Rigorous
Volume Two, Issue 4



Albert Lee


bukkake babyboy

I want to know if my intestines are blue or red when they scream. So, shove a shotgun up my shitoris and shoot. Don’t lube the tip, but if you do, use unleaded gasoline. lmao, jk. Just shove it in; it’s not rape if I want it more than I did yesterday. Yesterday means yes, and yes means Yes, Sir. Jeffrey Dahmer my lumbar curve over a sex swing made out of broken brown boys. Repetition is proof of intentionality. Brand my bussy with the aftertaste of gunpowder and cyanide. Handcuff my wrists to a rotting headboard and let rats lap up the bloody semen leaking out of my nostrils. If you’re still bored, take a hacksaw to my hole and replace my intestines with your favorite handguns. Drill a hole through my skull and pour liquid nitrogen inside. Ice cream is not my favorite flavor of brain freeze. I want to be a beautiful mound of flesh. I want to wear my torn intestines as a couples’ necklace. Because I’ll pretend they’re fallopian tubes, daddy. If I scream, I won’t. If I won’t, then put an AR-15 in my mouth. Barrel deep in my trachea, I want to see your middle finger caressing the leather holster as my small intestine screams for purple.




when roses were red, when violets were blue, when sugar was sweet,        Alyssa was, too

On February 15, 2018, Lori Alhadeff, whose 14-year-old daughter Alyssa was killed in the Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School shooting in Parkland, Florida, stood alone in front of a camera on CNN Thursday in order to plead with our Comforter-In-Chief, Donald J. Trump to just “please do something.”

i. denial
Guns are not real.
The sky is red.
Her kid is here.
Her kid is dead?

ii. anger
Guns are not right.
The sky is gray.
Her kid is dead.
I’ll make them pay.

iii. bargaining
Guns are not fair.
The sky is pink.
Her kid is dead.
Just let me drink.

iv. depression
Give me a gun.
The sky is gone.
Her kid is dead.
I can’t go on.

v. acceptance
Guns are still here.
The sky is blue.
Our kids are dead.
Our hearts are, too.

vi. repeat
Our kids are dead.
Our          kids          are          dead.
Our                    kids                    are                    dead.
Our                              kids                              are                              dead.
Our                                        kids                                        are                                        dead.




Fuck You

just the other fucking day a fucking white girl fucking told me that I should fucking swear less so that people would fucking take me fucking seriously and so FUCK YOU fucking white girl with your fucking flat fucking ass your pasty fucking skin and your fucking terrible fucking dance skills. Fuck, if you’re fucking going to fucking judge my fucking English based on the amount of fucks I put in the fucking sentence, then you’re no fucking better than the fucking cracker jacks at the fucking telephone company who fucking overcharged my fucking father and didn’t fucking give a fuck because he couldn’t fucking speak English without a fucking accent and in this fucking country your fucking intelligence is based on the fucking quality of your fucking English as it fucking pertains to white fucking people who fucking threw my fucking people into fucking railroads and made them fucking build fucking shit for you to fucking use with no fucking thank you and then you fucking limit the number of fucking chinks in this fucking country because they fucking know how to fucking save money and fucking make something of them fucking selves while you fucking waste your fucking money on capitalist motherfucking structures like the core power fucking industrial complex and then fucking complain when the fucking gooks serving your fucking matcha latte didn’t fucking smile enough at you like fuck you why the fuck should i always fucking have to be fucking smiling about the fucking fact that i have to fucking work my fucking way through fucking college while you fucking sip a matcha which you dont even fucking pronounce correctly fucking latte after eating out of your fucking daddy’s fucking trust fund like what the fucking fuck the fucking matcha latte is not fucking spicy and and don’t fucking get me fucking started on how this fucking white fucking girl had the fucking audacity to fucking add that “Also, you sound kind of like, you know, African-American.”

I don’t fucking sound fucking aFriCAn AmERiCaN. I sound like my fucking self.




Two Years

It has been two years
since I have fucked or been fucked
by another Asian-American man.
Man, do I miss the feeling
of being fucked by someone
who knows how. That is
what’s wrong with me.
I should be fucked, and often,
and by someone who knows
how. To be fair,
I have fucked way more
young and hung Jewish men
than that episode of South Park,
you know, with Stan and the bois,
about the Holocaust. Yikes.
I have been fucked and fucked
over by more Jewish guys
than the average Taiwanese girl
in the finance club at Brandeis.
Yikers. I don’t touch anything
that isn’t at least 20% off.
Singular Yike. I still don’t care
to understand why I’m circumcised.
But like, why would my Buddhist father
make a bullshit covenant with God
for his faggot chink of a
son? When are you going
to bring back a nice Chinese
girlfriend?
Jokes on you, baba.
I am the nice Chinese girlfriend.


Albert Lee: "I am a sophomore at Macalester College in Saint Paul, MN."




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