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God bless your stool plop (Free verse) by <{Baba^Yaga}> And how it makes love to my forked toaster.
All wrapped up in Kmart blue light spread sheets.
One day soon, I too, will wrap you up to swell
In a Radio Head tribute to palm reading sychophants
I'll spackle your dull face to my unpeelable wallpaper
To play a round of darts on and in your ass plan.
Dunce fucking punk rock tamponicide.
You have wings bitch, so do glide.
Into the side of a moon walking puffin.
Away from what made me forget your fluffy #.
Up the ladder:
Honey
Down the ladder:
The Motherfuckers and The Mystery of Life
Votes: (green: user, blue: anonymous)
Arithmetic Mean: 6.3333335
Posted: November 5, 2003 2:55 PM PST; Last modified: November 5, 2003 2:55 PM PSTWeighted score: 5.6666665 Overall Rank: 2080 Comments:
[5]
sliver @ 65.178.200.179
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5-Nov-03/8:26 PM
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Reply
?
[n/a]
Shardik @ 24.126.116.54
> sliver
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6-Nov-03/1:21 PM
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Reply
!
heaven is line 5
put a dash between k and mart for the english - we just think kmart is NYC street slang otherwise.
in our little town Kmart means a miser... rather an peculiar understanding hence:o), But 2 say the least, this is a little FLUFFY:o)
So.
I'm sorry, this is crap.
In all your personalities you show a gift for fresh perspective - and that comes easily to you. But this putting it into a readable form thing; harder, eh? - when you find that the poem just drops out of you, instead of just posting the shit - how about spending a little time to form it into something presentable? Maybe then you won't need nine avatars to carry things to the screen. The shock of the stink only carries you so far (or I've just gotten used to it).
I have no clue as to what you are talking about, nor do I need to.
My little brother has three, I have 5, my mother has 1, and you are about as imaginative and rigid as a lightbulb crafted into a speed pipe.
youd be surprised how creative a person becomes once they smoke out of the lightbulb... sometimes, or they embark on bizzare projects- like covering a bike in black electric tape... a favorite hobby of my old meth dealer. Thank god the bike crap he left me was worth selling after he decided to vanish without a trace, but still even now i have an extreme discrimination twards black electric tape and bike fanatics.
Funked up, or what!? Yeah I'd like to give him a piece of my mind... or two!!! But enough about the turbo cack - that shit's been boiling my groove cakes since party time, and I'm in no mood for a double-decker disco tube after three solid nights on the dweebs. Let's hit the beat and crank up the remix, lay down some chives and sample our way to the spazz-stall. Chugg down the b's on a tronic trip to the capital of fucked, then take the junk trolley to the nearest bum beaker. I'm not a bugger for mixing the moves but your top 5 jam facts are clubbing my clogs in the 3-2-1 countdown to BIGTIME! I'm leaving you now. Because, to be perfectly honest, I'm monumentally jelly.
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