Bad Birthday Poetry Party

Holy fun…last night’s bad birthday poetry party was a total success. I’d like to thank everyone who came, everyone who wrote and/or read poems, everyone who gave me presents and everyone, period.

I haven’t had so much fun since last year’s bad birthday poetry party at Rape N Cry. Here’s a cliff notes version of the party:

The show opened up with Dottie Lux and Veronica Sweet of the Red Hots (burlesquers) appreciating me on stage. I then took the mic and hosted my own party/show. I found it very liberating to be getting on stage with no material, half a plan, and the start of a beer buzz. I invited each person to come to the stage and read or recite a bad birthday poem they’d written for me. People were excited to get on stage and read, not apprehensive (I’m friends with a bunch of performers, luckily) and as they read their lame lyrics, Brer Brian and Touching You dueted on pianos in the backdrop.

Some of the wonderfully funny and talented performers who passed on their poems, jokes, lyrics and songs were Shauna Lane, Tanya and Diane O’Debra, Angry Bob, Touching You, Sam Reich and the boys and gal(s) of, Tom Nevin (my favorite poem writer of last year), Milton Katz, Liz Maher, Jennifer Blowdryer, Moonshine, Adira Amram, and many others. At the end of each poem, I handed everyone a booklet of last year’s poems, hugged and kissed them, and sent them off with a donut. (Dunkin Donuts at Houston and Ave B gave me a bunch of free donuts for the party!) Some people even won hand made awards by me for their super lousy poetry. I also taped the whole show.

Some highlights:

*Michael Turlo gave me a huge photo of Bilge Baron of Haunted Pussy….cool…
*The kids showed us the trailor for their upcoming show (starring ME!) and part of a great webisode they wrote…
*Diane O’Debra told Jessica Jokes - jokes all about me - to a very amused audience…
*Sam Reich’s poem was my overall favorite, thanking my mom’s and grandmother’s vaginas and my grandfather’s and father’s penises for my birth
*Tanya O’Debra called my boyfriend a “douchebag” from the audience when she asked him what he gave me for my birthday and he paused before answering “two poems!” (but in case you’re all wondering, he bought me a bottle of white wine, wrote me two bad birthday poems and re-wrote about me the lyrics to a song I wrote for him.)(Sidenote: my boyfriend doesn’t celebrate birthdays, just like a jehovah’s witness, except he’s not one!)(Sidenote: It was also his idea to write lousy birthday poems, so without him, this party never would have happened…or it would have happened, but wouldn’t have had birthday poems.)
*Strangers and friends alike congregated to read me lousy poems.
*It was a fucking great time, all in all.

Here are a few gems of the evening:

by Diane O’Debra

Fuck Janet Reno
She’s no Jessica Delfino
Jessica’s the best
She aced her AIDS test

Dear Jess,
by Debbie Shea

Dear Jess,

U (as in you)
Ripped through your mom’s vag
Loud and lovely
Obviously are
Welcome you are
On the day you were born
Rock on
Never stop what you’re doing

I’m Dying To Beat Up Your Boyfriend
by Brer Brian

I’m dying to beat up your boyfriend
I’m hurting to hurt him real bad
To rip off his scalp…
Throw him down off the Alps…
To do this would make me feel glad.
I’m pining to punish your boyfriend…
I’m be happy to hand him a smack.
It would make me feel fine
I fractured his spine
With a boot to the ass of his crack.
I’d love to lay gloves on your boyfriend
If you want me to, just let me know
Blah Blah Blah Blah Blah Blah
And then I would make you my ho.

Answer to “Are you glad I was born?”
by Jin

Otherwise I would not be here tonight at your party.
Secondly, I appreciate persons who speak about personal details of their lives, whether they are true or false.
Lastly, it’s okay to cry without reason, even often.

This won “Crappiest Poem” award:

Happy Birthday Jessica
by Moonshine

Unicorn Lady, sail away
to enchanting rivers of soul
birth love of many mothers
plunge efforlessly in
to a consistent abyss
of wonder. Dazzle
Dazzle. Fin.

Liz Maher read a second poem, but she gave to me this poem on my actual birthday:

On The Subject of Jessica Delfino

We shoul dhave gone to all girls school together
because we would have most certainly become
teenage witches with scraped up knees from the black
top from playing hours of ouidgie board trying to
summon the dead lady that lived up the street and
who was eaten by rats and cuts all over our palms
from trying to become blood sisters over and over.
And you would have shown me how to force myself
into a black out by pressing the heals of my hands on
my throat and I would have pointed out that your cat
looks remarkably like David Bowie and we would
have made potions and spells out of wet and wild
lipgloss and turpentine and glitter and hamster shit
and dismantled my smurfette doll as a sacrificial
voodoo virgin to the masters of the universe and then
what would we have cared about anyone who wasn’t

FINALLY, this was my favorite poem of the evening:

To Jessica on Her Birthday
by Sam Reich

To Jessie on her birthday
May she many happy more
But it is not to Jessie
For her birth I’m thankful for

It’s Jessie’s mom’s vagina
which contorted as it strained
Until the drapes unfolded
and a Jessica remained.

And Jessie’s mom’s vagina
Which received the little seed
That Jessie’s father’s penis
planted there and guaranteed

Yet even to these genitals
I do not give my heart
For Jessie’s mother’s mother’s
hoo-ha also played a part.

And Jessie’s mother’s father’s
Shlong, and father’s mother’s twat,
and father’s father’s father’s
hairy, scary counterpart.

And so to answer Jessie’s
Question: “I was born. You glad it?”
I would be could I lose the thought
of dead people going at it.

These poems and more will go into the 2006 birthday book of bad poetry, should there be such a party, or such a year.

Thank you again to everyone who came, didn’t come, wrote poems, and have teeth, or don’t have teeth. If you didn’t write a poem prior to this party, you can write one now if you like, but it won’t make the book. If you didn’t read it or give it to me at the show, it probably won’t make the book either, unless it shimmers with glory. You missed it. You flaked, or were busy, or preoccupied. You fucked up. Too bad. Try again next year.

Thank you, and see you next year. Or tomorrow.

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