
piss in a bottle and leave it on the dresser.

Play all the porn on my hard drive
you son’s of bitches
I live alone.
California Refrigerated Express
is a great name.
i wish I had something that needed a name.
I could name the big toe on my right foot
California Refrigerated Express.

And the one on the left, how about Thermo-King?
I like that.
Looks like there’s a lot of stuff I need to name.
My cat Hank who lives in Kansas
with his mother.
I could take each of his 9 lives and give them a more descriptive title –
OPUS #7: The summer he liked to lie down in the street.
I could put subtitles on the street signs.
Or give all proper nouns last names.

It feels good to be working again.


In 2003 I was selling postcards and poems on 17th and Mission. This was my plea.


in 1996 I kept a journal by typing on gum wrappers and grocery store receipts.

Rusty Sunshine and The Sunset Scavengers, with their debut album, ‘Country
Rochester County Fair
Every year towards the end of July, the folks around Rochester start thinking
about the County Fair.
So this is a little song to let you know what you’re missing if you’ve
never been there.

Hop the fence by the 4-H tent
Save four bucks I would hadda spent
Vodka in my pocket and a full pack of smokes
You buy the pretzels, I’ll buy some cokes.
Rochester’s gotta depressed economy, they say. Not a lot of options.
But folks are guaranteed happy for 6 days every summer.
Tractor pulls, beauty queens, and Three Dog Night, live, Friday evening at 8
p.m. on the softball field.

Getting kinda hungry, guess it’s time to eat
Fenway Frank sells a special treat
My cousin called it a fried onion blossom
Said I hadda try it, it’s wicked wicked awesome
Head to the midway, try to win a prize
Or get in a fight with some Berwick guys

Berwick’s right over the Maine NH border,
Just head down 236, it’ll take you right there
(Spoken) Do you want the ride a little faster?
Do you want the music a little louder?
Stuck in the Ferris wheel, up in the air,
Here comes the Carny with long greasy hair.

He’s missing two fingers and he looks half drunk
Bought five tickets to ride this piece of junk.
Get off the zipper, think I’m gonna barf,
Drinking that liquor sure weren’t smart
Porta-Potty here, Porta-Potty there,

I puked inside one at the county fair.
Guy on town council got the Porta-Potty contract, but he come up short, got
12 on loan from his cousin Jim, runs a big operation down in Woonsocket.
Got two bucks left, I gotta win a prize
Pop a balloon, you got three tries.
Let’s see, if I pop 2 balloons, I could win a Hulk Hogan mirror,
If I only get one, I still win me a blue feathered roach clip.
Turns out it’s all drug paraphernalia. Cheap shit for poor people to get
excited about.

It’s the Rochester Fair. Hope to see you next year! Ayup!

I’m A Train
I’m a ten wheel diesel locomotive
Pullin’ for the Sante Fe
Hauling a string of box cars,

Down to East L.A.
‘cause I’m a train train train
I’m a train train train
I’m a train
Rollin’ down a one way track

My brothers up in Portland
He’s painted Boston Maine
And if you ever run into him
You’ll see he’s one hell of a train
He’s a train train train

He’s a train train train
He’s a train
Rollin’ town a one way track
My daddy he’s a tough one,
He’s a short black caboose,

You can take him around a switchback,
But you never can shake him loose
He’s a train train train
He’s a train train train
He’s a train

Rollin down a one way track
I don’t know if I’m livin’ don’t know if I got a soul
But as long as I keep movin’
And keep on burning coal,

I’m a train train train
I’m a train train train
I’m a train,
I’ll keep rollin’ to the end of the line

Prison Bound
I grew up a Christian man
In a Christian home
And I was 25 years old
When I told God I was settin’ out on my own
I just wanted to drink and smoke the pot

I was stealin’ pills from my grandmother a lot
And I was tired of the guilt
so I told god to fuck off
In the end I got in trouble with a woman
Where as I always thought it would be liquor and drugs
Bring me down

See, after we did what we both agreed to do
I told her not to bother comin’ back around

Whether or not
I’m prison bound
Remains to be seen

Now I’ve had my arraignment
So I wait for an indictment
From the grand jury
It’s been hardest on my family.
I didn’t realize how many people God would let you hurt

When you didn’t care about yourself
Whether or not
I’m prison bound
Remains to be seen
And until they can prosecute a man
For havin’ a cold heart

Some women will call that rape
And maybe it is
Whether or not
I’m prison bound
Remains to be seen

Next time I love
I’ll have an open heart
and this won’t happen again.

This is a song for San Francisco and all the pink houses I saw when I first
came here. I knew I’d found a happy city

Oh San Francisco Oh, San Francisco you’re the perfect home for a small
town boy who was afraid of New York
I wanna dedicate this song to all the gay men in this city. I’m glad
you stay in shape
I wrote this song for all the women who dress like mechanics, even if they
aren’t one. You make me feel safe
And some of you got tattoos on your face and some of you spend a lot money
on modern furniture. This song is for both of you.

Oh San Francisco, Oh San Francisco you’re the perfect home for a small
town boy who was afraid of New York.

And this is a tribute to all the homeless people who help me park.
Keep on recycling.
Si hablan espanol, nee how ma, ruski da?
We’re singing this one together.
Let’s get all the bike messengers to sing along
Oh San Francisco, Oh San Francisco, you’re the perfect home for a small
town boy, who was afraid of New York.

I got drunk in Reno
I got drunk in Reno, but I didn’t drive
Sheriff there’s like Johnny Cash
He’ll make you walk the line
I got drunk in Reno

I got drunk in Reno
I’m a long time gambler
I know when I can’t win
So I called myself a taxi and ordered on more gin
I got drunk in Reno
I got drunk in Reno. At the Gold Nugget Casino. Think I fucked Janet Reno.

I see my cab’s a comin’
It’s rolling’ around the bend
But keep my tab a’runnin’ cuz I’ll be back again

Six Foot Dong

I’m the only man in town with a six foot dong
Hell the things so wide it could trip King Kong
Pissing in the wind sounds like a thunderstorm
You could plug my pee hole with an ear of corn

I’m the only guy here with a six foot dick
Getting it in my pants can be quite a trick
It drags around like a dinosaur tail
My balls kick up dust and leave a beaver trail
Hope you enjoyed my six foot song
About the only guy in town with a six foot dong

Now I gotta get movin’ gotta say “So Long”
So long,
So long.

Mom is in Prison
When they took me from my daughter,

My mom took her in,
My wife was in the hospital
Recoverin’ from what I did
Ma didn’t have much
But Medicaid bought her pills

‘til she got busted sellin’ em,
she was trying to pay the bills
Mom is in prison,
I’m on parole
My daughter is strippin’

Trying to make it on her own
I got out and got work paintin’
It’s work that lets me drink
Otherwise I’m home alone
With t.v. beer and sleep
Some say a man shouldn’t cry

I know he shouldn’t go to jail
He shouldn’t beat his wife
Or put his Momma through hell
Mom is in prison
I’m on parole

My daughter is strippin’
Trying to make it on her own
Women are tougher
Than you realize
I wonder if there’s strength
In letting yourself cry

Satanic Nazi Fury
Was the name of my first band
My brother was the drummer
Guitarist was my best friend
And I wrote songs about hating
French Canadians

This was back in New Hampshire
Where everyone was white
They were Christians or they were hippies
So that’s who we had to fight
I sang those songs so I’d feel strong
And they’d stay away from me

14 year old Satanic
Nazi Fury

Nation Foundation
This land was your land, but now it’s my land
Don’t you recognize, I’m a white man?

From the tribe of blue eyes, not of Redskins
Oh, now this land belongs to me.
I took it rightfully, I traded shrewdly,
Addictive substance, rusty muskets,
Shiny beads and small pox in the blankets
Oh, that’s why this land belongs to me.

I took red Indian corn and made it sweet and gold
Took their cigarettes and put menthol in it
Now if that’s not progress, I don’t know what is.
That’s why this land belongs to me.

When I got back from Nam my damn PTSD wouldn’t let me work.

That’s when I started fishin’. Now I don’t freak out. I catch bass.
Big bass. Because I get inside their head. I understand ’em.
Pre-spawn bass got size and they’re aggressive. So I throw the baby rapin’
little fuckers a 12 inch lizard. Where you throw it is key. Like a
Gook hidin’ in a rice patty these faggots are holed up in shallow back
water. If its less than five feet deep you’re in business. They’re
lookin’ for sandy bottoms to build nests, and the females will fight boy,
so make a choice. Do want to catch a male? Go in gentle and coax ‘em out,
like a high priced Danang whore who won’t let you stick it in her ass.
Slow and persistant.

A marine never blames his equipment, but he knows it’s the equipment that
makes the difference between dead and alive. I wear polarized Fish Fighter sunglasses,
and not because they sponser me. I wear em because I catch fish when I do. I’m
talkin’ seein’ through the water like Holy Christ could walk on
it. I get those silver eyes in my sights and goodnight mother fucker…you’re
comin home in my bucket.
Another thing you need to consider is water temperature. These little cumloads
like it like bathwater. 62 degrees. Makes em horny. Early spring ain’t
we all? But keep your pecker in your pants till you get home. The female bass
is bigger and meaner than the male. Like a Colored woman they won’t let sing
in the choir, they’ve got a real attitude problem. Why? Who fuckin’ knows, but
use the knowledge to your adventage.
Once the female has laid her eggs, she isn’t hungry any more and the only
way you’ll get dinner is to make the bitch think your lure is a threat
to her eggs. Smoke the cunt out, buddy. Put your spinnin’ reel back in
the tackle box and break out the flippin’ reel. Drop that twelve inch
lizard less than a foot in front of her snoot. This is shallow water, boy, so
you’ll be looking right at her. Open up your reel, pull a little line
off, underhand that mother fucker right onto that old nest, and when she bites,
you put your back into it and set that hook. You dig it in on your first try
cuz’ you don’t get a second chance. I seen guys fall over backward
off the boat trying to set a hook, so remember your knees, keep em bent, like
a boxer, stick ‘n move.

Well, good luck out there, I want everyone to have a successful season out on
the water. Be sure to watch next week, when I meet up with some old buddies
and we talk about Nam, home brewing, and fishing accidents – and how you can
avoid ‘em.

That was the complete lyrics to Rusty Sunshine and The Sunset Scavengers first
album, entitled, "Country Fabulous". Hope you enjoyed it.

A poem from years ago:
No Fault
A day when something

was wrong
And people stared
Like my front end
Was banged up and
My hood was tied down
With old black and orange


There’s no man in the moon
The moon isn’t
a sailor,

a hurdle.

The moon
is empty and
so is
my heart.


  1. When it’s all laid out in text as it were, it’s pretty damn impressive. I love the direction that the fishing piece took. When you combine hostility and PTS syndrome with fishing; makes me want to run out and buy a crossbow and head down to the local duck pond ‘n fire off a couple rounds at a lazy carp or nonproductive illegal alien sunturtle; and isn’t that what fishing is all about? The other thing that strikes me is the validity of every piece of pre-spawn fishing tactic that you address. You did your homework. Makes me have to laugh at myself for having know all of those graduate level bass-catchin’ tactics. Those fuckers aren’t gonna know what hit ’em next spring.

    Comment by millar — January 7, 2008 @ 1:52 pm

  2. Yeah, that one is a weird one. The kind of country music Nashville wants to bury. But we’ve met that guy. He has his song, for better or worse. Thanks for working with me.

    Comment by Rolston — April 13, 2008 @ 12:40 am

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