"wonka" poems
Have you seen the troubled youth these days?
They're not very troubled at all.
They create their own illness then spread it amongst the masses of degenerates.
The symptoms consist of debauchery and disrespect.
They yell to the crowd, "Look at me for I am broken."
No. You are fixed...fixed onto the idea that one must be troubled to be different.
Oh, have you seen the troubled youth of today?
They're not so troubled after all.
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 10:01 AM UTC
I took my ****** sister Marigold to the cinema,
she had asked specifically and eventually
(she doesn't speak a lot on account of her awful stammer
and amazing cleft palate which has won prizes)
so I knew that this was something she really wanted,
and I teased for her bad taste
when she told me that she wanted to see
"Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Charlie
and the Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Chocolate Factory".
It was a Saturday evening and the local picture house
was showing a re-run of the classic starring Gene Wilder
as the enigmatically stylish ***** Wonka,
and not that steaming great pictorial **** served up by Tim Burton
and I knew that town would be busy with oiks
so as a treat I dressed her up better than usual,
and even gave her a hosedown to get rid of the poopy pong.
She had stopped crying by the time the feature started
and I think the Ooompa Loompa costume grew on her
but that maybe the orange paint was a bit of a bad idea
as people had stared as it was Day-Glo and she stood out
like a bulldog's ******* but I stand by my decision
to dye her hair green, it had taken thought and planning;
it was meant to add to her excitement of the day,
so I meant well, even if I was ineffectual in the end.
I sat her on my lap in the picture house
but still paid for two seats but I do get one ticket half price
though because of her disabilities, so it wasn't all bad,
every cloud and all that, you know what I mean?
She tends to get a little down every now and then
but a £1 cinema ticket partly makes up for being born legless.
I knew from past experience that the cinema staff
prefer me to carry my stunted sis rather than wheeling her in
(I do recall that the time I taped her to her skateboard
proved somewhat a disaster - but really, the fat usher
had a torch and should have watched her step
or otherwise she wouldn't have bust her neck).
The Ooompa Loompa costume allowed Marigold
to amuse herself during the screening
(as there were no leggings to the costume).
She barely noticed when the fat little hero
got blown up on screen except to dribble "chocolate"
from her own little chocolate factory.
It was, all in all, quite an eventful outing
and one I might consider repeating but
probably in a different cinema next time,
mainly because we got banned for life
when the manager saw the condition of the seat.
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 8:06 AM UTC
Reese’s Pieces are for people who
Are used to picking up the pieces
Of broken hearts
But they still want to make it
A good experience
Smiles that look like peanut butter
And kisses that taste like chocolate
Butterfingers are for the kids who
Are used to being picked last for
Everything except to cheat off of
In math class
They’ve grown accustomed to
Not being thought of
Popular kids like the M&Ms;
Because in the end
What else do they have except
For the stories of muses
And the parties they attended
One-by-one they picked apart
Everyone who didn’t act just like them
Pop Rocks are terrible and
So are Peppermint Patties
Crunch bars and 100 Grand’s
Made the jocks think they would actually
Go somewhere and do something
With their lives
Hope comes in strange forms
Monkeys don’t know the difference
Kit-Kats are for the hipsters
Talking a little too loud about mustaches
Listening to music that nobody knew
Grouping around vegan lunch tables
They would break off one by one
When another clique accepted them
Anything made by ***** Wonka
Was a favorite of the kids who
Knew who they were and
Weren’t ashamed
After all, what does candy say
About any of us
Clothes and shoes
Were only disguises
To hide us from the world we
Desperately wanted to fit into
If you had a Five Star notebook
Started mattering a lifetime too soon
When I step into the convenience store
I picture the kids that I know
Because of the candy they ate
I regret having such a sweet tooth
To pick apart kids’ lives
With nothing to satisfy the bitter
After-taste of social humiliation
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 12:02 AM UTC
Why do you think society expects you to
1. Dress the same
2. Talk the same
3. Have the same problems
4. Laugh at the same thing
5. Look your best at all times
Because you let it.
We’re tired of seeing the exact same photo of you with the exact same people in a different bathroom mirror every Friday night.
Why can’t you hangout with other people?
Will it ruin your “rep” that much?
Is it really necessary to get hammered every weekend?
Why are we the ones who have to sit in one spot while you rotate around the room telling the same story to every one of your “friends”
Are you sure they’re your friends?
Because they talk behind your back
Why do you stay with that *******
You know he’s hitting on twenty other girls, including your “best friend”
You spend money to look like you work for ***** Wonka.
Can anyone say Oompa Loompa?
How come we can’t make it through Instagram without knowing your order for Starbucks?
One grande non-fat white soy peppermint mocha at exactly 120 degrees with an extra shot of syrup extra whip and sprinkles put in the cup before anything else. Please?
We can’t afford to buy gas masks just to walk by your locker.
Spraying that much perfume is deadly.
We can never tell if you’re trying to smell nice or trying to start chemical warfare.
Is that makeup or a mask?
Your bra makes you a C-cup but you’re really only an A-cup.
Shhh, we won’t tell the boys.
Is it necessary to stop in the middle of the hallway to talk to your friends?
No, get out of the way please.
We know you have a car
You don’t have to walk around holding your keys all day.
Why do you spend so long trying to perfect the “messy bun” look?
Boys aren’t looking at your hair.
People don’t see you,
they just see your persona.
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 11:45 PM UTC
Gene Wilder's ***** Wonka* once asked me
to step into a world
of pure imagination
and I danced to his voice
of sugary imperfections.
The swelling strings drizzled
on top falsetto inflections
captured me childishly
with candy-coated attentions
But even the finest chocolate melts,
and I learned to let purity be
pushed by treacly lyrics
or stern midgets secure
in their fudge-topped zealotry.
It sifts too pretty for me,
powdering my grown-up
infatuations with petty
wants, getting a little messy
What I crave instead's stained-glass contraptions
to propel me past the stretches
of biblical proportion
where light and dark don't mix.
I'm no Idiot, good-hearted
in the veins of Fyodor
or Akira, and I can't see
beyond the pure tedium
of a blurredly driven snow
I like my mental drifts grime-choked and splotched
with some savory do
dropped in to dissolve flossy
confections to a salted soup
of imagined impurity.
May 20, 2010
May 20, 2010 at 6:08 PM UTC
hold my mind
it feels like soaked cheetos
puffy and orange
my feet are calloused with thought
and i have been stringing along ties
with too many people
hold my head
as i think about the men i meet in transition
instability in the back of a kit kat bar
and Los Angeles literature
because disappointment bends the broken
the soft cranium crunch
split to be eaten
but built to be shared
hold my thoughts
because im falling asleep in elevators
no longer able to choose the floor
save me from the ponder
from putting bottle caps on shelves
the gravity of my fingertips keeps lighting candles upside down
creating limitless space and
useless entities
hold my belongings so my brain can breathe
because unlike my mouth it cannot reach
you are my deep breath
pudding melted in my lungs
ill have an affair with the Wonka man
just to keep me from loving you
he could store me in one of his rooms
drown me with the a heavy chest
of something dark and semisweet
hold my body and steal my soul
because i group anything you sphere
and my life keeps changing all the love i need
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 4:06 AM UTC
I am actually a huge fan of Banksy and thoroughly enjoyed Dismaland but the A level kids I teach at a school just down the road from Weston couldn't get in because they've got Art P2. We wrote letters and sent emails but had no reply. They were very disillusioned by it all so their art teacher decided to take them to Dismaland and show some of their work on the grass outside. Security were not impressed and called the police. We made a film about it and I read this poem at the gates. This is the first part.
So this is where this tale will start,
Of What is Banksy? Who is art?
You're the joke now, don't you see?
This ****** ticket lottery,
For crazy cats who play the rules
Not you poor buggers stuck in schools
Can’t press refresh at the stroke of ten
Cos that's exactly the time when
the bell rings for art to begin
The irony is lost on him.
No tickets in your grubby hand
Cos schools cant afford the broadband.
Don't look at me with dismal faces
You lot sure are going places
Yep, you're all sat on a train
Going to weston in the rain
Who do you lot think you are?
No movie queens nor a rock star
You don't fly in from LA
You don't even have a card to pay
No Damien's, No Brad. No Suze.
Pack up your dreams kids,
Born to lose.
Like a load of buckets to the factory gate
Where we'll have to stand and stand and wait
He is not Wonka, he's not your friend,
This Charlie gets nothing in the end.
So looks like we might not get in,
Stare them down kids, take ours to him.
Banksy Inc. has made these choices,
But they can't silence all our voices.
Helllooooooo Banksy?
Are you there?
Going to show these kids you care?
Open up those hallowed portals
For this lot of mere mortals?
They've brought stuff they want to show
It's really very good you know
Because they made it from the heart
Not for a calendar of street art
You know? Like how you used to be?
Before they showed you on TV.
They protest about stuff for reals,
And soon be snapping at the heels
Of all the London folk in there
Sell for a million but pretend they care.
Come on Banksy they'll be good
Take their selfies like they should.
Come on Banksy, just be nice,
They'll snap up all your merchandise
And shuffle round the park like drones
Take out pocket money loans.
Listen kids, this isn't working,
Banksy's in his rolls and shirking,
We don't need to storm the walls
We can show them we've got *****
By standing here and giving free
What they've all spent five quid to see.
Oct 12, 2017
Oct 12, 2017 at 3:47 PM UTC
(I live in Cali, Colombia)
1. My sketchy run-in with the cute gluehead.
2. You say you’re armed, my girlfriend says you can’t have my camera.
3. I guess I’m bilingual, but man do I feel stupid right now.
4. No, coworker, I don’t feel like sharing with you why I’m going hiena in the break room. (culprit)
5. What a pain that I don't remember your name.
6. I ate my brains for breakfast with onion, tomato, and toast.
7. If my daydreams were broad cast right now your boyfriend would probably hurt me.
8. You, my friend, are my friend.
9. Just dropped a drumstick 3 songs into our very first gig.
10. No sir I don’t want to buy that gun...oh...what’s that? You’d like the contents of my pockets?
11. My pleasant walk to wherever.
12. Clandestine house-party tonail clipping session.
13. My beard is doing a fantastic ashtray impersonation.
14. Beérjá vu.
15. “Um...did I really just say that?"
16. Gringo moment #247.
17. Well well welcome to ***** Wonka’s South American silicone factory.
18. Are my neighbors being cold because they know I puked in their front garden?
19. Everyone is staring at me...must be time for a haircut.
20. ”Is this who I’m supposed to be?"
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 3:26 PM UTC
I'll stain my wrist cherry red,
I'll hang myself with angel hair [1]
I'll jump off a choco cliff
And smell bacon in the air.
Drown myself in sea of grease;
In lard or melted butter
Get lost in a Balck Forest,
Eat fondant rocks for dinner.
Stick Butterfinger down my throat
Until I can no longer breathe
Peel off my caramel skin
And run through a pile of wheat.
I'll fly my way to Sweetzerland
And then I will jump off the plane;
Railroad trip with Willie Wonka
Then get myself crushed by a train.
I'll put the gun on my temples,
Pull the trigger, out the whip cream
Roll on hot coal with Tootsie [2]
Up in the skies you'll see our steam.
I'll grate my fingers just like cheese
And dice my arms like tomatoes;
Chop the onions, hold your tears
Mash my head like potatoes.
I'd stuff myself just like turkey
A big, fat one on Thanksgiving
I'd eat to death ruthlessly
So full that I'll be choking.
Fillet myself, eat my own meat
Or not, 'cause that would be so gross
I'll poison myself instead
A drop on my wine - let's toast!
I'd overdoze on sedatives
Each pill the size of Jellybeans
Or cross the road with closed eyes
Or live in a garbage bin.
Get under attacked by hornets
As I steal their precious honey
Huge marshmallows in my mouth
Die playing Chubby Bunny.
Ride a ship on a raging sea
Of milk or strawberry smoothie
And I'll let my boat be wrecked
Then feed a whale with cookie.
Get free popcorn with your ticket
As you watch me die, sit back
Don't stand 'til it is over,
Enjoy the show and relax.
This is what you always wanted -
See me lying on my coffin
I'll make you watch in total dread
As I **** myself with muffins.
And when I die, donut tell her -
My sweetest darling - Baby Ruth
She might slap you out of shock,
You might lose not just one tooth.
From the grave, I'll send you Kisses
My dear old Cad, bury me [3]
Give this body a Reese's [4]
From food that is it's enemy.
I have here a cake for you
Open your mouth, gently chew,
Close your eyes and hold your breath,
Savor now the taste of death.
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 2:32 AM UTC
Lately I've been feeling as if everything I'm writing belongs
under the kitchen sink with all the Comet and various brands of bleach and the
rest of the junk cleaning supplies that haven't been used since
the early nineties.
Ideas are scarce,
thoughts aren't making the cut,
and I feel like I'm in a more disconcerting version of ***** Wonka's glass elevator
riding robotically in this box,
puncturing others' moments with its corners like they're
gigantic, ecstasy-encompassed balloons
capable of doing nothing more than
launching weak waves of laughter
that languidly dissipate when they reach the
hard exterior of my cage
Jan 23, 2013
Jan 23, 2013 at 2:59 PM UTC
who's afraid of
someone who downed 140cl of whiskey
going blind blah duck blah
qua qua quack for each and
every dwarf like ***** wonka tasting cyanide
saying: it's syrian blue cheese, or else middle
eastern schnapps! refreeze! refreeze the snowman!
we got a bucket-load of adverts in nappies
for charity companies; every parishioner on the ready...
gluttony regurgitated go! blow inserted into the
word blah, akin to bloat but with blah the cursor.
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 10:59 PM UTC
RECORD: 2 + 2 = 5
FROGMAN: RaiDIhO HEAD
***** Wonka: ... There's no Hearthly way of knowing
Which way they are growing.
There's no knowing where they're toe-ing.
Mr. Salt: [weakly echoing] Toe-ing...
***** Wonka: Or which way thought streams'a'flowin.
Is it braining, is it storming?
Is a braining-storm a'blowin'?
[sharp rasp] ***** Wonka: Not a speck of light is showing
So the anger must be growing
Are the fires of passion a'glowing?
Is the grimsly leader mowing?
Yes! The anger must be growing
'Cause the toe-ers keep on throwing
[practically stcreaming] ***** Wonka: And they're certainly not showing
Any sign that they are slowing!
[lets out a high-pitched, almost unHearthly stcream]
Dr. Frodrick Fronkensteen: Throw!... the Hearth Switch!
eyeGore: [shocked] Not the Hearth Switch!
And, while sparks flew across the slab,
The Number 5, with lies and tame,
Came whiffling through the Tulgey Lab,
And burbled as it came!"
-- Lewis Carroll
Suzy's: It halted,
and it gurgled The QCuloween's Trademark Seal,
"I'm just Around 5 foot 9, and weigh a buck ninety-fine!"
STOP: TURN THOUGHT
Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 at 4:39 PM UTC
"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
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 1:10 AM UTC
Dear mother and father,
If not for you I wouldn't be here.
Literally.
I thank you for all the years of
encouragement.
You've never given up on me,
When I wanted to give up on myself.
Forever and always I am yours,
Grateful and so very, very proud to be yours.
Dear Sisters, my emotional paradise.
Whenever something goes wrong,
You help me stand up.
You take my hands and for that,
I smile and give thanks.
Never forget that I will always be there.
Dear Brothers, my stone pillars.
You have always protected me from
Anything and everything.
No matter what you will always
Be my guardians.
Dear Aunt and Uncle, my river and sky.
You keep me grounded and my dreams
In the stars.
Reality has never seemed so real.
For giving me an ear and listening,
I shower you with kisses of thanks.
Dear Cousins, my surrounding forests.
All fun and no work.
You keep me laughing in spite of distance.
When in doubt I turn to you.
Embracing you so you never forget.
Dear Grandma and Grandpa, my memories of gold.
I remember the days spent in the leaves.
I remember the golden fur, Jefferson, of course.
I remember the yards and yards of grass.
A giant rock with bursts of color, years of play.
A chocolate factory that puts wonka to shame.
Memories upon memories, of which none
I will forget.
If you ever think you are alone,
Let me tell you, you are wrong.
I know you're proud and I am always here.
Dear Me,
Look at what you have and
Know that you are loved.
I realize I wouldn't trade them for
The world.
I will support them for years and years
To come.
When people complain at the gift they are given,
I know I am blessed.
Forever and always,
Forever mine,
Forever in my heart,
Soul,
And mind.
Dec 31, 2012
Dec 31, 2012 at 9:56 PM UTC
N64 Flow
Controllers Rattling
Mario Battling Bowser
Solar Traveling
Star Foxin for hours
Toy Boxes, Trinkets, and World watches
Sipping Soda fizzing
Eating crunchy Frito Snippets
Watching ***** Wonka
wishing I had a golden ticket
Scraped knees, Bicycle Tracking
Wilds woods equal childhood
Blueberry & cheery picking
Kisses from a girl who was
older are still vivid
No witnesses were present, but presents were still given
In the form of innocence
It's was nothing but child play
Assorted memories
Become a part of my current day
Who's to say that I've changed?
As I reminisce, my past was forged of oddities, deceptions of tall tales and everyday Odyssey's
Pictures of wild women, explicit ***********
Disney diluted story's and fictional prophecies
Depictions that lacked religion
Late night Toonami dreams
Insights from other youth
that didn't make sense logically
Visits to the water fountain periodically
Teacher said there's no such thing as dumb questions
but they never answered honestly
Everything I've learned from life
I've already learned from Monopoly
I'm always landing on GO,
therefore I'm moving with the green
House rules obviously
You can interpret that as currency
in our current state physically
But I just see it as a
constant stream of positivity
To create is a state that is channeled by electricity
Childhood memories is my youths ticket for authenticity
Those days were full of fun and madness
This excitement couldn't have been replicated by a smartphone nor tablet
Sunshine & green grass actual outdoor access
Inhale curiosity, exhale the astonishing
Running at full speed, gunning at high velocity
The excitement was never ending
a continuous lottery
Summer books I would never read
Instead, I drew in the summer breeze
Illustrations of disfigured stick figure's and murderous scenes
I realize that I have no idea, who I'm destined to be
I don't know where my next travels will lead
I am but nomad upon a land with no wagon or steed
**** these contraptions for my actions speak louder then screens
An N64 and one controller is all I need
Nov 21, 2016
Nov 21, 2016 at 11:58 PM UTC
You put a whole new taste to sugar
Those candy commercials couldn't label the sweetness of you
***** Wonka is drinking himself to sleep
Because you're the superior type of candy when I put you into words
I don't sweet talk to get something
I sweet talk cause its honestly true
Your precensce sticks to me like glue
All those books with Mary Sues
Unrealistically describes you
All the food in the fridge is expired
But not my love for you
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
Human ****
human ****
Avarice
Get that ****
Out of my dish
How many species
Do you wish
Extinct by Swedish overfish
Are you so fond of licorice?
Like cavities on Halloween
You rot away my clenching teeth
Spoiled children trick or treat
So concerned with what to eat
While glaciers melt like Hershey bars
In Hot Tamale heat
As oceans rise
You feast blind eyes
And licorice blackens the skies
Making my blood pressure high
Unwrapping one more Smartie
Just to find an Air-Head Spree
And now I'm left here questioning
My ***** Wonka sanity
For thinking I could save these kids
From Candy Land's of apathy
Stuck on selfish sticky squares
Lord Licorice tormenting me
With sugar-coated ignorance
Preferred over
The sour patch
Of truth too bitter for their lips
Starbursting, Milky Way abyss
Warheads warping face and time
Mere rainbows to your skittle bliss
The end of mine? No sweets to find
You've left me only licorice
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 12:05 AM UTC
I'm well aware of your existence, orange-skinned fitness aliens.
You mask yourselves with the power of cosmetic force.
Tanning beds are your temples and Snooki is your Goddess.
Say goodbye to your ******* self of natural beauty. For you now have a shiny, new, orange-colored meat-coat that people can admire and laugh at you about. Congratulations, the Sun is now useless in your eyes.
Welcome, UV-A exposure. Goodbye, UV-B exposure. They never bothered to know you and for that, the Sun is jealous of your own insecurity. While chemicals are seeping into the very core of your being, others can't wait to hop onto your fashion train and bed of self-proclaimed beauty. Bravo! I'd give you a pat on the back, but you might scream and my hand might start glowing orange. Others are a nice white, bronze, brown, black, red, but not you. You're on a whole other level of society. Maybe you are an Oompa Loompa created by ***** Wonka.
I think you have separated yourself from the rest of humanity and created your own race of beings. If that's so, than this poem has made me out to be a "racist" ******* but alas, I must digress.
Hey now, the Metro Fitness competition is calling your name. You orange people, go forth, with your brawn and beauty. Your bulging triceps and rippling deltoids have sprayed sardonic smiles onto our faces, much like some of your spray-on tans.
Some of our hearts may be touched, but your pride is intangible.
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 12:42 PM UTC
1. I've known for a while now,
but putting words to feelings
is one thing, whereas saying
those words is quite another.
2. You said it one of the first
times I made you come. You
didn't mean it, and I laughed.
3. I looked at you while
we watched *****
Wonka in your dad's favorite
chair, and I knew.
4. I tried to tell you after Thanksgiving,
but it just made me want to cry. I
turned away; I don't think you saw.
5. When I said goodbye to
my mom on the phone and
said it habitually, I thought
I saw you smiling.
6. You left a poem in one of my
notebooks, and wrote it in morse
code for me to figure out. A little
piece of my heart flew away; I haven't
seen it since.
7. Your drunk best friend casually
said you did, assuming you'd
already told me. You gave him
a look, and I laughed.
8. I spit it out in the middle
of the night, after weeks of choking
on it, and you squeezed my hand
and mumbled. The next morning, you
brought it up and I said "well, just
so you know!" and we laughed.
9. It's 4am and I can't get it out of my head.
10. "I love you,
I love you,
I love you,
but I'm so ******* scared."
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 6:00 PM UTC
How is it that ***** Wonka's factory
Is suddenly my little shop of horrors?
I was overwhelmed with excitement at first
Mmm honey, you taste so sweet
But too much is never good
Walking through wonderland
I began to realize there was so much excitement
I wanted everything
And I got everything
Everything
That word sticks like butterscotch
Everything that was good
Everything that was bad
I couldn't handle all of it
And the wonderful things
In the dark, towered over me
Intimidating I thought
My dreams had become nightmares
I'd fallen for candy's trick
And now I'm stuck knee deep in honey
Apr 3, 2012
Apr 3, 2012 at 10:04 PM UTC
they're not nightmares
anymore
and i should think that would make a difference
but it doesn't
my dreams are a plague
infecting every part of me
every vessel, every *****
every nerve and every cell
every night
a Wonka riverboat ride down the rabbit hole into Madness
and mixed metaphors
a kaleidoscopic psychic calliope
of psychedelic psychosis
i remember when dreams used to comfort
bring relief and restitution
or delightful reminiscence
or strange beauty
but my dreams are now a plague
they exhaust me
all vivid surreal visions
of mundane interactions
with a world I do not recognize
that feels uncomfortably
intimately
Familiar
waking in those peaceful hours of pre- and post-dawn
that peace is lost on me
lying there, almost paralyzed
i do not remember my dreams
so much as i
Recover from them
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 11:24 AM UTC
***** Wonka's ***** is wonky,
I wanted to write it down
But I didn't bring my pren.
He tried to hand me one,
I said, "Not now, we're in the car."
She burst out laughing.
Poking the booth.
Hole. Hole. Hole.
he said, "no, it's not big enough."
And she always likes to be the Devil's
abst, abti, avsti, avocate.
The conversation tries to continue on
while I cry,
"Stop! I have to write this down!
Hand me the pren."
He asks if I'm going to include:
"Front hole so happy, back hole sing song."
I don't know, maybe,
and yet I have.
He needs to see "The Exorcist",
the movie, not the person.
I offered to exorcise him, if he needed it -
"Baby."
but he hasn't eaten any split pea soup recently
so I don't see the need.
The smoke crowds around him,
the one who doesn't practice the cancer stick mojo,
and she says,
"Just say - I hate rabbits."
"What?"
"I hate rabbits, it makes the smoke go away."
"I hate rabbits."
The second hand cloud disappears.
"See?"
"You're not normal."
She laughs and replies that it's
the normals you have to watch out for.
She and I decided to write a letter to
Destiny,
relaying that
no matter how hard we try to convince him,
he does not believe in her existence.
However,
Nobody expects the
Spanish Inquisition.
May 12, 2010
May 12, 2010 at 7:13 PM UTC