Ode № 95379
I Married an Infectious Woman (My Love, 'Futility')
Being human is enduring Futility
and so I ask in stupidity,
"Where o where is my delusions of power
that eludes me, in this comic & dire hour?"
Mayhaps it lies within the depths
of my offensive anal cavern
of bodily filth and comedy,
where a tiny creature sleeps.
At times one can hear its whistling snore,
if they dare to endure the odor that follows.
Where is the center of my strength?
It might be possible that it's my pink pucker
who has the ability to clench and emit a whistle
along with a pinch of perfume from Hades...
Mayhaps this power is in some faith
that I can easily begin to acquire
if I braved the multitude of beliefs
from which one can choose to put their faith
'n then pray that I have chosen "wisely".
Mayhaps the power lies within my fleshrod
with its sack of seed whose purpose
is to supply women with swollen bellies,
and the painful sprouting of little curses.
Mayhaps I am without any influence
other than wicked tools of havoc,
various acts of idiocy, and vile seed
meant to create more dim tykes
to help spread my talent to irritate.
I am a man whose house belongs to a woman.
Her name, Futility, is not a mere coincidence,
especially since I was foolish, having accepted her hand
in an expensive ritual of ever-lasting unity.
My only course of action as retribution
is to have her endure nine months of pregnancy,
whereby she gives birth and is soon quite ready
to again produce more of my tiny hellish curses.
So thus my disease spreads!
Leaving me to ask myself in earnest,
as would a dunce donning a proper shitwig,
this query so queer,
"Where o where is my delusions of power
that eludes me, in this comic & dire hour?"
28 comments
Bits about disease spreading seed are a bit old hat.
I like that refrain too.. specially since I've been mumbling that to myself for three days, suddenly and for no reason.. ever had that happen to you? Then again I'm a freak with an odd genetic make-up.
Oh, just wondering.. you think I took the proper speech a bit far? (I figured its good in an ode.. or maybe that belief of mine is based on inane & erroneous presumptions.. ah well, do tell me your thoughts of this.)
As sentimental as this will appear, I am compelled to say this:
I miss you, shithead. :)
But one should worry if a highschool reunion takes place here in ranker-ville.. I despise any congregation which relates to the horror of goverment-run education.
Who knows.. maybe marvel will make it into a fucking movie.
Must I deprive you of your wheel-chair as some sick form of motivation? Perhaps embalm you rotting flesh with feces? Resort to chemical stimulation?
Do you suggest I actually endure this ranker life of mine without you to make it interesting and give me plenty of good opportunities to upset the peace of the ranker with acts of retardation? How depraved can you be you crippled shit-crumpet!?
But as for basing my career on RM's poetical trasmission of voting warts of "10"? Means my "career" was without some sort of base before his invansion of poemranker with his despicable dirt-encrusted clicker brigade... But we both know that I was just as arrogant and ego-bloated before the coming of the Rockmage, in the days then my scores were in the dismal mudpit.
And RM isn't the one who has drowned my posted pieces with votes that drastically affected my scores- CLS was the one who was the last to shower me with a flood of tens as a idiotic cop-out when I revealed her hypocritical/illogical and random barrages of zeros on one or two particular pennames of mine, and only tens given to the other aliases of mine. So she changed her votes to tens in order to appease me, which only deepened my disgust and frustration, utimately leading me to discontinue the barrage, then dismiss the hope of some explaination of her actions.
My voting score/average was first built with the scars of past zeroing and various discriminative votes, and then only a few months ago endured spastic zeros and genial tens from two main clicker empowered forces and various lone vigilante(s). The mind-less character of voting caused me to look 'pon my score/average as irrelevant and unrelated over-all to my actual writing quality in a little over a mere month & 1/2 after having joined the ranker.
I like to think my career is based on the comments recieved in response by all, even yours, and how I drove myself onwards with my bulging pimples of confidence and zany hyperboles, intermixed with regular acts of idiocy or intentional mindless-ness.
As for my need of your cold rough hands to offer a brutal public fisting? Thats mostly a masochistic need that also offers a reason to declare war and busy myself with in endless amounts of arguement and babble; it fills the idle hours when I'm not otherwise motivated to pen s'more poems, prose etc. or formal turd-defacement of others.
But your comment is one of many which could be joined together in a one combined account of my comic saga, entitled "Rigor-Pen'd Quarrels & Tribulations of a Farcical, Dim Trifler."
_end rant transmission_
I guess I'm not much into more ass humor at the moment. It goes together well enough.
But I just had to make a contribution of somesort to "Ass Poetics".. I felt it was the next step after my Golden Shower piece lol.
In my continuing search to "get" -=DA=- I have read each and every one of his posts, including the one's he's deleted and prolly 90% of the comments.
BTW, PLEASE Mr. -=A=-, if you read this - please will you repost "Love Letter to Crystal Lane Swift"????
that was truly a masterverk - I shit you not.
But I wonder about the state of your health.. because 90% of his comments is.. well thats A LOT OF COMMENTS specially if you read the replies/insults/arguements that follow. You actually digesting that much material leads me to conclude that you have an odd obsession of the extreme sort... but everyone has their "thing". :)
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