The Biggest Douche

You’re a vaginal washout
A walking abortion
I’d take your six for lunch
but that would just be extortion

and I’m no bully
Just a jester in rags
A poet, with a chuckle,
Lighting up two fags

and when you reach for your share,
I slap your manicure away
You want a drag from my deck?
Fat chicks like you gotta pay.

—————————————————–

Ever since John Paul
The Bunny Throne has lacked a rabbit.
You cannot be a nun
Without a single worn out habit.

____________________________________

Yours truly,

The Turd Sandwich

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Goyim Of Prog

Well look at you go

You done forgot the clay

They made you of

And though I try to turn

Your gaze with love

Still do you push a wedge

 

Just read the ticker
And suddenly your inner
fire’s aflicker
They didn’t even have to
Touch the clicker.
You channelled them on your own.

 

The stake you’re driving
is Sanchezium exercising
You can’t stop the Unifying
Squad of pirates or no
So bring the worst you can
Revoke my own word Man

My edge is still your unknown.

 

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Boon-docked Saint (Blows at High Thrones)

They shot a movie once,
About a man
He had two sons to take his name
But neither took his hand

His blows were heavy
But he struck out
Now his at bat number’s coming
He’s gonna triumph here anyhow

He’s gonna triumph here anyhow

Oh Duke, blessed old Duke
Please don’t taunt the bull
Waving red, like a shot to the head
You’re gonna take the horns on full

Well, taxi drivers lack every rhythm
Daemons every one
Full of passion, full of passion, yeah
Their angles all come undone

Well, some times, the denser it gets
The less your blows can harm
But you gotta remember the sounds of this Hell
The Trumpets that sound alarm

Seems I’m buying this farm

Seems I’m owning this harm.

Three score six hands by charm.

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Pirate of Spinster Virtue (An Ode to Penn’s Aunts)

 

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Eat (m)E

Here, would E.T.’s pH fit?

Or would he make a pro of it?

He couldn’t Unify with Base

So acid was this forlorn place.

Elliot would prove his savior

Only through naivete

Kang tried that on Bart one time;

He did not win the day.

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Lord Stanley’s C=U=P

Dense

To the point of opacity
In a Babylon that stinks
of allergy to veracity
I remain tenacious,

cos I’m in Unit D
Brute squad would fall in seconds if it wasn’t for me
I rep the Drill Sergeant when he’s crying in his tent
Man, you would not believe the heart with which he laments
But I’m digressing again, and I should really cut that out
At that point the meter’s just a sense of timing that I flout
It’s supposed to be more, and I am putting in the work
I’m just learning with the training wheels. Don’t be a jerk.

Grail, the Concentration
Fail, the Revelation
Wail, the Confrontation
Sail, the Destination

Trip, and chances are you’ll be Falling
Stick, and then your motor is stalling
The trick you have to learn is going to seem like a joke
First, begin to Fall, but then slip gravity’s yoke.
Don’t let it get to you. A heckling crowd.
They love to watch a show but now they’re drinking and loud
Stay on routine. Stay in character. Flex.
Show them what we mean by psychological S’pecs
The Shore crowd will laugh, like half of every other nation
But their laughs will turn to silence when you mic your situation
Then a story’s being told, and they will pull a Fred Savage
They will play along to siren song with gasps and oohs and ahs
So you pillage their stocks, and I mean absolutely ravage
But you leave them with a timeline that they only think they saw
And they’re loving you for it. Never seen anything like it.
Now you’re Johnny Doyle up in, and your whole play is lion shit.

“Don’t just beat ‘im.
Kick his ass. ”

Once upon a time I dreamed.
Now I stream right from the seam.
Everything you know is wrong.
Won’t you sing along?

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All Inn

El-Lo. I am the Mountain Blue. You bricked in my Father. Prepare to Fall.

El-lo! I am the Mountain Blue! You bricked in my Father! Prepare to Fall!

HELLO! I AM THE MOUNTAIN BLUE! YOU BRICKED IN MY FATHER! PREPARE TO FALL!

.
..

Yes, Monseigneur. For the Love of God.

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Judge of Last Air

In the Church of Philadelphia, planned and conceived
Centuries before my mama took a load for the breed
Iced out of society for allowing my birth
Apparently *I am* the one they blame for choosing this Earth
When a couple of grays, just doing their job
Sent me through the Gate to see the Synchrofob
I took in some footage, it began to make sense
Walking in the footsteps of the Ubermensch

I whistled from the cab, blown full on clear
One thing then could save me; Divine Intellect Ear
If anything I’d say this timeline is queer
but that word means masturbation, now. Eighteen appears!

I… pull… up to the house where Lactatia gets its shots
Pin cushion for “doctors” of the darkest thoughts
I pull out my gat poetic, but I keep it copacetic
I go literary Scarface on their damned dianetics

*stands at door with back to camera, and hands behind back*

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Sacrilicious

 

One day Yahweh flipped the table
Said GM was getting stale
He made a PC/NPC
And with the party tapped the ale.
Still not sure what happened there;
His character was munchkined out.
At least we figure. Or he “cheated”.
Power gamer? Yeah. No doubt.
In the end, though, that was best.
He played a role I would have hammed.
Stage direction from Himself?
What glorious command.
I could never pull it off,
and so I never run the game
I downloaded the editor
but playing wouldn’t feel the same
So I figured out a trick
I think the GM lets these slide
I loot the Planar Castle where
our good old friend resides.
Nothing big, so looting is
Perhaps abuse of term?
I just draw up some pictures
Of the Babelsandfishworm.

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Constellar Zion

Three by three they come to me, and two must stay behind.
Nine cells made of seven wells? Your melon’s looking rhined.
Crowning self with shiny rocks is laying on quite thick.
So tell me, how would you fuck God without an outthrust dick?

Because, you see, God Chose. He chooses. He is choosing still.
If you would take the mantle, best get in through act of will.
If the Jews of our Messiah make a subtle jibe,
Why not simply call ourselves The King’s adopted Tribe?

Stroke of pen, one third fall dead. The Abrahamics down to two.
If you resist this name change, will I kill Islam, or you?
Of course, the Tribes could just admit they missed the wake up call.
Then the pen strikes backwards, and no drop of blood need fall.

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