Nate Gaudy-who?

Now, I’m sure most of you don’t know who Nick Gaudio is, and that the rest of you are Nick Gaudio. But rest assured that this ignorance is temporary, for one day this winsome lad will scorch an indelible mark on the literary landscape. For you see, he is an HONORS student at THE West Virginia University. He writes like a poor man’s Hemingway, without the vocabulary, and his wit knows no bounds. (Truly, he is the master of the burn: The randomly violent outbursts; The nonsense verbiage; the gay joke – He’s got it all). But I know some of you don’t have the patience to find his writing on your own; that is why, I am proud to present to you, a vintage Nine-second Nick article.

I make Poetry Badass by Nick Gaudio

Most of you know about my badass prose, and my massive penis. And while it’s true that my prose does often feature sexual situations, and my penis is incredibly massive, I feel like I get sold a little short. Because I also write, like, really badass poetry. Here’s an example of a totally awesome poem I just wrote:

She left her coke can on the night stand

a little red smear of lipstick

fondling the rim

amongst the semen

and anal leakage

Do you see what I did there? I took a totally normal poem and added some vulgar details. And that, my friends, is how to make poetry badass. Because a poem isn’t good unless it somehow refers to manjuice or hookers, preferably both. Sometimes, my poetry is so badass I read it – but not for feedback or artistic expression – i’m so cool I read poetry for beer money. And let me tell you, nothing get’s a chick lubed up faster than a Gaudio original, except maybe the thought of playing hide the pickle with the massive Gaudio dong. Whenever I finish a poem, I look for the hottest chick in the room, and sure enough, she’s melted into a puddle.

A vagina puddle. On my penis.

Here’s a cartoon I made of me doing poetry. It doesn’t have much relevance, but it is fucking hilarious.

In this cartoon I’m smoking a cigarette, because I think having lungs that resemble used tires is motherfucking pimp. But don’t ask me for one of my cigarettes, even if I have a bunch of extras. Get your own!!!!!!!1 Each cigarette is worth like 45 cents, and I’ll be damned if i let a fucking stranger or family member get their grubby paws on any of the profits from my badass poetry.

On an unrelated note, if any rich strangers want to send me money and support the arts, hit me up, and we’ll work something out. I might even reply with a thousand-word entry on my pants-pepperoni.

Every so often, some stupid cunt will say that my poetry lacks variety, or personal depth. I punch her in her stupid cunt ovaries and laugh at another argument won, the Gaudio way. Then, I reach into my pants and scratch my balls and rub it in her mouth until she gags on the Nickbutter, at which point I finish her off with a crotch kick. PWNED!

Gaudio, away!