Number nine
Number nine
Number nine
See, even I reference those overrated bastards
Just read the goddamn story you cheeky bastards
Before slinging arrows, you filthy, massy bastards
Since you brought it up, lies, damned lies and statistics perfectly document our situation. No, not one of those cliché dance numbers with fiery, brimstone sequins and horny cartoon devils that seduce with pitchforking torch songs lamenting seven deadlies gone by, but the glowing slow burn count of dukes and barons and other assorted minions of your precious manorialism. Check your worksheet, work the numbers, checks and balances, find everything is out of balance and watch a rusty equilibrium belch rivulets of evanescent blood at regular intervals, like demonic clockwork.
Oh, we tried to compromise, stopped making hands and digits out of the bleached metacarpals and phalanges of children -- but only because legions of cauldrons went on strike at midnight. You ever try to get the stink of boiled flesh out? Not enough Lysol in the world, my friend, just don't tell a soul -- appearances and all that -- merci beaucoup. This disguise? Not quite brilliant, I'll admit. Only the most naive wouldn't expect me to show up in a pinstriped three-piece splendidly bisected by a silky Salvatore Ferragamo. Or one on the most whimsical of voyages down this or that rabbit hole. Being numb, and as comfortably as possible, I understand.
22 comments:
...but only because legions of cauldrons went on strike at midnight.
Just what the republicans need, a connection between witchcraft and unions.
Sleep, my child, sleep, dream of glittering, faraway lands, romantic poetry pursued by soft kisses, ones with tongue if you're feeling extra frisky, grilled cheese and swigs of ale after every score...
Sex and grill cheese sandwiches? Hot damn, now that's heaven.
Fishheads, blood, and the Beatles!!!
What nice friends you have and do you always do their bidding?--brandishing words around as if they had some sort of power or something I dare say. Well, I suppose those words do have power and that is the lure of poetry and writing in general.
Heads up--I have something for you over at my place.
Peace!
I do love Rubber Soul and Revolver.
A friend of ours is a drummer and toured with McCartney on the 91 or 92 Wings tour. This was pre-Heather and Linda was alive and well. The stories he told us about what went on.
The rich really are different from you and me.
kraxpelax, you're the real renaissance man 'round these parts. I can't even write good verse in English.
BB, I'm surprised they haven't found out that casting spells on our social betters is what we do down at Local No. 13.
liberality, if I fooled you guys into thinking it's good, mission accomplished. Now I just need one of those giant banners, a flightsuit and a codpiece.
christopher, I, too, dig some of their stuff, I've simply found that ragging on the Beatles is guaranteed to elicit the same response as telling Inhofe or Coburn that there's a gay communist Muslim abortion party next door.
When you've got loot, you've got a lot more leeway. The legal thing I expect, but lunacy becomes quaint idiosyncrasy, bastards.
Graves, you swine!
You are bisected by a shoe? WTF?
Regards,
Tengrain
A codpiece? Nah..you don't need a codpiece. Use a diaper. ;p
Sigh.. I'm upset that you drew on John Lennon's face.
Haven't I told you how much I love him??!!!
I did like the part about poetry, soft kisses and grilled cheese sandwiches. :) That sounds like the perfect life to me. And if it was with sexy John Lennon then.. all the better. ;P
((Hugs))
Laura
Grilled cheese and ale, hmm don't forget the Cold Turkey.
Damn you Graves you suck me in every time. With your grilled cheese, ale and thoughts of french kisses and like Charlie Brown I fall for it every time.
tengrain, they make ties, too. Everyone knows that you wear shoes on the head. Sheesh.
dusty, but I'm not a senator!
sunshine, sorry about Johnny (not really, muahahahaha, etc.), but between you, holte and demeur, everyone picks grilled cheese, booze n' smooches over self-inflicted apocalyptic gloom? You fuckers are much too happy. C'mon, frown a little!
'find everything is out of balance and watch a rusty equilibrium belch rivulets of evanescent blood at regular intervals, like demonic clockwork'
Yeah, I woke up this morning to hear about the new health care bill too. Don't try to tempt me with your grilled cheese sammiches.
OK, Randal, my worksheet is out of balance, but my decidedly pedestrian clockwork has so far failed to belch rivulets of evanescent blood even once, much less make messes at regular intervals.
You briefly lapsed into near intelligibility with the food, brew and spit-swapping business, but lost me again with the Zippo and hot dog condiment stuff.
Please indulge me for a personal question. As a little fellow, did you by chance have a problem with falling out bed a lot? Just wondering. ;}
Sheesh! I thought Halloween was over. Are we back to flaming skulls with dripping blood. Okay go watch Nightmare before Christmas to set you up for the next holiday then.
Uh...what?
What I like best about this comment section is the focus on the grilled cheese sandwich.
Sometimes Randal I read your posts and feel like I had just had my head slammed hard into the table top. Other times, your words click and I am amazed. This was one of those other times. Really really good.
My only complaint though - is this fiction or reality? It is hard to tell the difference.
Although I do like pickles, I am not really fond of relish.
Revolution 9 -- the worst track the Beatles ever did.
This off topic, but -- since that infamous serial killer in your state is being compared to Jeffrey Dahmer, I thought I'd dust off my favorite sick joke from the early '90s:
Q. What did Jeffrey Dahmer say to Lorena Bobbit?
A. "Hey, are you gonna eat that?"
susan, if you want to eat that grilled cheese, I'm afraid you're going to have to purchase a rider.
SWA, once, we were out and about playing cops and robbers and I came across someone's accidentally discarded stash of acid.
demeur, are you kidding? Just look around, every day is Halloween.
cormac, who?
übermilf, which would be fine if you all didn't settle for the generic house brand of American.
mrmacrum, thanks and, um, realistic fiction? (I don't want Cormac to disqualify me at gunpoint.)
dr.zaius, same here. Why put relish on, say, a burger when you have pickles handy? And if you don't have pickles handy, you are a terrible human being.
tom, maybe. I Want To Hold Your Hand makes me want to vomit in terror, too.
HA! Serial killer jokes never get old.
I liked it Randal... I liked it... I think... (picks up dictionary again and flips through pages).
What Alan, said.
alan and cormac, thanks, especially since anytime I can make something fall on the side of incoherence, it helps mask the glaring faults. Take that, clarity!
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