#hahahaha
**** you you justly
neutered mongrel and the hand
that is up your ****
Jun 26, 2023
Jun 26, 2023 at 2:56 AM UTC
Emoji crowds
emoji brains from state welfare
they think and write in emojis
no critical faculties to discern or reason
with the attention span of ants they see the world in emoji
laughable semi-illiterates trashed un education
by asians and foreigners who fill all the unis
and now take all the top posts
earning mega salaries
while our dunces play computers games and think and write
emojis
and the dweebs think others are like them
mass produced cannon fodders
relevant in their irrelevances
sound bites and emojis drunkards
planting stupidity
does anybody remembers 'Planters Nuts' yes, off course the're nuts
Jul 19, 2020
Jul 19, 2020 at 3:12 AM UTC
Group think in unison disarray
morons looking for Camelot in mob's dive
we spoil for mind war but pray lend us our minds
in cloudy storms of magical red rains our brains were washed
to pristine white
Our masters tell us
its a remote affair so show us the moat
we will swim float and jump
masters says its a revolution
we are revved up but spare us the elocution
Some are saying this is mindless but we could not care less
though those wenches were careless
when they stole from the Moor
who was not from the moors in North York
A bright spark said its a vendetta of thieves
they cut of his tongue and said his brains had not
been washed proper
that he was calling a ***** a *****
yet the masters had taken our pitchforks and cudgels away
them dumb masters keeps on saying remote remote
and then control, control, then, power, power
now if you ask me fellow hicks in unison
this really is no time for **** roll
neither is it a time to go to the moat, what's it with this re moat
then they say its tower, tower
in Cromwells' name
are we being told to go via the moat for a **** roll in the tower
don't blame me they washed my brains a while ago.....
Jul 19, 2020
Jul 19, 2020 at 2:45 AM UTC
Look at Prince Charles' profile
see the high forehead and receding baldness
the jutting nose, a strong noble Grecian look
take a look at Prince William, same features
his is even more defined
so our plebs on the Clapham omnibus
declares quite seriously that
these lovely royal profiles resembles a horse
neigh, neigh do not scold the plebs
they see only what the lower plebs brains sees
and perhaps
because Royals have a strong historical link with Horses
a royal maiden had at one time taken a horse to bed
Come to think of it, Catherine The Great
Empress of Russia
reportedly did take a horse for a bit of jiggery porky
so maybe there's a bit of equine bloodline in all royal lineages
after-all the horse is considered a handsome proud and noble beast
So I embrace my horse ancestry and can also confirm
that I am packed as a horse in the lower region as well....
Any clean and disease-free female wanting a ride is welcomed
please contact me at Buck house and bring a big hat along
NO, not for my head...you silly twit......
May 26, 2019
May 26, 2019 at 8:45 PM UTC
At one point in time
When all is said and done
The only things that remain
Are the ashes of good intentions
It is a general rule that
People maintain an underlying
Need for gratification
A facade of “I don’t”
No ***** given
This is false
We’re all liars inside
To your friends, families
Selves.
To look in the mirror
Whether model or mould
Is a painful reminder
Of this stark reality.
Mar 18, 2018
Mar 18, 2018 at 7:29 AM UTC
my mind is a painter, thinking of colors in the form of stories and scenes
thinking about the brightest of city lights
streets teeming with foreign language
people passing by with stories i'll never know
silent seas along the coastlines
mountains towering above us, old and wise
cabins in the forest with little firesides
trains full of strangers to fall in love with
airports with people, greetings and goodbyes
postcard-perfect towns and friendly rivers
neighborhoods showered with pretty autumn leaves...
these are the stories painted in my head, the stories i'd love to paint with my own hands.
the places i'd love to see when i'm alone in my bedroom, the stories i want to see for myself.
and sometimes, i fear i'll never reach these works of art,
but with a brush and some paint, what's impossible?
Oct 31, 2015
Oct 31, 2015 at 1:57 PM UTC
febrilsk stilhed
te og treoer
i skole og
fremlæggelser med 38 i feber, stoffet
der omringer min krop gør ondt
en syg pige,
et sygt samfund,
et sygt uddannelsessystem som konsekvens
giv mig bare fuld narkose,
eller et koma? kunne det ikke gavne lidt
med at slappe af, koble fra
fatal uvidenhed; dørene lukker
giver stress over de fremadrettede adgangskrav
slider sig selv ned i et desperat forsøg på
at overleve, at drømme
av
og øv
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 3:01 PM UTC
I walked through avenues
Finding a quiet place
As the weather disappointed
Rain gets me down sometimes.
And somewhere, you sat all alone
Coffee and ash trays and months old issues
Of the New York Times.
New York City, the mess you were hopelessly in love with.
I dropped loose change
You helped me pick up every coin
And I was taken by surprise.
I was wise,
Wise enough to know not to speak to strangers
But I couldn’t help and dive
Into the thrill of your danger.
All it took was a single glance
You reeled me in, and then there I was
Seated in front of you, my coffee becoming cold
As I listened to your strange, revolutionary thoughts
And I was young, devil-may-care
You were charming, disillusioned.
But the pieces of the puzzle of you and me
Slowly turned out to fit together
Once the hours passed and we watched the sun set for the first time.
Then this went on for days, an unspoken agreement
Like a connivance between secret lovers.
Each day we sat in that same, dim corner
You showed me your little journal, photos
Of the foreign lands you once wandered,
Even taught me I could dream big things for myself.
And again and again, we watched the clouds move and the stars swirl
Through foggy glass windows.
We never left that dying coffee shop
Because you and I lit it up
With the way we were so curious, so eager
To listen to each other.
Leaves turned golden, snowstorms came, and flowers bloomed
Yet there we spoke, on and on
Until we unmasked each other,
Painfully honest. Truthfully beautiful.
Darling, does anyone ever tell you how lovely you are?
Then one day, I came in a summer dress
The cafe seemed darker than ever
And I was left with the ghost of you
Hunched over your cup of coffee,
Waiting for me so you could tell your stories.
A teller of tales gone astray. A lonely spectator.
And now, you are but a story too.
The most beautiful kind.
Would you send me a post card sometime?
May 29, 2015
May 29, 2015 at 12:33 PM UTC
Look behind me,
I don't have wings
simply a bare back and spine.
But oh, how I wish to fly.
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 10:53 AM UTC
You place a finger to my lips
To signify some change;
The wind outside the building shifts,
The curtains rearrange.
Questioning I glance at you:
Your eyes take in the problem
And deem that something is askew,
From top until the bottom.
And then they strike! the serpents
Who guarded tombs of old
Had sneakéd through the curtain
And crept across the floor.
We dash up to the rooftop
But this is in the desert;
Our path of flight, it must stop
That we may end this hurt.
You draw your saber, slowly
All others they gather round
Ev'ry wedding guest holding
To their host's every word
You tell them of the valor
That awaits a man alive
And that it's your desire
That everyone survive.
They arm themselves, bravely
And descend through the floor
To the storey down below me
And shutter the trapdoor.
The plan is simple: find one
And **** the serpent dead
As soon as youve slain it,
Deliver here its head.
The many serpents saw us
And, hissing, took their aim
But not a one escaped us
For our leader, host, the same
He led them without falter
Guiding without doubt
And when the last was severed
We gave a triumphant shout.
The feast continued, slowly
Just as it was before
But none thought little of the man
Who secured their lives once more.
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 12:42 PM UTC