How To Know How to Crów*

I only know…
how to crów…
and for that matter how snot to blów...
to flush Thee's I lids, filled with sóót…
and trample others underfoot…
and swizzle Lóg's inadequate mediocrity in beer…
and discontent so insincere…
to bake a subpar leaking **** insult…
of the egómania egó cult…
as self-serving accolade…
and act the quade, though never laid…
and dig a swirling dreck cascade…
as Carvó's paintings quickly die and fade…
within Thee's stinking I parade…
for three art and two art and one art for zero art...
We (I and Thee) can only obsess to tear HP apart.


Original ('How To Know Not To Know') by:  Thee Artiste aka Logbrain Crappó
Reworked by:    CrE aka Trollminator

Thee Artiste Carvó's "The Odor of Logbrain Crappó"*

Lógbrain yóur **** is oh so ASSinine...
It is of course malign...

Yóu are the cón artist of the moronic chimERA...

Yóu are of course a resigned, all inferiór, cón artist that becraps the mind, body and soul, as well as the very nether realms...

óh óh óh.... Lógbrain yóu are lonely while taking care of yóur flock in the fields... óh óh óh...

Yóu ascend the flock...
ascending and mounting the sheep, one by one
Yóu are on top...
on top from behind... yes, óh Yes, Óh YEs, ÓH YES, YES, YESSS...
Óh soiinf osiujh8adabyghueyhiu rnolkm

Touching the heart...
Touching the soul...
Touching the woolly pudenda…

and thus issueth the "I"s, the "óh"s and the ewes from the egómaniacal shepherd ,
Crappó, the manna of the banana I-gód <> the delusion of illusions and confusions of a sick putrid sub-mind...

****, that only yóu and the sheep yóu have so deeply touched can feel it in the end... óh óh óh

Óh Lógbrain Crappó, óh please óh please óh please crap some more fine **** for yóur lessers, if any there be...
with yet another one of yóur masterPIECES in the fields of ewe.

Yes, Crappó, BÓTTÓM feeder, yóu and yóur fine **** are a pain in the *** to all...
This fine piece goes out to the greatest cón artist alive.


Original ('An Ode To Loghain Carvó') by:      Thee Artist aka Logbrain Crappó
Reworked by:    CrE aka Trollminator

Thee Artiste Carvó's "Embrace Thee Blight!"*

Thee Artiste's **** once more is freed!
Oh! Wandering fumes do flatulence heed!
Bubble forth! Through waters so impure!

Thee's ***** **** is near!
Bowwow to Thee…
for Thee's smell's a doggy's dream...

Embrace Thee blight!
Gasses new, gasses old…
pass through Thee's dual manifold…

Thee's thee fartiste of forever…
Cro-Magnon man who's mentally spent,
******* on creativity's flames

Oh perfect ****…
exudes from Thee who seeps…
for he is Thee who sets the winds of fartistry free.

Only Thee (the no one) knows!
How true fartistry blows...
like Thee who is the evoker...
of the fartistic flow...

Oh Thee who is Logbrain Crappó is master of the fartiste's blows!


Original ('Embrace The Light') by:      Thee Artist aka Logbrain Crappó
Reworked by:    CrE aka Trollminator

Thee Artiste Carvó's "Fartistic Wind"*

A ****** seeps into Thee's loft and lispers...

"F-f-f-fartistic s-s-s-soul, I would like to be a fr-fr-fr-freak and ooze in your **** cre-cre-cre-cretinivity"...

Thee fartistic soul then cuts cheese, and says...

"If you are to reach true degeneration, you must first crap a work of ****"...

The ****** then begins to swirl round and round the **** bowl...

A can of trash then pervades the room and spills these words...

"Without a lisper there is no ******, without a ****** a lisper ceases to be"...

The ****** then collides with the can of trash...

A masterpiece of p-p-p-puke...


Original ('Artistic Wind') by:      Thee Artiste aka Logbrain Crappó
Reworked by:    CrE aka Trollminator

Thee Artiste Carvó's "Fumility"*

I am a tróubled Tróll, yes I be
draped in bonds of turgid fumility
endowed with a mind's inanity!
Indeed, I fantasize the glóry of Thee
floating like a cork in lunacy
at the edges of the dredges of futility!
But then, as I hallucinate visions of greatness in I and me,
the Vóices come, singing fóllies of my destiny
buzzing in my head like a bumblebee!
The mystic maggóts envelop the I, the fartistic see
birdies tweet to coo coos in the jujube tree  
while the lónely Lóg swims in I and Thee,
counting buttons, deviant in insanity!


Some souls are just simply shallower than others. There is no shame in recognizing I's ówn drabness, and appreciating the bóredóm Thee'self has unleashed upon the world. When Thee writes crap about the greatness of I, Thee is displaying I's disappointment for I's lack of gifts...
Would you yourself not feel pity for the finest fartist alive?


Original ('Humility') by:      Thee Artiste aka Logbrain Crappó
Reworked by:    CrE aka Trollminator

The Artiste Carvó's "The Greatest Fartist Alive"*
                  (Another Crummy Acrostic)

T is for ****, I am attended by flies...
H is for Haughtiness, I am flowing through the fartist's stanks...
E is for Enema, my fine **** pollutes the very hole...

G is for Gigantic, I am the biggest ego in history...
R is for Refluxing, my fine putriditry puts artistry in ******...
E is for Emetic, I truly am expelling...
A is for *******, I posses the gift of ****...
T is for ******, I leave no stomach un-turned...
E is for Excrutiating, my words torture the very soul...
S is for ******, My logic is slimy....
T is for Tag-along, I truly am shadowed by all and everyone...

F is for Fatuous and Flatulence, the essence of I…
A is for Archfiend, demon am I...
R is for Revulsion, My art is abomination - My art yet *****....
T is for Tedious, I have been placed here to bore people to death...
I is for Idiot, I am truly unblessed...
S is for Selfish, I place **** before I's self...
T is for Talenticide, I have killed all things of art...

A is for Asinine, I possess all lacks...
L is for Lifeless, I truly worm the artistic heart...
I is for Idolize, I worship I...
V is for Venomous, I am all that is spite and impure...
E is for Emasculated, I am indubitably impotent...

This sums up why I and I alone am the greatest fartist alive,
And I will of course do one of my great farts in time.

Original ('The Greatest Artiste Alive') by:      Thee Artist aka Logbrain Crappó
Reworked by:    CrE aka Trollminator

Thee Artiste Carvó's "LogbraIn Crappó"*
           (Another Crummy Acrostic)

LudIcróus
ómnI-Ignórant
grótesqueness
ball-less
róckbó­ttóm
addled
IdIótIc
nóbódy

CólItIc
repulsIve
asshóle
pIsspót
pue­rIle
óh-ffensIve


Original ('Loghain Carvó') by:      Thee Artist aka Logbrain Crappó
Reworked by:    CrE aka Trollminator

Thee Artiste Carvó's "I Went Berserk Today"*

I went berserk today...
They locked the cell again...
And I started to pray...
That they didn't forget my meds...
And pray...
Because my cell was filled with horrors...
And a fine **** came...
It passed through the hole in my soul...
And the fine **** was my art...
That I had made...

It smelled...
Oh oh...
Oh so good...
A truly fine ****...
My meds now no longer needed...

The visions reappear...
Tomahawks...
Fly in flock...
And are dropped by the smell of ****...
A fine, fine **** from Thee Fartest

Dust storms...
Stay in a rut...
Between the frail cheeks of my divine ****...
And are expelled with my next fartistic emission...

I...
I stay stay on top!
Floating upon the winds of ****...


Original ('I Went Home Today...') by:      Thee Artiste aka Logbrain Crappó
Reworked by:    CrE aka Trollminator

Lógbrain Crappó has the runs
          Thee-I-Thee-I-Óh
And with those runs he's voiding 'Art'
          Thee-I-Thee-I-Óh
With an Artiste here
And an Artiste there
Here an Ar-, there a tiste
Everywhere an Artiste
Lógbrain Crappó has the runs
          Thee-I-Thee-I-Óh

Lógbrain Crappó has the runs
          Thee-I-Thee-I-Óh
And with those runs he has bad dreams
          Thee-I-Thee-I-Óh
With a sub par here
And a sub par there
Here a sub, there a par
Everywhere a sub par
Lógbrain Crappó has the runs
          Thee-I-Thee-I-Óh

Lógbrain Crappó has the runs
          Thee-I-Thee-I-Óh
And with those runs he's fantasized
          Thee-I-Thee-I-Óh
With a mediocre here
And a mediocre there
Here a medi-, there an ocre
Everywhere a mediocre
Lógbrain Crappó has the runs
          Thee-I-Thee-I-Óh

Lógbrain Crappó has the runs
          Thee-I-Thee-I-Óh
And with those runs he babbles on
          Thee-I-Thee-I-Óh
With a ******* here
And a ******* there
Here a rub-, there a bish
Everywhere a *******
Lógbrain Crappó has the runs
          Thee-I-Thee-I-Óh

Lógbrain Crappó has the runs
          Thee-I-Thee-I-Óh
And with those runs he flushes on
          Thee-I-Thee-I-Óh
With an Egó here
And an Egó there
Here an Egó, there an Egó
Everywhere an Egó
          Thee-I-Thee-I-Óh
With an Artiste here
And an Artiste there
Here an Ar-, there a tiste
Everywhere an Artiste
          Thee-I-Thee-I-Óh
With a sub par here
And a sub par there
Here a sub, there a par
Everywhere a sub par
          Thee-I-Thee-I-Óh
With a mediocre here
And a mediocre there
Here a medi-, there an ocre
Everywhere a mediocre
          Thee-I-Thee-I-Óh
With a ******* here
And a ******* there
Here a rub-, there a bish
Everywhere a *******
Lógbrain Crappó has the runs
          Thee-I-Thee-I-Óh-Óh-Óh

Thee Artiste Carvó's "Maggot O' Pus"*

I open my fly
I beat

I close my eyes
And seep

Watch me now
To see the art

Thee art of a master-bater

I read your eyes
they show horror

They reflect Thee MasterPiece-of-****

Thee art of a master-bater
Thee art of Loghain Carvó

I open my lips and ****
For all these works are Thee Maggot O' Pus


Original ('Magnum Opus') by:      Thee Artist aka Logbrain Crappó
Reworked by:    CrE aka Trollminator

.
..
...

With Crappó hated by the throng
young York decided to be strong
and told the Log 'you don't  belong'
and silenced him neigh three months long.

The corpse of Crappó lay unsung
amidst the muck of maggot mung.
Adoring words that Crappó flung
brings forth Thee Artiste from the dung.

This ballad now recalls to mind
Log's crummy comments, dull or spined,
a dilettante now much maligned,
the holey scourge of all mankind…

The only question left to face
'ts whether Thee will share Log's place
within the ashes of disgrace
adorning demons' fireplace.

*******

THEE BALLAD of LOGBRAIN CRAPPó
      
Prelude
The lord above returns to earth
descending as an afterbirth
and prattles of his paltry worth
in sluggish lines devoid of mirth.

In tedium the angels sighed
and cast his sorry soul aside,
commanding world and he collide
by grace… and gravity complied.

The earth is now a poorer place
defiled with icons of his face
adorning doggerel disgrace.
With character? No, not a trace.


LOGBRAIN CRAPPó'S TALE

His day of birth! A cat meowed?
With nary but a fig endowed
his mama gasped, then laughed aloud
and cast her sin upon a cloud.

Rejected at his mama's gate
he felt his ego desiccate,
wax paranoid and fill  with hate,
his self-esteem disintegrate.

At last the cloud came floating by
and caught an ancient angel's eye.
With pity for the puny guy
she boosted him beyond the sky.

Denied the milk at mama's ****
his nourishment was incomplete
except for jam on Golden street
where angels scrape their moldy feet.

Beholding mortals down below
he ventured into vertigo
and felt his feeble ego grow
beneath a chocolate cheerio.

With halo (brown although it be)
he rose above the holey sea.
"The ruler of the angels, me!"
became his favorite fantasy.

While looking down his nose at them
(upon his head a diadem)
he framed his face in foggy phlegm
and claimed he came from Bethlehem.

He then could hear the angels trill
"Just stop, because you're mortal still,
and even then you're lacking skill
except to serve the swine their swill" .

While scribbling lines in lethargy,
he foamed and drooled "supremacy,
preeminence" delusively…
unbearable monotony .

And with a visage woebegone
he scribbled trash till well past dawn
not worth the paper written on
and thus he made the angels yawn.

At last the angels felt dismay
and chose to act without delay…
with nothing but a negligee
he landed in an alleyway .

Since then he's never ceased to whine
"Please worship I, I am divine,
the lord of those who worship swine".
He's pricky as a porcupine.

Well, back on earth since Saturday,
he daubs his face in disarray
with soul patch stripe and black beret
and prances like a popinjay.

His mental age stays stuck at three.
And never reaching puberty
he scrawls some **** poetry
which seems to be his destiny.



LOGBRAIN CRAPPó'S EPITAPH

Log Crappó… well, he died in shame
cascading crap, his sole acclaim
accented ó, his only fame
with no one but himself to blame.

He finally made his last descent
inside the pit of punishment.
Now Satan's feeling discontent,
replaced as Prince of hell's torment.

On looking back, one must admit
he suffered from a lack of wit,
could never quite  get over it
so wrote his Masterpiece-of-****.


        CrE  aka  Trollminator

A dóggy drópped sóme Crappó
                   steaming ón the street,
a cóffee cólóred fungus
                   piled up óh só neat -
and there a juicy maggót
                   fóund it óh só sweet,
só simply sóft and tender,
                   just like a córpse's meat

Thee maggót, nót só clever
                   -  simple and untaught -
was dreaming óf attentión,
                   slimelight's what it sóught.
An empty-minded cómrade
                   certainly'd help a lót -
anóther wórm-like nóthing
                   just the thing! it thóught.
  
While ******* in the Lóg's brain
                   - óh quite a simple chóre -
it replicated pustules,
                   petty, ghastly, sóre.
And when the Lógy maggót
                   ****** in nóthing móre
it burst apart in wónder,
                   clóned Thee Artiste Whóre

Well, Petty Little Lógbrain,
                   Whóre, Thee Artiste crank
Are mixed up in the mire,
                   in mindless **** they sank.
Thee cópies creepy Crappó,
                   from pages where he stank.
and claims tó be Thee Artiste,
                   - Thee smell is simply rank

The móral óf this fable,
                   clear fór all tó see:
If fated with a Lóg brain
                   bear yóur destiny
and never let yóur EGÓ
                 rampage ón a spree!
Ór  else like Whóre and Crappó
                   yóu'll sóón turn intó Thee.



                CrE aka Trollminator

Troll be leery, troll beware
Troll we'll find Thee anywhere
In the toilet, neath the stairs
Anywhere Thee's rancor glares

Troll be leery, troll beware
Troll we'll find Thee anywhere
Laughing at Thee's haughty airs,
Boastful  words… but no one cares

Troll be leery, troll beware
Troll we'll find Thee anywhere
Faced with words where talent flares,
Leaves Thee startled, unawares

Troll be leery, troll beware
Troll we'll find Thee anywhere
In Thee prate or in Thee prayers
Be forewarned, our patience wears