"batshit" poems
*Story..
Stories
I have a story to tell
It's a tragic one as usual*
A day goes by. Silence reigns and birds cuckoo
While this happens..
Two people sit under a tree
Using it as a rendezvous
For usual meetings
They met...
Once...
In ten days
They enjoyed it
I helped another person
and he tried to help me
I did a better job of helping him
that's what I think..
Anyways, once they met
they enjoyed it
they would talk together
and climb a tree
Play with a dog, which was a
golden retriever
They are big!
It was a lot of fun
Often playing Videogames
like..
Mario kart..?
That was a day
and it happened on
an occasional basis
when both of them could spare some time
from their daily time consuming life
----------------------------------------------------------------
One day however
A bright sunny day
A sunday afternoon
filled with birds flying about
nearly the end of the school year
It was all going by wonderfully
We had met another time
because you called me
and told me to help you out
and just to relieve the stress
that the school year had put on us
We climbed a tree
with a rope on it
it was pretty tall
about 10 feet high
I remember talking about self harm..
..and ways to **** oneself
and I gave up climbing and jumped off
the rope
6 feet
straight down
on my back/ankles
It hurt like batshit crazy
but i told you I managed through it
then later
when talking to our friends
I let it slip
I told her about my failed attempt
I was really depressed after that
It actually FAILED!
Well, now more people knew about it
and these rumors spread fast
as you would know
I was still fine with school
just.. I became more depressed
My grades were fine
I was nearly at the end of the year
nearly there.
nearly
And then
I realized
that
Mockingbirds
are similar to humans
they don't talk much
at the time of crisis
but they remember
it, and pass it onwards
They don't lie.
Mockingbirds dont lie
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 8:13 PM UTC
Schwinny, Baby,
You were supposed to be
my
Bicycle.
So I don't ask for anthing special.
No dark Harley divas
To whisk me off into the sunset.
But I thought we were at least
On the same road together.
So please.
Don't go droaning on how
Life got too complicated.
I mean,
You've got one flimsy gear.
And don't go moaning how
The road got too bumpy.
I mean,
You went blind bonzai batshit
over burnt black tar pavement.
You just
Let go.
Threw away your
Chain of reasoning
Faster than I could brace for impact.
So am I bleeding?
Yeah, I'm bleeding.
And the worst part is,
I still need you!
No, No, no.
Not like Pom Pom pammy
Needs her purple-plated pogo stick
Nor like Princess Paris
And her prissy pink prom queen limo,
No.
I mean I need I need you like
Alibaba needs his golden cherub camel,
Like Ben Hur his crimson-fury chariot.
Because work is 37. Blocks. Away.
And it starts in 16 minutes.
And the bus is really unreliable.
So we ride again,
Guts against the wind.
But now I've got all ten fingers and toes
Crossed,
Two by two,
And point in fact,
Racing down Guadalupe with
Forked Philanges
Gets really hairy.
But your suicidal tendancies simply scare me.
Your thirst to incur first degree burns,
Fractured femurs,
And flayed skin whittles my patience
To tire track thin!
Think I'll
Roll my dice with a Segway.
She'd be a quaint, play it safe kind of girl.
Type to show off
To a Mom and Dad
Reveling in rosemary jubilation.
Aw, son.
We knew you'd land a keeper. That's my boy.
But in ten days tops,
I'd begin to miss your fiery imbalanced breath.
I'd yearn for your bipolar 180 turns that
Make my heart skip that terrible, syncopated beat.
So let's just say,
I'll give it one more shot.
But ***** just promise you'll stick around a little longer.
It's storming outside and
We both got a few blocks to go.
Feb 4, 2010
Feb 4, 2010 at 10:17 PM UTC
Hitchhiker
My passenger seat
Her eyes tear up as
She talks about
Placebo happiness
And the
Digital pineapples
She never wanted
As a girl
About how the world really
Should have been a square
Then nobody'd ever fall off
And more people could care
About how nothing ever makes sense
Up here
And that she doesn't believe in
Calling a piece of dirt
A home
And how in my heart I feel that
She's perfectly
Batshit crazy
And that she could be the one
How everything seems okay
Every time she breathes out
And
In
And I'm stunned
As she gives me a look so
Delicate it shatters like
Glass against industrial
Cold tempered
Steel
And the moment she says
"Thanks for the ride, But I can't stay"
This fifty mile fairytale of ours just
Ends.
Jul 23, 2015
Jul 23, 2015 at 11:22 AM UTC
Batshit crazy,
Batshit soup.
Am I just lazy,
or caught in a loop?
Batshit crazy,
Owl **** soup.
Razor blades,
Razor blades,
Razor blades,
****
Love is not a competition.
Love is not a game.
You see me as a player,
and it's a downright shame.
Batshit crazy,
Owl **** soup.
I am totally lazy,
and caught in a loop-die-loop.
Glass houses and baseball games
Angels wings and tar
SEPTA lines and pine trees
Can take you pretty far
Love is not a competition
Love is not a war
and acting like a soldier
is really quite a chore!
Silly souls and wacky words
Dragonflies and tar
I want to make some art with you
but I don't know how you are
it's
Just another slide
down the razor blade
of life into a bowl
of sour owl ****
Batshit crazy,
Owl **** soup.
Am I crazy,
or am I caught
in a loop?
Razor blades
Razor blades
Razor blades
****
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 12:57 AM UTC
eye cantaloupe
batshit Midas
writer's iambic
within usurp
ender's egret
wherewithal
nearly Mykonos
orangutan elsewhere
eye dye.
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 10:55 PM UTC
I stood across a fiery red
and ended up purple.
Greased thighs, dripping down and
rested on knee caps
too brittle.
“So this is how you fall apart.”
I say,
“this is how you fall apart.”
When it isn’t as glorious as others make it seem
and the only sound you make is an
inner monologue, where you berate yourself.
“This is you, you **** of a train wreck example.”
And then you stand and you cower
at the mere sight of a figure ahead.
You tug down the remains of your shirt
and you wipe your busted lip dry,
like it will hide the cut and bite.
You wince once sweat kisses your brow
and you hiss like someone hoisted you against a brick wall.
You never stand. You never stand
and you are excused for cursing.
All the ******** the dammits, the batshit *** **** flow out
like breath – naturally, an incestuous inhale and exhale of
“someone give me that thingamajiggy for the pain!”
But it never comes.
And you are never cured.
And it never goes away,
when a quicksand of that stinky pile of unwritten brain farts start farting,
one by ******* one.
Blessed are the stoic ones, for they glorify aching.
****** are the loud ones, for the stoic ones are deaf.
Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 7:46 AM UTC
alarm
dogmatical snakebird dictator
**** rooster of electro maniacal damnation
wake
goober eyed ithyphallic mortal yahoo yawns
glacier shuffle to Midas’ bowl
brush
minty hairy pasty headed ********
seafoam ***** on white vanity beaches
shave
deceitful murderous metal cartel scraping
dead shrubs from yesterday’s winter
breakfast
egg flour chalk smack
guzzling bean kerosene
work
batshit bureaucratic badgers bludgeon
muktuk hamsters lubricating wheels of fortune
lunch
butcher’s dead friend between greasy toasted cement
harlot’s heavenly tomato mating cabbage cousin
work
taradiddle of martyrs at jargon’s temple blather
babble, bumble - copulation without ***********
dinner
unicorn steaks, butterfly sauté, and
leprechaun fingers, a side of manslaughter dolphin
sleep
a felon’s holiday
repeat
Jan 23, 2019
Jan 23, 2019 at 3:56 AM UTC
hyper-jinxed like an old talkie
scrap the fat off the cow!
swipe that smile off your face
to watch the sunset fade away.
batshit crazy
candidly rogue
an eventful leap from far fetched lore
gory details please spare me
a big fat ***** and a way to reap
the pretties from the twits.
but the lee-way from the stars beyond
sometimes gets trapped into hairy armpits.
then their neon pink hued blue eyed trolls
take their slippers to the snow.
Aug 26, 2012
Aug 26, 2012 at 11:24 PM UTC
Come on over,
and we'll craft a new key to the kingdom,
all I want is to cut the seams,
pulverize the patterns,
rewrite the Hamlets and all the works of Hemingway,
what are you doing now?
nothing?
great.
Come on over,
I have a handle of SoCo,
I know it's your favorite,
we'll shoot the **** and
chitty-chat about how
it's so easy to drink.
Come on over,
and brilliant minds
will strum guitars,
**** ivories,
croon with weary pipes,
all in plain sight.
Come on over,
this world wasn't made for us,
so let's force it into submission
with controversy and batshit revelry.
Let's lay on the carpet,
and swoon to the love that courses
in our veins,
let's help me to the tile
when the evening's endeavors come back up,
let's write a new Odyssey,
let's sing a new American anthem,
let's light the apartment on fire,
let's talk about how badass my girlfriend is,
what are you doing right now?
nothing?
great.
Come on over,
and I'll be your slave.
Whip me with criticism and fright,
I'll give comfort and brighten
the corners,
mix you a drink,
play you a Monk tune,
dance like I invented it,
and make you nostalgic for the 70s
like I lived each millisecond of the decade.
What are you right now?
Nothing?
Let's scare the ******
the politicians,
the folks keeping scores,
the drunkards down the road,
self immolation?
Great.
When you hit the bottom,
come to me,
your world-savvy
Midnight Man.
Jan 1, 2011
Jan 1, 2011 at 8:01 PM UTC
I am bleeding words onto the floor
Spattered puddles
And random pools
In patterns that make no sense
None
At all
Because I have no cuts
No wounds that issue forth
It is simply nonsense
And nothing more
Because I have gone.....
Well, you know.
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 12:55 PM UTC
The muse inquires,
knowing that a question such as this is
cannon fodder, an off-the-shoulder-blouse tease,
just a hint of cleavage, a whiff of parfume,
something to make poet sneeze,
ejecting an answering essay
without a clue where to go, but,
now the fifth gear engaged,
compulsion full,
immédiatement, en ce moment, laisser's aller!
and he knows exactly what to say
what if poet possessed a special character,
to define the sadness that reflects that
summer has had its memory card wiped,
and even though today,
will be a Saturday of
jeans shorts, a halter top, sort of day,
the chill of dreaded winter is not coming,
already present and accounted for,
enchanté, déjanté,
has already encased his heart in ice so thick,
that even if poet drank a Joni case
of his fav summer quaff,
un provence rose,
his seasonal loss cannot be overcome,
the summer man~king is dead
all that in but a single character, a precise capture,
a labor and time saving device, but
a character with no character
for the labor would be love lost
yet you swear by your succinct emojis,
their immaculate efficient composition,
and I would not trade one accidental,
just-slipped-out I love you
even for ten thousand disheartening heart symbols
would you prefer
|£%!<#
instead of:
*I love you so much it is
driving me batshit crazy!*
I'm stuck with my troop of twenty six
and their multiple endless quilted rearrangements
call me old and out of fashion,
to your question,
this poem is my ask and answered at 5:13am
Sep 23, 2017
Sep 23, 2017 at 5:30 AM UTC
I have this
theory about
irony, tyranny
and irrational
national emergencies
you see, when
the foul wind
blowing south out
of Washington DC
fails the smell test
but compares well
with, say, ********
cat **** radioactive
batshit contaminants
but, hey, try any
old way, you still can’t
iron any wrinkles out
of the fact that what
lies in the murky bottom
of the Potomac
our leader drinks in
also flow through
the faucets to sink, then
down the ********
of our so-called democracy
and into the lagoon
down on the links
of Mara-a-Lago.
Feb 17, 2019
Feb 17, 2019 at 10:00 AM UTC
The rotten fruit shall be shaken --- W. H. Auden
Do they somehow envision sainthood in the homeless
or extol the virtue of the millions toiling for minimum wage;
see themselves as the feudal overlords of trickle-down,
their enormous profits banquet omelets for the common good?
You know the politics whereof I speak,
the Me, Myself and I of anachronistic yesterdays,
the concave years of soup-kitchens supporting high-rise condos
and batshit crazy presidential candidates admiring selfies.
I wonder if it's all because they can't reach ******
impotence and pharmaceuticals which fuel our economy?
A nation moans from the exhaustion of despair with
forgotten cityscapes of odorous blacks and blues.
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 6:22 AM UTC
I've always said that I don't need perfection
I need affection
Someone needs to invalidate my insecurities
They sting me and I hide them deep beneath skin
So deep that no one can seek them or sense them or touch them
I often ask myself why I don't have an official companion
A person who can love me and give me affection and make me happy
It sounds stupid because a lover doesn't make one happy
But I feel like I've crossed out every other thing on the list
Introspection?
They tell me I need to understand what and why and how
However the mere fact that I have thousands of words depicting my every emotion
Should mitigate this false sense of intelligence that a therapist has
I don't need someone to bring me flowers
Or chocolates or stuffed animals
I don't need to be given the world because I can get that on my own
But I do need someone to hug me and kiss me the way you do...when we're alone
And then I need that same person to be able to effectively communicate with me
I need them to understand the notion and the implications of a relationship
And I need them to be fully committed to making me a better person
And me making them a better person
Because once all of that happens, all I'll need is for them to love me
Love me
The real me
The person who is blunt and blatantly obvious
The person who can capture a room with intelligence
The person who hates the evils in the world
The person who doesn't believe in god
The person who cares about other people but has trouble showing it
The person who works for everything
The person who has suffered enough
The person who wants to be loved by you
And in some sense
It's been established that you can't love me
Simply because you don't
And that's fine even though it pains me deeply
But if it can't be you
And you not caring for me is true
Someone needs to sweep me away and love me for me
Because I believe in human nature and I also believe in Darwinism
But when it comes to me
Human nature and Darwinism are contradictory
Because human nature would be the act of two people loving each other for the sake of loving each other and wanting to be together
But Darwinism says that my genes are too weak to compete in the gene pool
Therefore it is difficult for one to seek my affection
Because it subliminally implies that we're seeking "a mate"
And I wouldn't be a good mate
A) because I have a chronic illness
B) I'm batshit crazy
So I don't even know what to do at this point
Maybe I was designed as a solo
Rather than a duet
That happens
It's a possibility
A horrible one
But the most hurtful thing right now
Is the idea that you may not love me
And you never will
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 1:16 AM UTC
At 14 I was sent to the hospital twice because
I was hallucinating which is a fancy way of saying
hey, you’re batshit crazy so we’re going to pump you full of medication
Turns out all of the walls I had been seeing crashing down
and the fires that were never there
were always just a side effect of my depression medication
because I was on too high of a dose for my weight
And I told my ex-boyfriend this when I was 16
and now, 8 months later he is telling everyone I am schizophrenic
like baby there’s a lot of things I am but that’s not one of them
Like there’s a lot of things you are
but a good person was never something I would use to describe you
you're more of a waste of space
and I really wish you had never left Chicago
I wish I never even met you
I wish I hadn’t been so desperate for the way you moved
your thin body like a train down the rails
I wish I had never agreed to play with your hair in class
or sat in your lap with your arms around me tight
or caught sight of you in my eyes
like a glare through a window there was nothing else
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 9:30 PM UTC
Anger is boiling, like a *** of water on the stove, and I can feel my veins get warm as you draw near. The web of lies you wove, trapped me in a world of pain and hatred, and caused me to lose that which I had always held dear.
I like to forgive, and I always try to forget, but you would be the first that I can never forgive. If I could cut you out of this world, like euthanizing a rabit dog at the vet, I would do it in a heartbeat, because you do not deserve to live.
Life is already ****** up without having someone to tear your confidence away, stripping you of any personality you spent your days creating. I can't believe I fell for your innocent, ******** ******* facade, and all the things you once did say. I let you in my life as a victim, and then I became the victim of us dating.
Whoever falls into your web next, I hope she has the brains to get out quick. I hope whoever else has the unfortune of meeting you realizes you're not really "sick", that these are words that hide the true meaning, that you are batshit ******* crazy and willing to beat the **** out of any person that looks at you wrong. Man, I put up with that for too long.
I may have spent the last year building back everything that you took from me; but it may never be enough. I still go through every day with symptoms of PTSD; flinching when someone moves too fast, night terrors in the middle of the night, hyperventilating when I think I see you walk past, and anger that has stopped me from ever being "alright".
Maybe only time will really heal these wounds and turn off this oven of hatred. Or maybe I will live with this anger for the rest of my life, wishing I had done something to make this pain faded...
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 7:26 PM UTC
I met a woman at the laundromat,
six-foot tall in her flats.
She bore the scent of a bachelor's degree,
class C cigarettes and warm whiskey--
oh no,
here I go,
down to the river to cleanse my soul.
"My name is Tangerine," she splintered,
75 cents and a steady hand remembered.
I've got an incessant woman miles away,
but your proximity begs me to stay.
oh no,
here I go,
down to the river to cleanse my soul.
Tangerine had two crooked teeth,
a penchant for Plato seeped.
She was a batshit woman,
a bona fide tombstone,
an endless corridor,
and a paper bag dream.
oh no,
here I go,
down to the river to cleanse my soul.
Nov 14, 2011
Nov 14, 2011 at 11:55 PM UTC
Maybe if you leave, we can work it out.
I need a permanent blanket of nimbus clouds more oppressive than a Roman Catholic Court.
But, moving to London might convict me back to the cityscape of wasted Fridays and Saturdays.
Because without it, the Betrand Russell in me might just start to wake up. And then I’d remember - there has to be more to life than the 9 to 5 daze.
Washington DC stopped being fun after week two, and now I see it for what it is — a crush of desperate tourists blowing cigarette smoke in your face while you sweat last night’s drinks and Jumbo slice crash.
Anywhere that sells Nutella crepes is pretty sweet, and I love all the kite flyers and buskers festivals. I long ago realized that while Christiania has hundreds of market stalls, they’re all selling the same material things on a Groundhog Day loop: baked goods, stolen bikes, old furniture, cheap phones, and bags of open air hash.
Climbing up Carcassonne, a fortified medieval French town, probably is the best thing ever, but somehow, the two-hour lines to get into Berghain seem more worth it — all that dirt, grunge, and spinning feels as close to Dante’s Inferno; as close to feeling alive as it gets.
But now my Sunday afternoons are spent curled on top of my clean bedsheets, twitching about like a decapitated blue whale - batshit exhausted and depressed but somehow grinning like The Joker, wondering if sleep ever sets.
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 4:02 AM UTC
I was borderline batshit,
I hadn't slept for two nights,
and every time I closed my
eyes, my desperate mind
sent itself into R.E.M.
The hallucinations
were only fun up to a point,
as soon as I saw monkeys in
gas masks, I fixed another ***
drank three or four cups,
I promised I'd wait up,
and Ms. Gloria had promised to come by last night.
My belly began to roar,
I ate a saltine, one **** packet
left, and then no groceries.
I opened the freezer,
a couple trays of ice,
half a fifth of *****
"Ah, hell," and ****** off
the remainder in three or four hits.
I turned on the tv,
I forgot their was a war going on.
It didn't take long for my mind to bite.
I took a front row seat for the
viewing of my ego's defeat.
I was holding up well,
using the gunshots as a
backing symphony to
some poetry I was clumsily
penning.
It was something about
texting girls and semi-trucks,
but I lost the ******* notepad
I was writing it on,
I stood up to go take a ****
and my head fell to the soles,
back met carpet quickly,
monkeys and gas masks,
I heard my phone ring,
I rolled on my side,
in an attempt to crawl to it,
then woke up 6-hours later,
to someone pounding the ****
out of my door.
Nov 4, 2010
Nov 4, 2010 at 9:30 AM UTC
Fake plastic trees,
dreams
New York, 19
& on her knees
In some ratty
batshit crazy
motel
on the east end of town
But pity,
do not judge her.
For she is simply
desperate
broke
& naïve .
She knows not
the beauty
beyond the life
on these sin-ridden
New York City streets
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 2:11 AM UTC
It makes me think,
the Egyptians were batshit.
Not that they were idiots.
There's always bits of hay
amongst the piles of needles.
Only just
Thinking.
Why did these naked cats
arrive in Egypt?
They look near human
... in the face, that is.
Well,
the alley cats.
The battle worn
society of cats.
Spartans.
The oppression they hail
down upon their unreachable
indoor
targets.
It's all just out of this
...
realm.
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 2:00 AM UTC
Her hands shake.
She's terrified of this person she's become.
It was never meant to be this way.
One time,
she swore.
One more,
she promised again.
Once a month
once a week
once a day
whenever she got a chance.
She never thought she'd be this way.
An addict.
When did it happen?
Why did it happen?
How?
It started way back when,
when life was kicking her ***
She was drowning,
couldn't keep her head above water.
She struggled.
Kicking and screaming,
she powered on.
Tried
so **** hard.
She made promises
to herself
her friends
her Savior.
She promised
she'd be ok.
She swore she wouldn't
fall victim
like so many before her.
But she's never been good
at keeping her promises.
(Never been good at much,
actually.)
One time
turned to
many
many
many
more.
That night
an addiction started.
And she hates herself for it.
Hates her friends
for never opening
their ******* eyes.
Hates one in particular
for never asking the questions
she should.
Hates another
that she loves
for leaving.
Because that's what it was.
Excuses for unreplied texts
missed calls.
Two months.
She left.
That's what happened.
(Deny it all you want,
but you know for a fact
you stopped caring
when I went batshit.
You know.)
Hates her parents
for pushing
so **** hard.
(Why?
Maybe if I
had actually felt like
the words you say
were true
I wouldn't be here.)
But mostly she hates herself
for succumbing to
an idea
a notion
that never should have been
entertained.
But she did.
Now she's failing at recovery.
Failing being herself.
Failing life in general.
Failing living.
Failing
falling.
Sinking into old habits.
Old addictions.
Her hands shake,
holding the weapon
in this war of self destruction.
It touches her skin,
and she shivers.
****
She wishes she could stop,
that she could be ok.
But she can't.
So she steadies her hands.
Pull.
****
Blood drips,
and her mind is gone.
Such is the life
of an addict.
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 7:50 PM UTC
i always knew you didn't trust me.
i knew you had a secret agenda,
you secret agent you.
i love[d] you more than anyone.
anyone.
i trusted you the most.
ever.
when january rolled around, he was obsolete.
it's you, it's you, it's always been you.
you never let me explain; you don't want to hear.
but it's got to go somewhere, so.
here it goes.
i walked into a life i wasn't welcome in.
i didn't want you to fight for me.
i didn't belong, all my prescence did was cause chaos.
**i was always ******* something up for you.**
you were his, not mine, and it tore me up inside.
**but i didn't want to do a **** thing that could...**
take you from him. from your happiness.
take you from being content without being lonely.
to never make you smile, laugh, everything, was...
more punishment i ever thought i could take.
even worse? being the cause of your unhappiness.
i was always ******* something up for you.
you see, without me? without you fighting for me?
there wouldn't have been the fighting, that shower scene.
i never wanted you to fight for me.
you know i did what i did because i was batshit in love with you.
you know i did it because i didn't care about him, i cared about you.
unfortunately, that came at a price.
the biggest price i've had to pay, really.
i did it to keep you happy.
i didn't want to do or say anything that would...
[make you see your boy in a different light]
**** something else up for you.
i risked everything for you.
i gave up everything,
i gave up you,
for you.
one day, i'll beg.
i'll beg every god i know,
especially the ones i don't believe in.
i'll wish on every dandelion, every star,
to not have done what i did,
to have a second chance.
i've never begged for anyone,
i've never wished for anyone.
not even him.
so you see? it was never him.
it was always you. it's you, it's you.
it's always been you.
honesty may be the best policy,
but you know i'm always looking for a better way.
you know i'm always looking out for you.
i tried, anyway. there wasn't anything i could do
that he hadn't already done.
i wish i could say this was over,
and i was done,
but i can't give you up like i gave him up.
my epitaph will always read,
"she was my only."
Apr 7, 2011
Apr 7, 2011 at 5:58 PM UTC
Fire and wind
of close bullets
tornados, floods, rain
I. C. E. with eyes
sharp as barbed wire
dead souls walking
those pale corridors
with an odor
the color of bone
and skin off the backs
of the poor
in their pockets
like rawhide, they are
rolling, rolling, rolling
***** of dung along
carrying briefcases
full of batshit
and other secret
pestilence yet to come.
May 21, 2019
May 21, 2019 at 9:19 PM UTC
It was a standoff. The fox had never faced a snake. The snake didn't care what the fox saw, it was there for one reason. The snake had a bone to pick, and his own idea of what a fox is. Sly huh?, said the snake. The fox just sat, amazed that the snake spoke his language, or something close to his language. The fox's tongue coiled. So, they call you sly huh?, the snake hissed. You go into the hen house and make a commotion, **** all the chickens and just eat one? Sly? Well, my dear fox, i slither in, eat a couple of eggs and slither out un-noticed. I expect my eggs to be there every time. Then you come and **** the ones who feed me? The fox just sat, hypnotized. He thought to himself, "i can't slither". Well mr fox, you can't slither, said the snake. I was made for S and you were made for F. And yes, they used to use an F as an S. The humans, that is. Anyhow dear sly fox, i came to make a deal...you see, i am owner of all the good S words, and i would also like to do away with the X. See I have scales, but i'm smooth, i look slimy, but i'm just that slick. A fox has fur for warmth...i am cold blooded. So cold. So, here's what i'm gonna do...i went out of my way to get you and me what we need. I see that those flies are bugging you. I will trade you an F from the flies for the S in sly, and leave the flies lay. Lies don't fly, but flies do, and that's not right. So, if you trade me, you will be so fly, and you will also be able to fly. That would be so beautiful to see you do what you're supposed to. And if you think chickens taste good, you should try a chicken hawk. The fox grinned, the snake smiled. Also, i will trade CK for that nasty X. See, my dear foxy, X has to be done away with. X means no, and i don't believe in no. It's like flies. The fox thought he was dreaming. He could be the fly flying fox! Excited, the fox nodded in agreement. The snake grabbed the S and put it in front of snake, making him a ssnake. Then, the snake swallowed the X. There you go my dear fox, we got rid of lies and the X. Plus we helped each other...no lies. See you when i see you ssucker, but i don't look back, said the ssnake. "ok flies, we had a deal and i will return for my other S, and those Z's". The flies buzzed.
What have i done? Now i am a fock!
FOCK!
Those aren't lies, they're flying. He ripped me off.
*** My legs are gone!
The flies buzzed, they knew what was up.
The fock's time was almost up...
The flies couldn't wait, so they began eating...
"Buzz while you still can fools, i am going to make a deal to the bees for those Z's.
A flock of flying foxes flew over, laughing fiendishly. " thanks for letting us keep our X mr ssnake"
"anything for the bats, my friend"
"Batshit crazy my ***
As the snake slithered away, he said "that is one Lying Fock" Hiss.
"The fool didn't realize I am a foxsnake" Hiss. "Sly my ***
*** The fun never ends...
Oct 23, 2021
Oct 23, 2021 at 12:10 PM UTC