Zanzibar ‘Buck Buck’ McFate is dead probably except that which his poems live, and the American Poetry Alliance mourns his loss in that case. (For high octane poems, get your bad self to the bottom of this page.) Special guest poetry expert Ted David, literary professor of the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, North Carolina, offers this rememberance:

"My friend Z returned to the Congo on November 29, 2006. This was shortly after the publication of his best-selling autobiography: "I Battled a Giant Otter—My Gut Bustin', Mutha Lovin' Life of Manly Adventure: A Tale of Mad Catastrophe" which I edited very well. 580 pages. 1.8 pounds. A bargain at $1.03/ounce! (Originally published as "I Was Satan's Slave" in San Francisco.) Not that he was Satan's slave in San Francisco itself, but in general.

At that time then, November 29, 2006, the deep puncture wounds caused by the hellacious giant python-panther-prehistoric spider in the bald slavetrader’s zeppelin from the hidden Escarpment of Death battle-in-the-clouds-with-a-biplane so grippingly described in “Power Through” had not yet fully healed. "Power Through" is the climaxing book of Zanzibar's best-selling poetic trilogy, like "The Lord of the Rings."

Buck he did not care about the pus stains on his clothes.

Or the constant risk of infection.

Or the odor. Stinky bad.

He was a man’s poet, and the American Poetry Alliance is proud to have been publishing all three of his adverb- and mostly adjective-free works of poetic verse: "Ram It In: Manly Poetry Just for Men” “Push Bush: Masculine Verse is Always Terse” and his testicle-tingling climacteric achievement Power Through: Poems for Manly Men by a Manly Man. (All are now available at Amazon Books and for not nearly what a set of new Firestone Firehawk SZ50s would cost! Z.B's snappy bawdettes (as he called them) and limericks also appeared in Quick Trigger Magazine, Male Home Companion, Ranch Love, Ka-Zar, Sex Health, and Action Life. You can get these on E-Bay sometimes.)

Anyway, it is not necessary nor fitting nor tasteful here to tell the story of how these books became internet sensations and became the rushed-into-theatres Brad Pitt/Nicole Kidman/Danny DeVito funny exciting movie that opened on 600 screens grossing $100 million in its opening weekend, for that is truly a tale for another time and place and one that will cost at least $11.95 in trade paperback.

Raised in Hiran, Wyoming, by an oil wildcatter, who was a widow man, McFate got a degree in AgSci from Wyoming State in Russellville and returned to the family oil field and wrote verses of a shor t and long nature to wile away the long hours on the plains. He later moved to Stamford, Connecticut, to host the Speed Channel talk show “Zanzihour” and later relocated to Chapel Hill, North Carolina, to be closer to his childhood friend John Edwards, the presidential candidate, his professional lawyer, too, and dogie roper.

Now McFate’s most likely death can be told:

It seems that Zanzibar, or “Ra-Ooot-Na” as he was known by the local deep jungle Stone Age M16-toting tribalmen meaning “White God King Who Descends from the Clouds in Ford Tri-Motor Bird With Magic Box, Sharply Creased Pants, and Crazy Water and Who Prepares Giant Ganja Spliffs and Inhales Mightily” of what there then how his, I can barely I tell you bring my fingers to type it an am losing control of all rules of grammar and diction time and space had had certain bodily pieces found and analyzed by DNA TransSpectroGrapher conclusively. Pretty awful. And what a long paragraph this is to read on the web, too, isn't it? These bodily pieces included his large intestine, dried out, of course, washed, I guess, with Clorox and and tanned which was worn by jungle warrior big biceped diamond smuggler transvestite with a gold tooth and a big grin as like a fur stole sort of thing, not to mention most horribly of all his male member, dried, too, and manly sized, too, worn as a bullet-preventing-going-through-the-chest-organs-body amulet charm by a child soldier of the Army of the Six-Armed Elephant God Yag-Kosha on a necklace of Buck’s black curly pubic hair woven into a necklace of sorts.

Better to be dead, I think. Somewhere Zanzibucko marches on, a victor in the midst of strife, his song of life triumphant.

Zanzibar would surely have enjoyed receiving he surely would have but his attractive widow Millie and I did for him in his place the Presidential Medal of Honor and Freedom bestowed by President George W. Bush (taller in person), and the movie world theatrical premier broadcast on MTV hosted by Lindsey Lohan, too, (shorter, she is) at the theatre in Los Angeles, whom some people like, the President or Lindsey, and others do not, onto that space between Millie’s bosoms, the cleavage shiny Lindsey’s, at the Rose Garden Ceremony and Graumann’s Chinese which I chaperoned with Mick, his future burn ward victim child, him so cute holding that bottle of Budweiser, a parting gift from his father, when he, Mick, still had all his fingers and lips and both eyes and ears before the fire accident and rat bites which hurt like a bitch.

But life goes on in Chapel Hill, a progressive quiet village of central North Carolina where no one needs to move to anymore, because there are just too many damn people here already. 

Remember, my friends, as my friend Zanzibar always said: "It's all about Z. Buck!"

To reach Mr. McFate's widow Millie or his literary executor Ted David, professor of literture, please write z.buck@icx.net. Please allow 24 hours for all e-mails to reach either party due to the time required for electronic transmissions to reach Wellington, New Zealand. The International Date Line remains under construction at this time. The American Poetry Alliance regrets any inconvenience that this may cause.

Α ∞◊ § ♥ ♦ ∞ Ω

 

COMING SOON: Buck recorded some cassette tapes before going to the jungle for his posterior. They're coming soon. Chainsaw poem video coming too, so look out.

Plus! A New Buck Poem Every Wednesday, mostly.

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Z. Buck Stops Here.

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Lovelorn? Lost Your
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Need Your Ass Kicked?