CCSchoolofAss

Preface: ‘School of Assassins’ is the nickname hippie activists have given to the School of the Americas. The School of the Americas is a US-sponsored institute where Latin American military officers are taught by US political and security experts how not to overthrow the democratically elected governments of their countries. The School of the Americas used to be called ‘School of Coups.’

School of Assassins

School of Coups

I know a secret

Do you know it too?

Here's a poem about killing a commie

Here's a poem about raping your mommy

Here's a poem about sucking my Tommy

Gun. This poem's actually obscene origami

I ran numbered planets

Was not CIA

Made fun of my cousin

Because he was Gay

Now he runs agents

All over LA

A better spy than I am

What can I say?

School of Assassins

School of Coups

School of the New Flag

Of Multiple Hues

You publish your poems

On loving the earth

Oppressing the meek

For all that you're worth

You live off their labor

Why should you work?

After all, you’re a hippie

And they’re a bunch of jerks

School of Assassins

School of Coups

School of Village Voice

Poetry reviews

If you're a Lesbian

If you're dark brown

If you're out spreading

Some virus around

If you're a big guy

Who likes wearing gowns

Let's get together

And bum rush this town

Straight to the Headquarters compound we'll creep

Cruise through security in my black jeep

Waving my Blue Badge and going beep beep

Anyone stops us, they sleep the big sleep

Piling out and sneaking through halls

Peering down corridors, hugging the walls

Making the brush pass inside dark stalls

Of a top secret bathroom, while squeezing your balls

Then into the Director's office to pry

Open the safe where The Documents lie

And reading that poem, learning thereby

The secret identity of the true spy

School of Assassins

School of Coups

Do I know a secret?

I bet that you do

Date with Stalin

If there's no underlying reality

Then it's not even true

That there's no underlying reality

He said, as he deftly removed

Her crinkly white blouse

If the theory of humor

Is not itself funny

Then that's pretty funny

He whispered, as he gently caressed

Her soft trembling bosom

How to achieve true Zen:

Read an article about losing weight

And wherever you see the word 'snacking'

Replace it with the phrase

'Committing genocide'

He quipped, as he oh-so-lightly touched

The moist tip of her womanhood

Headline: Is Reading Poetry Harmful?

"It can be," advises an expert

"Especially if you're sitting in a vat of acid"

OK, I admit it

I am that expert

He sighed, holding her hand as she reached

Her shuddering climax

Preface: You go girl.

You Go Girl

You go girl

Expression of approval

You're doing well

Fellow possessor of ovaries

You go girl

Empirical-metaphysical statement

You and your nails keep on moving

Through space, time, and Goddess-knows-what

You go girl

Requested action

Please take that attitude

Somewhere else, honey

You go girl

Poetic utterance

You decide to walk with mouth open

Bright color on your lips

If You Want Peace, Work For McDonalds

If you want peace, work for justice

If you want justice, work to feed the hungry

If you want to feed the hungry, work for McDonalds

Therefore, if you want peace, work for McDonalds

Preface: Martin Niemöller was a highly decorated German U-boat commander in World War I. So it just makes sense that after the war he became a Lutheran pastor. Martin Niemöller wrote a famous poem about failing to speak up against Nazism in Germany – although he himself did speak up against Nazism in Germany … and got in huge trouble for it.

Already you can probably see the comic-poetic implications of Martin Niemöller! And we won’t even talk about how funny the guy’s name sounds.

Anyway, the following are some impressions of Martin Niemöller’s famous poem.

When They Came

When they came for the Communists, I didn't speak up because I wasn't a Communist

When they came for the Jews, I didn't speak up because I wasn't a Jew

When they came for the trade unionists, I didn't speak up because I wasn't a trade unionist

When they came for me, I spoke up and said:

Was it good for you too?

When they came for the Communists, I didn't speak up because I was a Communist

When they came for the Jews, I didn't speak up because I was a Jew

When they came for the trade unionists, I didn't speak up because I was a trade unionist

When they came for the Fuhrer, I spoke up because I wasn’t the Fuhrer

I said "Uh, I’m not the Fuhrer"

So then they made me Fuhrer

Then I came too

When they came for the mutes, I didn't speak up because, well ...

When they came for matter, I didn’t speak up because I wasn’t made of matter

When they came for spirit, I spoke up because I was made of spirit

But they didn’t hear me

Because I’m made of spirit, not matter

Oops, gotta go now

I think I hear them coming

Want to come too?

Preface: I have Spanish blood. De nada, América.

Ruff Girl

Ruff girl

Tuff girl

Slap a man in cuffs girl

Enuff girl

I call your bluff

Ruff

Tuff

Gruff

Huff-and-puff

Fluff girl

Where's your stuff, girl?

Northern Mexican version:

Ruff girl

Tuff girl

Poniéndoles a hombres en 'cuffs' girl

Enuff girl

No creo en tu bluff

Ruff

Tuff

Gruff

Huff-y-puff

Fluff girl

Dónde está tu stuff, girl?

Preface: There’s a famous phrase that appears on every one of those corny ‘inspirational quotes’ web sites. The phrase is: 'Minds are like parachutes, they only work when they’re open.'

Minds are like Parachutes

Minds are like parachutes

Before they can be opened

They must be carefully folded

Pressed down, packed tightly in their container

And securely closed

Preface: Remember folks, I’m a professional poet. Don’t try this at home.

If a Tree Falls in the Forest and Hits Three Blonde Feminists Trying to Change a Light Bulb, Will a Chicken Cross the Road and, if So, Why?

One time, in an N-th World country

Where they have nothing better to do than follow CIA officers

I turned around and said, to the fifty-seven people tailing me along that ramshackle street:

"Hey little goslings, I'm not your mother"

But now I realize

I was just an ignorant American

Because you see

I probably was their mother

Remember: when you have sex with your boyfriend

You’re having sex with everyone he ever slept with

Ha! And she said

She’d never have sex with me!

Now, I’m not claiming

China doesn’t exist

But think about it:

What better way for our Government

To justify a big military and intelligence budget

Than to make up a big scary country called ‘China?’

The other day I found out

‘Television personality’

Is a noun, not an adjective

The night before I had seen

Some celebrity on television

I thought "What are the odds?!"

Advice to young intel officers:

During your periodic reinvestigation

When you’re asked lots of questions by Security

It’ll be a more interesting experience

If you make all your answers rhyme

Concept: Maybe what we should say is:

There’s no such thing as a stupid question

Statistically speaking

Whatever happened to that TV show

Called ‘Operation Desert Storm?’

That show was really cool

They should bring that show back for another season

I have a feeling they will

Top Secret Codeword:

The tree does not fall in the forest

The forest rushes up and slams into the tree

In conclusion I’d like to say:

The word ‘therapist’

Makes a lot more sense

When you put a space between

The ‘e’ and the ‘r’

Like I said, I’d like to say this

But I won’t

Thank you

Preface: In the early 1990’s at CIA, I used to refer to the Former Soviet Union as the Future Soviet Union. My branch chief absolutely loved this concept; in fact, around 1992 he actually requested my permission to use this phrase for comedy purposes at official CIA intel briefings.

My beautiful wife is from the Future Soviet Union. Every Valentine’s Day - and yes, they do have Valentine’s Day in the Future Soviet Union - I recite this poem to my beautiful wife. She says she really likes it a lot.

Valentine For My Wife

If Hitler was alive today

And if he was a beautiful, intelligent, loving, life-affirming woman

And if I was married to him

You'd be Hitler

Plenty of Time

Plenty of time

Plenty of wine

Plenty of rhyme

To commit this crime

Preface: Sung to the tune of 'Ninety-Nine Bottles of Beer'

Ninety-Nine Intelligence Documents

Ninety-nine intelligence documents in the file

Ninety-nine intelligence documents

You take one out

Bring it to lunch at Charlie's

Give it to your friend Boris

Ninety-eight intelligence documents in the file

Ninety-eight intelligence documents

You take one out

Bring it to lunch at Charlie's

Give it to your friend Boris

And drive home in your new BMW

Ninety-seven intelligence documents in the file

Ninety-seven intelligence documents

You take one out

Bring it to lunch at Charlie's

Give it to your friend Boris

Drive home in your new BMW

To your new house in McLean

Ninety-six intelligence documents in the file

Ninety-six intelligence documents

You take one out

Bring it to lunch at Charlie's

Give it to your friend Boris

Drive home in your new BMW

To your new house in McLean

To have an orgy with your three new girlfriends

Ninety-five intelligence documents in the file

Ninety-five intelligence documents

You take one out

Bring it to lunch at Charlie's

Give it to your friend Boris

And get arrested by twenty-seven FBI agents

Ninety-four intelligence documents in the file

Ninety-four intelligence documents

Your lawyer informs the Justice Department that the documents are all fiction

That it’s not against the law to sell fiction

And that if the Government presses charges you’re going to sue certain Government officials

No intelligence documents in the file

No intelligence documents

You go back to work

Create a new file on your home computer

Go have lunch at Charlie's

With your new friend

… Wen Li Ho

Ninety-nine intelligence documents in the file

Preface: The following poem should be read with really great music playing in the background. Also, the reader should be in a really enlightened and receptive mood. Plus, the reader should really love this poem and applaud enthusiastically after reading it. I won’t say the reader should send me money after reading this poem, though the reader should keep this option open.

Foreplay

The rich have many rights

She said

But poor people have only one right:

To be economically exploited

And politically marginalized

Wait a minute

I said

Isn't that two rights?

Preface: Hold on, one of my kids is yelling for me. I’ll be right back.

It Is And It Isn't

When I got my degree in mathematics

(See it hanging here on my wall?)

I learned that there's one precept

Without which all logic must fall

You must not say:

It is and it isn't

When I got my degree in poetics

(See my wall here hanging on it?)

I learned that there's one precept

That governs each haiku and sonnet

You must say:

It is and it isn't

It is and it isn’t

So now, when I'm grouped with lunatics

Or hailed as a prophet of letters

Because some attribute to me the concept

That compared to math, poetry's better

I must not not say:

It is and it isn't

I Killed a Bird

Once I killed a bird

And plucked its gleaming feathers

One by one

To prepare it for cooking

But after I had pulled out

The last glittering plume

There was no bird at all

At least, this is what my brother said

After I had returned that evening

As he picked his teeth with what looked like

A small bird femur

Preface: You know that famous quote by Nietzsche: "Whatever doesn’t kill me makes me stronger?" It’s a little known fact that he died right after he wrote this.

Whatever Doesn't Kill Me

Whatever doesn't kill me takes me longer

Whatever doesn't kill me makes me blonder

Whatever doesn't thrill me makes me yawner

Whatever doesn't kill me makes me ponder

Instead of banning guns

Why not ban poets?

That way we remove the need

For guns in the first place

Some say: work faster

Others say: work smarter

I say: work farter

The synonym!

It's not just a good idea

It's a good concept

Electric cars?

Solar powered cars?

I say: a car that runs on human blood

Think of the possibilities!

‘No blood for oil’

Are you sure about that?

Poem within a poem:

Penis envy

Now there's a theory

That’s hard to swallow

‘Failed writer?!’

I'll have you know I've written numerous times!

Whatever doesn't kill me takes me longer

Whatever doesn't kill me makes me blonder

Whatever doesn't thrill me makes me goner

Whatever doesn't kill me makes me ponder

Preface: This poem is so great it scares me sometimes.

If We Can’t See Eye To Eye

If we can’t see eye to eye

How about eye to thigh?

Preface: You know how Picasso had a ‘Blue Period?’ Well, I too have a ‘period.’ One interesting thing about my period: It’s orange. Another, even more interesting thing about my period: It’s in the future.

The following work is definitely one of the best from my soon-to-actually-exist Orange Period.

Literary Boob Cam

Literary Boob Cam!

Overture:

Women are like fine wine

If you keep them in a freezer for a month

It takes them a while to warm up

I think I've figured out

The mystery of Near Death Experiences

I mean, if you looked like those people they interview on TV

Wouldn't you want to leave your body?

If you're ever being tortured

Try to think of a funny joke

But don't think of a joke about torture

Because torture isn't funny

I get so pissed off

At all the right-wing propaganda

In media today

For example

I saw this documentary that claimed

The Communists in China

Killed sixty million people

Exactly sixty million?

I find that number

Just a little hard to believe

When I first became famous, they asked me

"Do you want to say something to the press?"

I said "Hi, press"

The vicious cycle of crime, explained:

Crime causes conservatives

Conservatives cause liberals

Liberals cause crime

Against abortion?

Don't be one!

Speaking of reproduction

An article on casual sex

Is a lot funnier

If you replace the word 'casual'

With the word 'causal'

And it's even funnier

If you replace the phrase 'casual sex'

With the phrase 'sex while wearing a clown suit'

But if you replace the entire article about casual sex

With an article about forestry

I can't guarantee

It'll be much funnier

As an omniscient being

I wouldn't mind

Being surprised every now and then

People say it's bad

If you hear voices in your head

But then

Where else are you supposed to hear them?

I read this article about infonesia recently

I don't remember where

Question:

Who decides if a word is pronounced correctly?

That's what I want to k-no

That's what I want to shlo

That's what I want to splagofernaks

That's splagoferrrrrrrrrrnahhhhhhks

Flamp you. Flamp you very much

... What's so splunny?

What's so grunny?

No, really; tell me, I wanna gurkle. What's so clunny?

What's so fluckie?

What's so murjnie?

That's murrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

... jnie!

That's jnie! Really fast

Jnie! Really fast

Really hack

Really splap

Murbur

Woofllllllllllllllllllll …

Literary Boob Cam!

She attaches the keyboard

To cover her bare bosom

And writes of her experiences

Obscure author no more

Preface: The following poem is an impassioned plea for sexual tolerance.

An Impassioned Plea For Sexual Tolerance

Excuse me, but some of us happen to like the complete dehumanization of sex, OK?

Monotheism

It’s a myth

That you get monotheism

From kissing girls

I Think These Shoes Are Great

John Alejandro King

I think these shoes are great

I'm a big fan of these shoes

One other thing:

I hope you die

Preface: Don’t try this at home, kids. Try it at school.

Rape and Hip-Hop

If you're going to get published

You need to write a poem about being raped

The rape poetess told me

I'll just quote that statement

I answered

And that'll be my poem about being raped

Advice to aspiring rape artists:

Before pulling the trigger

You must first put the barrel of the gun behind your head

And then point your head at the audience

To get the full poetic effect

Rape Poetry

Victim Rock

Adult Survivors

Of Adult Survivors

The rape artist

Grabs the microphone

And with the rhythm pumpin'

Starts rapin' to the beat

Preface: Oh yes, it can happen here. Because it has already.

Cointelpro

If you don't know what it was

Then it's still happening

Cointelpro

It's like tracing spy dust

To your wife's mouth

Gee, those KGB guys laughed at that joke

They even gave me money

To tell them more

But seriously

Cointelpro

It isn't about foreign intelligence agents

Unless you consider

A hippie poet in Cleveland

A foreign intelligence agent

Come to think of it

Maybe Cointelpro

Is about foreign intelligence agents

Cointelpro

Two wrongs don't make a right

But two rights

Definitely make you go backward

Cointelpro

One time at CIA

I created a front company

And I swear by the blood of murdered poets

I named it MofoCo

Nobody at Langley

Even noticed

Cointelpro

James Jesus Angleton

Chief, CIA Counterintelligence

Orders himself investigated

For writing poetry

Cointelpro

Always comes full circle

Cointelpro

Let's have Official Government Hearings

And read hippie poetry

Into the Congressional Record

In a few more years

After the last old Cointel Pros

Are all dead and buried

Cointelpro

If you don't know what it was

Then it's still happening

Cointelpro

If it's still happening

Then you don't know

What it is

Preface: Can you sense that this book is starting to move toward its dramatic conclusion? I know, I know: ‘Thank God.’

Guatemala City Shooting (Circa Mid-1980's)

Sometimes I think

About that brown Guatemalteca

A woman I shot in Guatemala City

While working out of CIA station

In the bad old 1980’s

Squished cherry blossom

Between black boot and black pavement

Ever notice

How each has its studs, hard and merciless

To crush and grind

That unknowing, innocent abrasiveness

The dumb limb of injustice

That rolls and tears off dissenting skin

How else is it supposed to behave?

Saddam Hussein has his white-clad surgeons

To remove the eyes of children

Of intellectuals who don't cheer

Loudly enough at his speeches

And what the hell was I talking about?

Oh yeah

That brown Guatemalteca

The woman I shot in the name of Freedom

Back in the bad old 1980's

... By the way, did I mention

That I shot her with a water pistol

At her uncle's pool party?

Man, that chick had a butt on her

And she claims she still does

My Purpose

Where the hell is my purpose?

I can't find my goddamn purpose

I am not leaving this house without my purpose

Hey! Has anybody seen my purpose?

‘To find your purpose

Try to remember the last place you saw your purpose’

‘Tell me what it looks like, and I'll help you find your purpose’

‘Are you sure you actually have a purpose?’

Maybe someone borrowed my purpose

Or maybe someone broke my purpose

Accidentally, or on purpose

And then threw away my purpose

Could it be that, for some unknown purpose

Someone deliberately hid my purpose?

You just know, the minute I quit looking for my purpose

And get a new one, I'll find my old purpose

Come to think of it, for what purpose

Am I looking everywhere, trying to find my purpose?

After all, do I really need a purpose?

Oh, wait a minute

Here it is

Preface: The following poem is the mother of all poetry, the father of all poetry, the son of all poetry, the daughter of all poetry, and the uncle Bernie of all poetry.

Prologue:

If you’re dying, this poem will help you live

If you’re living, this poem will help you die

So Thin

It’s so thin

This veil that separates

Light and darkness

But as for the wall dividing

Sunlight and shadow

It has no thickness at all

Preface: This poem is and isn’t different from my other poem of the same name.

Whatever Doesn't Kill Me

Whatever

[Pause]

Yep, still breathing

Preface: The truth of the Gospel revealed.

Oh Well, What the Hell

John Alejandro King

America’s Funniest Covert Intelligence Officer

(To be sung – or better, rapped – more than ‘recited.’ With a peppy, up-tempo, most assuredly 4/4 beat)

If they kick you in the face

If they spray your face with mace

If you find that mace is laced

With a paste that's acid based

If your car runs out of gas

If somebody whups your ass

If you're sexually harassed

If you get caught smoking grass

Don't fret

Don't sweat

Don't regret

Don't be upset

Just say: Oh well, what the hell

Oh well, what the hell

Smart people sing: 'Oh well, what the hell'

Stupid people sing: 'Oh well, what the hell' [in a really stupid sounding voice]

If you're born with just one breast

If you're probed by the IRS

If your dad starts wearing a dress

If you get three on your IQ test

If the nurse says it's gonna hurt

If the army's on red alert

If an asteroid hits the Earth

If they tell you there's no dessert

Don't panic

Don't get manic

Don't wreak havoc

Just lay back in your hammock

And say: Oh well, what the hell

Oh well, what the hell

Oh well, what the hecker

Now the men sing ...

Now the women sing ...

Now the hermaphrodites sing …

Now the people with no reproductive organs sing …

If you're feeling like a fool

Because one day when you were at school

You tried to look and act totally cool

But you didn’t notice that line of drool

Hanging off your chin and touching the ground

While the whole student body was gathered 'round

Laughing and pointing and calling you clown

So now you can't even go into town

'Cause if you do, you'll be treated cruel

And subjected to terrible ridicule

By people who'll say: 'There’s that fool from school

Who had enough drool to fill the school pool'

Well don't sigh

Don't cry

Don't feel like you're gonna die

Instead reply:

Oh well, what the hell

Oh well, what the hell!

Conclusion

Thank you for reading School of Assassins! I hope you liked it. If you did like it, then I hope you’ll be pleased to learn that I, John Alejandro King, a.k.a. The Covert Comic, shall return soon with plenty of new poetry, some of which is even better than this!

On the other hand, if you didn’t like this poetry of mine, then I encourage you to re-read my poetry, perhaps several times. Please trust me on this one: You will eventually see Light in this work! (And no, I’m not talking about if you throw it in the fire, ha ha … very funny.)

One other thing I’d like to request: I think it would be an interesting and exciting innovation if a film producer (perhaps with a large budget, although not necessarily) were to turn this book of poems into a full-length feature film. I’m talking about a film with lots of images of boobs and, yes, plenty of explosions. Just how these poems (along with the prefaces, which I definitely think should be included) would be made into a film, well, let me be the first to cheerfully confess that I don’t really know at the moment. But then, that’s precisely what makes my proposed project so intriguing: the artistic challenge of turning poems like these into a movie!

I mean, should the film’s script consist of these poems? Or should a way be found to have the poems somehow visually depicted, possibly without any dialogue whatsoever? Or maybe some combination of these or other approaches (indeed, perhaps several different films could be made based on this book – I for one am certainly open to discussing this possibility, perhaps with a consortium of talented, and possibly-though-not-necessarily-well-financed, film producers).

In other words, the whole point here is that anything is possible. And when you think about it, that’s precisely how it should be with art!

Thanks again.

John Alejandro King

a.k.a. The Covert Comic

Washington, DC

March, 2002

The Covert Comic.

America's poet in the next room.