Rough day at the job,
Come home to empty pantry,
I will beat my wife
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
The Baron
Do they think
That they can just not tell us
When the King dons his wordrobe?
Bullshit
Here, on this day my gentleman,
We shall form a list of complaints.
So that the court may see
That our baronny-asses mean business.
That they can just not tell us
When the King dons his wordrobe?
Bullshit
Here, on this day my gentleman,
We shall form a list of complaints.
So that the court may see
That our baronny-asses mean business.
No more of the courtier's bullshit.
No more of the King's bullshit.
No more of the count's bullshit.
No more of Francois' bullshit.
No more of Leroy's bullshit.
No more of the King's bullshit.
No more of the count's bullshit.
No more of Francois' bullshit.
No more of Leroy's bullshit.
List of complaints:
1. The high podium of the barons is not a receptacle for the Archduke's undergarments.
2. Peasants may not mingle amongst barons in their chambers.
3. Twenty schillings is not enough for the damage that Viceroy Ralph did to Baron Von Gladstone.
4. No one frots with us. (Someone's got to frot)
5. SOMEONE FROT WITH US!!!
2. Peasants may not mingle amongst barons in their chambers.
3. Twenty schillings is not enough for the damage that Viceroy Ralph did to Baron Von Gladstone.
4. No one frots with us. (Someone's got to frot)
5. SOMEONE FROT WITH US!!!
The Peasant
Ay me heard me hounds a soundin agayn
Looks it muddled at the castle yonder hilled
Ohhhh bloody hell Doris not agayn
And at tree in the morner
Bloody hell.
Bleedin alchemists sockin at me portal
Be gone with ye wizards
Get back to yer dungons,
Oh Mr. Kingly thrown yer out her diddie now?
Well get yer serry arses out me eyesites
Bloody hell Doris, not agayn!
Ear come the cunting criers.
What’s this be doing now his Kingling?
Ay the wordorbe donning is be done!
Oh bloody hell of curse it’s ner truble tall
I thunk it were a toosday not a werdnesderday.
Slinky me oh my apologetics to ye friend!
I shouldsya nonnit were the nite uh the duke council meetin
Doris! His kingshippsing needs a sheeps and two porkish loinings!
Bloody hell.
What is François smokin on high?
Best never be trustin barons up on that castled hilly.
Will thems never leaves that bleedin castle?
Back to beddybed me dainty Doris.
Looks it muddled at the castle yonder hilled
Ohhhh bloody hell Doris not agayn
And at tree in the morner
Bloody hell.
Bleedin alchemists sockin at me portal
Be gone with ye wizards
Get back to yer dungons,
Oh Mr. Kingly thrown yer out her diddie now?
Well get yer serry arses out me eyesites
Bloody hell Doris, not agayn!
Ear come the cunting criers.
What’s this be doing now his Kingling?
Ay the wordorbe donning is be done!
Oh bloody hell of curse it’s ner truble tall
I thunk it were a toosday not a werdnesderday.
Slinky me oh my apologetics to ye friend!
I shouldsya nonnit were the nite uh the duke council meetin
Doris! His kingshippsing needs a sheeps and two porkish loinings!
Bloody hell.
What is François smokin on high?
Best never be trustin barons up on that castled hilly.
Will thems never leaves that bleedin castle?
Back to beddybed me dainty Doris.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
The King
Sound the trumpets!
leaves this fucking castle until the duke council has met.
You got that?
Alert François the chef!
Tell him code dread, we need his special broth!
The barons you say?
Fuck!
I forgot about the barons! Well…
Tell them nothing, it’s best if they don’t know.
You can never trust a baron…
The Viceroy! Get him to the safechamber.
Throw out the alchemists! Clean the dungeons!
Get me the bishop, dammit!!!
And tell him to bring his sheep, or else we’re all fucked!
What’s that? The Archduke is in France?
Fuck! We can’t waste any time! Empty the chambers!
Proclaim to the peasants!
Send out the criers! Tell them…
The King has donned his earthly wordrobe!
Release the hounds!
Release the trumpets!Sound the hounds!
Call the dukes! They must assemble! Nobody-leaves this fucking castle until the duke council has met.
You got that?
Alert François the chef!
Tell him code dread, we need his special broth!
The barons you say?
Fuck!
I forgot about the barons! Well…
Tell them nothing, it’s best if they don’t know.
You can never trust a baron…
The Viceroy! Get him to the safechamber.
Throw out the alchemists! Clean the dungeons!
Get me the bishop, dammit!!!
And tell him to bring his sheep, or else we’re all fucked!
What’s that? The Archduke is in France?
Fuck! We can’t waste any time! Empty the chambers!
Proclaim to the peasants!
Send out the criers! Tell them…
The King has donned his earthly wordrobe!
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Hot Party Tonight?
The night was just
…
heavy,
heavy,
in a
heavy sublime way.
night was sweaty
wine was heady
mead was meady
at 5 I was ready for party
part two
Morning:
damn the sun always
coming up unwanted
like the not-really-a-friend
who doofs up in your space
jamming your brain waves
Late Morning:
I crawled into the farthest reaches
Of my sleeping bag
Hiked up my breaches as I bragged
Of 15 brews (downed like a champ)
Whilst I screwed a (something?) warm and damp
Where is I?
Probably Nottingham.
Where am I going?
Home.
Climbing up my roof
Making cold beds look night-slept.
Drunk on life.
Sober by noon.
…
heavy,
heavy,
in a
heavy sublime way.
night was sweaty
wine was heady
mead was meady
at 5 I was ready for party
part two
Morning:
damn the sun always
coming up unwanted
like the not-really-a-friend
who doofs up in your space
jamming your brain waves
Late Morning:
I crawled into the farthest reaches
Of my sleeping bag
Hiked up my breaches as I bragged
Of 15 brews (downed like a champ)
Whilst I screwed a (something?) warm and damp
Where is I?
Probably Nottingham.
Where am I going?
Home.
Climbing up my roof
Making cold beds look night-slept.
Drunk on life.
Sober by noon.
Monday, June 1, 2009
The Blongorth
Three scienticians depthed the many-footed Blongorth.
Caging the magnitude, they scored a test of intelligence.
Unanimous deliberation arrived at concrete conclusion.
“This is no man.”
Many study-months go by.
Three scienticians furrow brows and think fingers over mouth,
No symptom of glee, manifestation of appetite, only signals of grief
“The Blongorth is a solitary creature,” spake the heavy-holy sagacious textbook
“Wild-freedom is advisable.”
Good-bye day came and went.
Three scienticians read late-nights about insomnia,
Three scienticians discovered sleep difficult sans Blongorth nightly cage sounds
From within the neighboring lab.
Three scienticians left the Blongorth by the New Jersey Turnpike
Three scienticians recall his lonesome cowboy groan,
And regret his misty cowboy eyes in the science-van rearview.
They gave him a book bag and few wrinkled t-shirts.
The heavy-holy sagacious textbook was.
Wrong.
The Blongorth is a social creature.
The Blongorth only needs a friend.
Caging the magnitude, they scored a test of intelligence.
Unanimous deliberation arrived at concrete conclusion.
“This is no man.”
Many study-months go by.
Three scienticians furrow brows and think fingers over mouth,
No symptom of glee, manifestation of appetite, only signals of grief
“The Blongorth is a solitary creature,” spake the heavy-holy sagacious textbook
“Wild-freedom is advisable.”
Good-bye day came and went.
Three scienticians read late-nights about insomnia,
Three scienticians discovered sleep difficult sans Blongorth nightly cage sounds
From within the neighboring lab.
Three scienticians left the Blongorth by the New Jersey Turnpike
Three scienticians recall his lonesome cowboy groan,
And regret his misty cowboy eyes in the science-van rearview.
They gave him a book bag and few wrinkled t-shirts.
The heavy-holy sagacious textbook was.
Wrong.
The Blongorth is a social creature.
The Blongorth only needs a friend.
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