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pat Sep 2014
"I am going to punch you in the face" he said
burn
wistling sounds
wiped
wiped again
It's not a falicy
It's reality
you walk, you talk, you die
wonka? He was a sadistic ****
I'd drink his **** if  I had it in me
Everlasting gob stoppers. Clod hoppers
Fizzy lifting drinks to poo stink
swallow blood fest
**** out the rest
Sarpinos torpedos
squeeze my labedo chester chito
flaming hot meat he don't eat
so discreat. Now wipe your water on my leg.
is it really midnight.
YEAHHHHH
goodbye
Strangers we are
Living near or far
We started something bold
Let’s not leave it dim and cold

For we have a bond
That goes above and beyond
So happy to meet
Lets not let it end short but sweet


*@jobiranyc
Angel-like rain castle
(11/2/2017)
What a stimulating conversation
I might have a revelation

For new possibility
Emotional tranquility
If your mind is open and calm
My words will hold you closer
Till your heart is warm

The heart might be warm
but it can still do harm
for the heart
can tear you apart
love can forsake
if you let your heart partake,
it's all a mistake

Living in fear
of the unknown mistakes,
far or near
Life is then in dismay
Without nothing,
to sleeping one day

**jobiranyc
Angel-like rain castle
(10/31/2017)

Part 2 of 5
To be continued....
Yenson Nov 2023
We will **** him up
We will bug him non-stop
mess up his head and alter his personality
We will terrorize his mind and **** it
He won't know who he is
He will only exist, not live
( as if that's not a classic oxymoron )
He is banned from ever making a meaningful relationship
Anything he says will be used against him
He will never trust anybody again
By the time we finish with him, he would wish he was dead

Hey! hey, what did he do?

We, the Red Left Wing, Nihilisism Faction and in colaboration with Local Criminal Gangs solemnly declare above proclaimations in
solidarity with the MaCarffety Criminal family, who as underdogs
exercise their Human Rights to break into their next door neighbour's flat and burgle them.

Hey! hey, what did he do

This neighbour were two decent hardworking, Law-abiding couple, with double income, a good car and a prosperous future ahead, so why should they complain when the Macarfetty Criminal Family burgled them. Though the MaCarfetty are a dysfunctional drunken Layabout bad'uns, they are the underdogs and thus deserve our solidarity and the couple burgled deserved to be ruined and sent back to Square One.

Hey! hey, what did he do

THUS THE PROCLAIMATIONS ABOVE IS HELD AND EFFECTED.....So be it, we look after our own...Innit..!!

================================================­===========
Those of you with a sense of humoir may enjoy the article below by Jeremy Clarkson, published recently ....

WHEN the Labour Party was formed at the beginning of the 20th century, its main aim was to turn Britain into a proto-Marxist state.
But among all the communistical twaddle, there was always a noble goal. It wanted to look after the little guy.
The miner who spent 27 hours a day at the coal face. And the factory worker who spent all week not quite making Austin Allegros.
The trouble is that today there are no pits, and robots do most of the heavy lifting in the car plants.
So the Labour Party has switched its focus to a new type of little guy.
The oppressed minorities. It doesn’t matter how mad these minorities might be, Sir Starmer’s merry band of weird beards is always ready to give them a hug and a cup of ginger-infused nuclear-free peace tea.
Transgenderists. Vegetablists. People from the far end of the LGBTQIAP+ acronym.
The Just Stop Oil mob and their mates in Extinction Rebellion.
All these people are the new miners
And this is what frightens me about the inevitability of a Labour victory in the next general election.
Sir Starmer may stand there under his Playmobil hair, pretending to be sensible, but behind him there’s an army of Corbyn enthusiasts who don’t really care about the economy, or law and order, or immigration.
Those are middle-class issues, mainstream issues, so they don’t matter.
What does matter in the socialist heartland — the sixth-form common room — is the little guy.
So, there will be new laws to ensure that if you so much as look at a ginger in a funny way, or you express displeasure at some herbert who’s glued himself to the road, or you employ a man, you will be charged with a hate crime.
It’s already hard enough for older people to keep up with the changes.
I had 60 years of knowing for sure that women didn’t have penises.
And then, in the past three, I’ve been told that actually, some of them do.
And I must accept that or else. And there’s more.
All of the jokes we laughed at in the Seventies will become illegal.
All the things we said to our friends. All of the TV shows we watched. All the chants we sang at football matches. Every WhatsApp we’ve ever shared. We must forget them all and accept that everything we’ve ever thought or learned or said or done is now offensive and wrong. That’s going to be hard. Let me put it this way.
If you took a kind-hearted lefty from an uber-woke town like Brighton and made them live in Tehran, they may try to fit in.
But at some point they’re going to accidentally do something they didn’t even realise was a crime. And they’ll wind up with no head.
Red-baiting, also known as reductio ad Stalinum and red-tagging (in the Philippines), is an intention to discredit the validity of a political opponent and the opponent's logical argument by accusing, denouncing, attacking, or persecuting the target individual. The phrase, red refers to the color that traditionally symbolized left-wing politics worldwide since the 19th century, while baiting refers to persecution, torment, or harassment, as in baiting.
There is no graceful transition
of a cup of hot hot coffee
from one hand to another hand,
the cup only has one handle.

It is inherantly akward,
almost as if it’s intended,
a brief, forced, colaboration
to keep the coffee in the cup.

Contorting to not spill a drop,
Still, clumbsy, after these long years
and a thousand repetitions,
ten thousand hot cups of coffee.

We angle ourselves to the task,
a brief intimate fumbling,
until the cup is handed off,
and the best part of it is gone.

                                     -Still Here

— The End —