|
|
 |
See all comments, including replies to comments
| Re: -=Words_From_Dark_Angel=- by wEdible Underpantsw |
2-Jul-03/2:01 AM |
|
|
|
| regarding some deleted poem... |
2-Jul-03/7:43 AM |
|
Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha lol etc
|
|
|
|
| Re: Being Called Dave by ?-Dave_Mysterious-? |
19-Sep-03/2:28 AM |
Excellent.
Without a doubt, ?-Dave_Mysterious-? is very amusing. My confusion arises from the fact that our Dave does not have the air of a newbie. He seems very sure of himself, and acts as though he knows the character traits of the existing users. Either he has been observing quietly from the sidelines for a long time, or he is an existing member with a new username.
Certain similarities with -=Dark_Angel=- but no clear indication that they are one and the same person. Besides which, they have very different obsessions.
|
|
|
|
| Re: My love for Katie by Stephen Robins |
6-Oct-03/9:24 AM |
I am appalled by your verbosity. Your work is weighed down with superfluous verbiage. You will never get Katie to fellate you at this rate.
Your chances of succeeding in this respect are about as high as your chances of being requested by Max Clifford to assist a premiership football team in spit-roasting a 17 year old Catholic schoolgirl in the bedroom of a luxury hotel.
|
|
|
|
| Re: For M. B. by Tits |
15-Oct-03/8:39 AM |
|
|
|
| regarding some deleted poem... |
16-Oct-03/5:05 AM |
|
|
|
| Re: Child of my Buttocks by -=Dark_Angel=-, P.I. |
23-Oct-03/4:31 AM |
This reminds me of "On a Supper of a Stinking Ducks" by Samuel Wesley.
The story thus - At a Clubb of Younkers, after a Frost a couple of Wild-Ducks were bought. A thaw coming the day after, these having before been frozen hard, fell in, appear'd all black, and stunk most harmoniously - yet, that nothing good might be wasted, the Purchasers dress't'em, and eat the first pretty nimbly, not staying to tast it; but by that time, Colon being a little pacifi'd, advancing to the second, it drove 'em all off, and was given a decent burial at last in the Boghouse.
Come all you brisk Lads that have ever been seen,
At the place that you wot of hight-Clerken-well-Green!
First of all Merry Mac, come and taste our good cheer,
For our Hearts will all vibrate thy Lyricks to hear.
One and all run and Saddle your Cane, or your Beast,
And hasten full speed to the bountiful Feast!
In pow'rful Gambado's, or sinical Boot;
In a thrid-bare old Cloak, or a new Sur le tont!
Or flaming with Fringe, or meek Kid on your Hand,
With blustering Cravat, or reverent Band!
Both peaceable Hazle, and Kill-devil Steel,
Both Tory-Bamboo, and Fanatick-Brazeel!
Remember Batts Axiom, your Curtlass prepare!
Whet Stomachs, and Knives! Here's a Bill of the Fare;
Here's Duck upon Duck, for no more you must look;
If you'll have any more you must go to the Cook.
I tell you the Truth, and I tell you no lye!
They shine and 'twere Butter, or Stars in the Sky:
Zich glorry-vatt Ducks but zildom are zean,
Whore shou'd they be bore but about Taunton-Dean.
If they stink Mrs. Muse your nice Nose you may hold!
Disparage 'em not for they're bought, and they're sold;
Consider as cheap of the Poulter they had 'em,
As e're of the Higler-(the Servant!)
Here Dick, Black-Bess for thy absence should frown,
Look over thy Shoulder, and 'tweak off their Down:
But prythee deal gently, for 'twould be no Wonder,
They're so soft, and so young, if they sall all-asunder.
'Tis true I confess, if my Nostrils can tell,
They send out a kind of a Civity smell:
Yet more then a Bustard the Poulter might prize one
Like them, for their flavour like pasty Venizon.
Some will say they've a whiff like a Worm-eaten Bitch,
Or a Tartar Ragoo, ready dresst in a Ditch:
Or a cleanly blue-Pig-but ne're keck honest fellow!
For they're wholesome enow, tho' a little too mellow.
They're black, but where Indians do paint the De'el White,
That colour be sure's a most heavenly sight:
They dropt from the Moon out of Breath, and the Thumps
Which they took on the Ground have discolour'd their Rumps.
Cozen John! 't had been better if y'had not been so sickle,
But in our Garden-Cellar had laid 'em in pickle:
Tho' the Cook says they're sweet, I'll venture engage her,
That the Ducks should ha' stunk with the T--'s for a Wager.
Pothecary's Bills have full often half broke us,
With chargeable Vomits of Carduus and Crocus:
When these Ducks from the Bum-gut to Keckhorn would draw,
And like a Turn'd-Pudding-bag empty the Maw;
O Spirits of Arm-pits, and Essence of Toes!
O Hogo of Ulcers, and Hospital Nose!
O Devils Dung fragant, and tarrifi'd feather,
With Snuff, and with Carrion, Ana, jumbled together!
O Jelly of Toads! India's hasty-Pudding!
O Playsters of Issues champt down o'the sudden!
With fat blubby Pease, that are grimy all o're,
Thick butter'd with delicate matter and Gore!
Well! If these you survive, I'll believe 'tis no Fable,
That Indians gut Adders, and bring 'em to Table:
But after, if your Pest'lent Breath sally on us,
Wee'll get to the Windward, or Mercy upon us!
Hoyst 'em up with a Rope at the Fire! 'tis no matter,
Tho' they drop in the dripping, and crawl in the Platter;
So do's the sweet Phaenix on Frankincense-Faggot,
Sit roasting her self till she turn to a Maggot.
|
|
|
|
| Re: Indiana Jones and the Temple of 'shroom by SupremeDreamer |
23-Oct-03/4:34 AM |
|
|
|
| regarding some deleted poem... |
23-Oct-03/7:07 AM |
|
|
|
| Re: What went wrong with America? (An essay) by Jeremi B. Handrinos |
3-Nov-03/6:06 AM |
|
OMG THIS IS BORING LOL ASL -10-
|
|
|
|
| regarding some deleted poem... |
10-Feb-04/3:15 AM |
|
|
|
|
|
.jpg){kind=link}