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Thank you Anya! Being the juvenile that I am at times, I loved the Melons, Toilet Paper and the Gas ones, but my favorite was the one ending in "Move apart, show size". :D |
I don’t really need Much tender attention now I just plug it in |
Sad haiku
Sarah Burke is gone
Hope heaven has some snow for An angel on skis |
Being bullied blows Until karma kicks someone In deserving ass :) |
Financial crisis blah blah blah
Credit default swaps
Means now instead of Visa I’ll pay with AmEx |
Anya Inspired Haiku...
Bought a used mattress Scratch, scratch, scratch. Fumigation The bedbug horror. |
Quote:
I just spent a weekend in a hotel (! :bedfuck: ) and when I got home, had to unpack everything in the garage, put it all in the wash and leave my suitcase in the garage (for next time) encased in a plastic bag. No it was not a fleabag and was a nice hotel but I keep reading about the bedbug epidemic and it freaks me out. I now return you to your usual programming.... (public service, among other things, announcement) |
"Tossed on a wrecked mucus foam..."
TS gives this a thumbs up, and Hollylane is right. This needs to be shared here as well. As usual, Fry and Laurie nail "bad poetry":
“Mr. Drip tells me that it’s one of the most mature and exciting poems he’s received in some time. Don’t suck your thumb boy.” “’Inked ravens of despair crawl holes in the ass of the world’s mind.’ What kind of title for a poem is that?" “Scrotal threats unhorse a question of flowers.” “I asked for answers and got a head of heroine instead.” “When time fell wanking to the floor…” “My body disgusts, damp grease wafts sweat balls from sweat balls and thigh fungus.” “Unhappy bubbles of anal wind popping and winking in the mortal bath” “If this is poetry, then every lavatory wall in England is an anthology.” |
I drank the Patron I licked the lime and the salt But still got shivers |
Never tried Haiku...therefore...writing bad Haiku should be a snap!
She sits idly by never to let herself live what's a girl to do |
How to write bad poetry in 2 parts, 19 steps and one sigh:
From -
http://theverybadpoet.blogspot.com/2...n-19-easy.html 1. Iambic Pentameter can go f%#@ itself 2. Always use clunky words you don’t really know (e.g. incorrigible & verisimilitude) 3. Try to fit a knock-knock joke in whenever possible 4. If you must Haiku, please clean up after yourself 5. Irony isn’t dead but it has been hit on the head with a frying pan 6. Inappropriate rhyming will always save you (e.g. moose and Jews) 7. The good news is no one else knows what e.g. stands for either 8. If you run into writer's block, try writing in a foreign language you don’t speak. It's de rigueur 9. If you write a ‘concrete’ poem, try to use actual concrete or cement 10. If you accidentally use ‘alliteration’ simply type the letter A for the duration of the poem. This gives it much more meaning. |
11. Contrary to popular belief, people really do want to know what you had for breakfast as long as it’s in verse form
12. If you’re worried about meaning in your poem, don’t. We’ll all be dead soon enough 13. When making a ‘list’ poem, be sure add toilet paper to it. No one likes to drip dry or use your clean hand towels next to the sink http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IvgQGy7NbF...c-restroom.jpg 14. Poems to imaginary childhood friends will most likely win you a Pulitzer 15. Don’t worry about your ‘audience.' They don’t give a crap about you either 16. The best poems are the ones you plagiarize (see previous blog entry) 17. It helps if you were dropped on your head as a child 18. Things you should know as a poet: Along with Leaves Of Grass, Walt Whitman also wrote several Motown hits for Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell 19. If you've been looking for your ‘voice’ as a poet and can't find it, there’s a good chance someone stole it on purpose |
Two words, three words, tops Really full conversation? Should we grunt instead? |
Oh yes, grunt away
Conversation hurts my brain Please skim the surface |
So there I was. My tongue touching the bottom of my glass, and using it to stir the cherry around the bottom and looking seductive as all hell at the object of my desire. She was leaning up against the juke box, one hand on her crotch the other tipping her cowboy hat at me. Swoon. Her bulging biceps were hanging down over her elbows, and I just wanted to swing on her arm like Jane confusing Tarzan for a swinging vine. But I played it cool with my tongue still teasing that cherry at the bottom of that glass. Who could resist this tongue flirtation? I was hot that night, and I did end up leaving with her. It only excited me all the more when I woke up the next morning hog tied in the garage with the door up, with the neighbor’s boy staring at me in admiration, and her phone number written in lipstick on my naked ass cheek. Thank god for the full length mirror I had marked for the garage sale, ‘cause anyone who respects a gal like that, I’m gonna ask out to bingo right away.
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Plunger is missing. Toilet is overflowing. What’s that on my sock? |
This morning at Scrumptious/Tick manor
Early morning rush
There's orange peel in my shoe And where are my keys |
You may be from Mars Maybe I am from Venus So what? I’m still gay. |
The story to nowhere....
So I took this trip. No, not the kind I did last year, with the peyote, the desert, and the bald guy in a tutu. It was an actual trip. Down to San Diego, and that was where I had the most notable experience of my life. Right there among the sweaty brown bodies, buried beer bottles, slimy seaweed, and with sand in my crack because I forgot the $5 towel I bought from the gift shop on the corner down near Mission Beach. Or was it Mission Bay? I don’t know it was one of those tourist places and there was some water and people on roller blades and then there was the guy that nearly ran me down with his rented beach comber while wearing flip-flops and no underwear under his ridiculously short tropical pastel shorts, but I digress.
So again, down in San Diego, near a body of water, I ran into Lola. Lola was the catalyst to life changing events. Lola was standing there in her front yard with the pink flamingo and wearing a bright green sarong, while I was frantically attempting to pick my ass crack free of sand at the sidewalk shower, and she said “honey, can I help you with that? I got a 20ft hose with your name on it”. I looked up in surprise and relief and said, “Hell yes, I can’t walk another step without chafing my cheeks!” So, Lola, she smiles and grabs the long green garden hose and drags it out onto the sidewalk, and it was at that moment that it occurred to me that my plane ticket was for Alaska. I guess that explains why I was standing on the sidewalk near a body of water in my underpants and thinking that it was unseasonably warm for Anchorage at this time of year. Doesn’t it? |
Quote:
All of you are are such talented writers! I love to read each of of you and all your "works". I know I have been MIA. I simply must pick my head up off the nightstand and set it back on my shoulders and let the neurotransmittors begin to flow in order for those synapses to once again begin to fire. (How is that for a long run-on sentence? By George, I might be ready to write badly again). :) |
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