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I Can Write A Wrong, But I Can't Right A Poem (Other) by horus8

By Vagina, The Three Legged Pigeon AN OPERA in G SHARP [A clearly upset monk enters stage 'the left'] [He begins to sing, poorly, and way out of key] "Oh God... Look what I've done!? OH GOD, WHAT HAVE I DONE? I have missed my objective, and smashed my poor penis beyond repair. but I did not care!!!" [Chorus line led by a deaf girl in plaid with triangle] "What has he done? [ding] What did he do? [ding] He spent his days He spent his nights Raised in a shoe! What could he do? [ding] What did he do? [ding] He loves the drink The necklaced pearls What will he do? [ding] [A lovely maiden enters stage 'the right'] [She's confident, and only the mighty merciful lord knows 'the why'] "He is a monk (she sings) He's on God's side He will love god 'efore me & shun MY VAGINA? And so he swears over a helmet shaped cock! He tends to the flock." [Chorus comes back in, and this time the lead deaf girl is sleeping, and a magical chirping flagella is there in her 'stead. Wow a talking flagella, queer... Yet interesting and different?] "They will not be together He is gay" [Chorus] "He is gay?" [Flagella] "His father did not love him so they say!" [Chorus] "Do they say?" [Flagella] "His brain can fry eggs He always keeps his legs, but his pussy will not let him carry kegs" [Chorus] "NOT THE KEGS!?" [Flagella] -- It is true! [Chorus] -- It is a lie! --IT IS TRUE Dammit! --It is a lie (Almost a whisper) --True! --Lie! --TRUE! --LIE! --DIE! --DIE! --DIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! (An ugly ice duckling sculpture explodes in the foyer) [a bag of cemented limbs and parts falls from 'an' sky] [Smashing the monk and maiden before they can conjewgate their visit at the mountain monastery] [Chorus] No please don't die! [Flagella] Too late he's dead! -- He's dead? -- HE'S DEAD! WILL YOU SHUT UP AND STOP SINGING?! --BUT WE MUST SING? --OKAY DO IT OVER THERE... [The director, writer, lead gaffer  &(Charles The Thirdly, Executive Prod.) Talk the morbid scene out two feet away from one another, but with state of the art walkie talkies] "What the fuck" Says Chuck. "This is like two rehearsals in a row?" He finishes... "Quit killing the hopefuls?" [The Director responds with clicks and grunts] "Duahhhh ahh okay Mr. Goldsteinslickerman I'll remember to wait for the appropriate signal next time you flash me ahhh duahh your l33t tattoo codename 'Rosedud' Then I let 'er fly! ahhhhh dewahhh." Hiccup toot...Nose pick, fluff... Opera. No soap here THE END. P.s The magical flute is the FreeMason's equivalent of 'Like a virgin' and the Who's "We Won't be fooled again". But then, you are.

horus8 17-Dec-02/2:49 AM
jesus it's like speaking sign language to a crosseyed chinese pole vaulter. here once again. yes. i have a diploma, have you actually ever been asked to brandish one? obviously often the way you bleet about them, i haven't.oh well i guess when i'm at an audiyion against a yale trained actor, or a private school trained actor i should worry huh? yes i know what it takes to be a dr. (what? is that privaledged information held by the golf clubs of the world) you act like you have a diploma in the medical field? but, you don't so shut your pie hole, as for her age? you do, remember you? brought it up in fact i thought she was fourty still i don't really pay attention to b-days. and she is something...she's real to me, unlike yourself..i can hold her poetry in my hand see her smile, have a cup of tea with her, and laugh repeatedly at your expense, for no expense, but above all no matter what i've ever down, ever.. she has stayed true as my friend regardless, and that my drunk parrot in a small uknown cafe in el salvador..is untradeable.where as someone like yourself, is unreliable, untrustworthy, never satasfied..a cheater, a back stabber, a weak minded oil slave, but worst of all you're incompetent, and you lack integrity..still it's intriguing sometimes to run a car down to empty just to mark the stall line with memory. for the future. you see. as for stan rice ..if you recall we were talking to katie..how fucking complicated do you want me to get with her poetically speaking..everyones gotta start somewhere right..why not stan..you have yet to raise one argument against any of his poetry, and i sent you two..perhaps..you need more. mr poetry, and a bucket of fish for your high flipping sea world antics, and yes you're entertaining alright about as much excitement as a jet fuel doused clown car with no doors..i wont be playing a doctor, the role is for lucky..watch the show too know. as for the internet passions thing? ha! ha! i'll take stan rice, peanut brittle, and watching you chew on your flea invested rump any day of the week. thank though i'll keep it in mind, when i go to feed the chickens tomorrow.




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