Lyric № 84145
Tales From The Outhouse
Once more against our lower'd breeches,
The Outhouse shows its mettle.
Fearing not our plumpen'd peaches,
Tho 'gainst its hide they settle.
Where stainèd flesh meets wooden shack;
The two entwined in shame.
And ever black
'neath straining crack:
The Outhouse is its name.
Perched upon a reeking pit,
Secluded, and alone.
'til such a time as we see fit
To grace its lowly throne.
Our wails bestain the swollen night,
Beset in wooden frame.
Where falling shite
Betrays our plight:
The Outhouse is its name.
Coilings plummet unto earth
And wallow in the sand,
As buttocks spend their shilling's worth
Upon the lacquered land.
And tho' our bow'ls be filled with sin,
'tis better that we aim
With filthy grin,
Into the bin:
The Outhouse is its name.
Beastly howls! What hell hath come!?
Who toils 'pon midnight's bell!?
'tis only Father Blunderbum
Who isn't feeling well.
As preacher duels in tug-of-war
He plays a deadly game -
With thund'rous roar,
Falls through the floor:
The Outhouse was its name.
45 comments
Anyone voting less than an *almighty* TEN - is an ass - and I mean that, else God take my eyes.
If you don't mind my saying, you might do something to celebrate your new laureate position on the ranker - like ordering that all further posts here be husk-oriented or finishing the AIDS trilogy on a spectacularly offensive note. An aspiring naughty poete can't afford to lose his street-credibility.
Or, if you wish, I'm willing to multiple-zero you or leave hideous garbled comments about feelings on your poems. I don't know - I haven't been here long, but it already seems like the passing of an age when no one will zero you, even out of spite. Where's CLS?
That said, this is hardly your best post. Father Blunderbum is introduced way too late - I have no sense of who he IS. What makes him RUN? And it's really only one TALE from the outhouse, right?
To address your further comments: 1. The 'AIDS' trilogy was completed many years ago, in the form of 'AIDS Bonanza!'
2. While it might be true that my poemes are no longer anonymously zeroed to the extent they once were, this is a direct result of the decreased number of angry teenagers on Poemeranker recently. crystal lane swift is too busy voting on her own poemes to zero mine.
3. The Tales referred to are the telling brown songs of adventure and sorrow that ev'ry man must daily sing.
- I missed 'AIDS Bonanza!' when I was reading your old posts, but I liked the other two. I dare say, no one writes AIDS like that. As far as the disputed 'Tales' goes, I'm willing to concede your points. The poem does indeed exude an aroma of the overarching and folkloric that hints of many tales untold or to come.
The sycophantic slags all say i new him first and i knew him well
'...Laquered land...'
'...Lowly throne...'
'...Entwined in shame...'
I wish I had your talent for words. Who the hell are you? it's been a pleasure, sincerely, your the tops.
The sycophantic slags all say i new him first and i knew him well
1900 hrs: I drained and consumed an entire diplomatic pouch of Sainsbury's Mozzarella Cheese.
2000 hrs: I began breaking wind.
2030 hrs: I noticed that the wind was significantly more foul than a normal farte, and that I was accumulating a full gas chamber at least every ten minutes.
2130 hrs: I realised that I had never before released such an inconceivably disgusting and protracted series of nauseous, sweaty, cheesy fartes in my entire life. If anyone else had been trapped in the room with me, they would have been pounding on the door and crying and pleading to be let out. I opened my window as far as it would go, to not much effect.
2200 hrs: The Browne Winds continued to blow ever more fiercely. I realised I was almost certainly permanently staining my jodhpurs, and quickly stripped to long-johns and cummerbund. The side effect was that each increasingly sickening fart was released instantly into the atmosphere instead of being caught in the ventilation chamber of my jodhpurs, and I was therefore assaulted tenfold by the awesome concentrated force of each new breaking.
2300 hrs: The length, frequency and punguency of the emissions continued to sail from strength to strength, with no end in sight. Despite my inbuilt resistance to the smell of my own gas, the stench had become quite unbearable, and my eyes were watering. I retired to the bathroom where there was a ventilation fan and hoped for respite.
2315: Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect. As anyone familiar with Boyle's law knows, the size of the room in which one fartes is inversely proportional to the mind-blowing intensity of the rectal outburst when it happens. With the pressure in my abdomen suddenly growing, I had no choice but to hold on to the towel rail, steel myself and to Jesu pray, though well I knew that He was why the Browne Winds blew.
23:20: Armageddon.
23:30: I stagger back to my desk, a broken, reamed husk of a man. Whether I will ever recover physically or morally is unknowable. My poor brave jodhpurs, upon inspection, have a colossal browne crater in the gusset; they will have to be put to sleep. The lingering stench of immoderation continues to taunt me from all corners of the room. The one thing I have to be grateful for is that I myself seem to have ridden out the storm.
But -- but what's this? My bowels seem to be filling at an unthinkable rate! Good God, what if this were to escape? No -- no -- for the love of mankind, I must hold it in! I -- I can do it. I can hold i
You certainly are the crispiest chip in the bag.
Too bad it's a colostomy bag.
(I can't believe everyone gave this a 10)
Aber es ist mir nichts neu, that you read in vain and cannot appreciate the classique nature of this pome.
Oh, and one other thing -- it's fuckin' funny.
Lasto..hmm...um, yeah, I believe I did acknowledge that it was humorous. I just couldn't take it seriously enough. Way to stand up for the regulars though. You're doing great.
Oh, and just for the fuck of it I was also amusing myself by embedding the name of the form of this pome (it does have a name) in my comment.
You'll have to dig out the name from my comment yourself :P
How the hell did that happen, alert joe-joe.
P.s I presumed you meant ascendant.
The sycophantic slags all say i new him first and i knew him well
excellent fun, this.
Armageddon!
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