An ode to Marv
So I wrote a poem. I am rather proud of it. And how did this happen? Fifty pages of bedtime Chandler on an empty stomach, followed by a dawn awakening. Obviously, it had to be,
---
The death of a moll
You see honey, the problem is:
I have things to say,
Ideas smarter than shots.
I have painted pictures,
Not all dried in red.
I will have music left to play,
Cantos softer than farewells.
I have time on my hands,
But you have slipped through my fingers.
Good bye.
---
An obvious question is as there is so much poetic garbage strewn around, cloggin' the literary alleyways, why pollute more?
Well, it is much more fun to with poems pretend, than to work attend.
posted by i at 8:03 PM
15 Comments:
Puktastic!
How does puke taste?
Just like a drunk at a bar, I'll have another.
try and avoid eating drunk's at bar. Even Kevin's dog drew a line at that. You never know how unsophisticated their choice in beer may be.
My comment had nothing to do with the your previous one. It was more of a compliment and you struck out.
Strike out? Why would I strike out, I don't even play baseball.
But, I understand now. You were not telling me how puke tastes. It does not taste like a drunk at a bar. In fact, you have no idea how either one those two items on the menu taste. Good for you. And I am sure the drunk at the bar is happy to find that though he may be missing a brain, his vitals are intact. Drunks don't really consider brain vital.
I ramble, and unfortunately, not on hills.
Oh, and thanks for the compliment. I assume the cheque is in the mail. How much did you send?
http://www.shanemcdonald.com/laughs/l-office-psychopath-test.html
hehe. I see that ever since you have started showing some form of liking for Marv, people have taken up trying to prove you're a psycho. At least, some of your previous comments seem to indicate that.
Well, then I am glad I hid the castrated hen underneath my pillow. If they had found that, there would be nothing left to prove. How boring.
The fact that hen's cannot be castrated only indicates the depth of my malady.
i! You have magnificent people posting on your site. They have all risen from their graves to comment. Oliver Cromwell here, and Sylvia Plath in the last one. You do turn it on, don't you? hehe
And let us not forget the fox. thehounds of thought are after him. (PS: No offence, fox, it's all fun!)
I'm a girl my dear the_same_anoymous. Yes, I'm very much female. :-)
Don't forget Alfred Alder, though everyone does. Where would we be without the inferiority complex?
Do psychopaths have any kind of inferiority complex? Simplistic Superiority.
Word verification is "dsiimxet". haha
Right, daily roundup. What with dead psychotic poets writing poetry that reminds one of bedraggled sheets, foxes gambolling about and undergoing frequent personality changes, and anonymous people all identifying themselves with the One Great Anon, I am confused.
Randomly,
1. Why does Alfred Alder, God knows who he is, have an inferiority complex?
2. And, yes, psychopaths can have inferiority complexes. There are some who fret over the fact that they never could puncture as many holes in their victims as Jack the Ripper. Others worry that they will never be good enough to keep their customers interested in the proceedings as long as Marv. Finally, so many psychopaths truncate a promising hacking career because they couldn't come to terms with the fact that they might not be deriving as much pleasure from their work as Marquis de Sade. So, you see, it happens all the time.
3. Why would the hounds of thought be after a Fox? He should be after an idea.
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