Performing: Let’s Play Kill Em Baby and Rolling Stone T-Shirt

Flying M Garage featuring Ex-Girlfriends Club and With Child
Smell that smell
coming from the White House basement.
Bush says, “It’s broken sewer line.”
But its rotting democracy.
He puts on his clown face
for the American people.
There’s a serial democracy killer on the loose.
He’ll throw fancy picnics
with a buffet of tax cuts,
war,
immigration law,
and revised medicare plans.
The consumers stuff themselves
on processed fatty government.
While the fruits,
vegetables,
nuts,
and grains
of civil liberty, environment, social medicine, and education
are nowhere to be seen.
The nation has been convinced a healthy democratic diet
consists of Krispy Creams and AppleBees.
There’s something rotting in the White House basement.
There’s a serial democracy killer on the loose.
Posted in Uncategorized
Tagged Brandon Follett, democracy, george w bush, music, poem, Poetry, spoken word, Veronica and the Mental Foreplays
your food doesn’t rot
your sperm doesn’t die
your eggs don’t spoil
your breasts won’t sag
your 85 year old medicated penis acts 21
and your smile never turns to sad
everything is not alright
always new beginnings
Everything always ending
this is the way
life’s supposed to
be
Posted in music, Poetry, spoken word
Tagged Brandon Follett, mental foreplay experience, music, Poetry, singer song writier, spoken word
lets strip mine the mountains, lets burn the rain forest, lets dam the rivers, lets kill nature
LOVE OF COMFORT
lets kill 6 million, lets rule the world, lets burn books
LOVE OF FASCISM
lets make nuclear missiles, lets kill charlie, lets kill indians
LOVE OF CAPITALISM
lets destroy our body, lets break moms’ soul, lets overdose
LOVE OF DRUGS
lets pioneer gulf war syndrome, lets be chivalrous, lets kill Sadame
LOVE OF OIL
lets kill puppies, lets kill kitties, lets kill the unborn, lets build more rest homes
LOVE OF ME
Love is killing humanity
Love can’t get me home by 6 for you
Love can’t get me to draw a bath for you
Love can’t get me to buy a $2 rose for you
Love killed our relationship
because I love someone or something else
Love invented divorce
America loves new Sony TVs, iPads and iPhones
America loves new Chevys, Fords, and Chryslers
America loves Carnival Cruise Lines, United Airlines, and Circus Circus
America love Nordstroms, Macy’s, and Neimun Marcus
America loves the nonafordable
America loves credit
Love birthed inflation
Pharisees love of God killed Christ
Christians love of church is killing our perception of Christ
Love replaced spirituality with man made isms
Too much love makes the world go mad!!!!!!!!
Posted in Uncategorized
Tagged Brandon Follett, music, Poetry, spoken word, Veronica and the Mental Foreplays
Sometimes my thoughts
embarrass her
like a little kid who still
pee’s in his bed at age 12.
Whose sleep and dreams
are too peaceful
to be tossed away for protocol.
I’m an adult.
I still piss on myself
but in my head.
My mind mentally pisses
a stream of thought
after thought
after thought
into the toilet ears
of normality.
I would rather piss
on myself
and lie
in a urine soaked bed
of imagination
than be disturbed
by the dictates
of social norms.
My mom
however
always blushes
and with her apology worded wash cloth
cleans up my mental mess.
I watch Leave it to Beaver.
I watch I Dream of Jeannie.
I watch a dead decade.
I pay for each syndication.
I listen to the Beatles.
I listen to the Doors.
I listen to a dead decade.
I pay for each new box set.
Pink Floyd, the Eagles, Page/Plant tickets
I want to relive a dead decade.
I pay top price for floor seating.
Elvis Presley, Marilyn Monroe, John Lennon
make more money now off their dead decade.
I financially support a dead person.
The 90’s are passing me by.
This decade can’t die
leaving behind its little contribution of gay rights, Generation X, age of information and 90210.
How am I suppose to market my generation
with this 90’s rubbish?
I need a revolution, a dead politician, a Vietnam, psychedelic rock, and free love.
How am I going to steal my children’s money
with my blasé dead decade?
Posted in Uncategorized
Tagged Brandon Follett, music, poem, Poetry, spoken word, Veronica and the Mental Foreplays
She’s almost beautiful,
Her touch hard but squeezable
With enough body friction
plastic becomes somewhat
malleable, feelable and almost
Pamela-Anderson real.
She’s a machine.
I’ll call her Veronica.
She trained me to be the lover that I am
like the Nintendo game that taught me to be Super Mario.
Veronica has 3 speeds:
slow, medium, and fast
powered by double D.
Before each practice
standing naked in front of a picture
dreamily looking at the ideal girl parts
I mentally prepare by chanting a mantra,
“Veronica’s love reservoir will not
vibrate me into premature ejaculated ecstasy.
I must learn to satisfy the woman
with multiple orgasms.”
Squirt, Squirt
Damn It!!!
Practice after practice
I finally prevail.
I can now wear down the vibration
before the vibration wears down me.
Like the video games that teach kids
to be efficient killers.
Veronica taught me to be a better lover.
I am now ready to point my mechanized sex pistol
at something real.
Posted in Uncategorized
Tagged Brandon Follett, music, poem, Poetry, spoken word, Veronica and the Mental Foreplays
Brandon Follett met Eddy Surman at the Bridge Street Inn. Eddy stopped in on his motorcycle ride down to Patagonia. While Eddy explored the Central Coast of California they started working on music. Here’s their collaboration.
Brandon Follett on vocals and lyrics
Eddy Surman on guitar
Follow Eddy’s adventures at http://eddy.adventureriders.com.au
Dear Brandon,
I have an unhappy nose. It has become resentful of the rest of my body. My nose recently pointed out over the last several years:
-my legs hiked the Pacific Crest Trail.
-my eyes got to see works of art at the Louvre Museum in Paris.
-my brain went to the Smithsonian in Washington DC.
-my belly and tongue tasted the Portland, OR food truck scene.
-my arms and chest went on a sea kayaking trip in the San Juan Islands.
-my heart went on a weekend date to Atlanta, ID.
-my toes regularly go to the beach.
-several times a month my fingers go to the petting zoo and recieve a manicure.
Physically the jealousy has manifested itself into stress. Besides my nose being unhappy it’s now ugly. Covered in blackheads. I have promised my nose a vacation. Please help me by answering a few questions.
-Does the BSI use cleaning products with misleading smells that might confuse my nose by making it think it’s in a rainforest?
-Does Cambria have oil refineries, pulp mills, 8 lane freeways, and feedlots?
-Do the ally’s in Cambria smell like piss similar to SF’s ally’s?
Thanks in Advance,
Francisco De Lovely
Hello Francisco,
No, to all the above. I too forgot I had a nose. One day I had no inspiration. I went to Moonstone Beach to sit in solitude and listen to the small voice found in my heart. That afternoon on the beach my heart whispered nothing profound. However my nose breathed in the smells of Cambria and sniffled out this song. Below are the lyrics and a recording of the song. I now follow my nose instead of my heart.
See you soon,
Brandon
What’s that You Say Nose?
What’s that you say nose?
It might not be good
to live, eat, drink and fuck
by that fuckin smell.
Little baby isn’t cute who wears a smelly diaper.
Hot woman with inflamed tonsils has a smelly kiss.
The man with gangrene has a stinky leg.
Spoiled milk has a pungent smell.
The smell of moldy lentils makes me want to hurl.
My nose has taught me
to stay away from these bad smells.
What’s that you say nose?
It might not be good
to live, eat, drink and fuck
by that fuckin smell.
Cigarettes are smelly.
Agro business is smelly.
Polluted rivers are smelly.
Cheap perfume tested on animals is smelly.
Bombs and blood are smelly.
Growing up I was told my nose has smelled wrong.
They say breathe in the smell of progress.
What’s that you say nose?
It might not be good
to live, eat, drink and fuck
by that fuckin smell.
Posted in Follettry, Poetry, Veronica and the Mental Foreplays
Tagged Brandon Follett, california, cambria, folk, music, nose, smells, Veronica and the Mental Foreplays