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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.
Back to poem details
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