Female voices on robocalls is a smart thing If considering range of vocal frequency And inflection as ideal to perfect the nag. Nothing else does it quite like a bitch on the rag. The worst aspects of women’s voices speak to me Of well-planned-out annoyance to nerves that will ring.
When the phone rings, the ears ping. The eyes take a leap Toward the caller ID window. What does it say? …Something vague or ‘unknown’ to the fuckwit device. To believe that’s how bitches are comes with a price. To get under the skin, is there no better way To promote shabby service or goods that are cheap?
You do get my attention. You cause me to Write! For that much, I am thankful. Opportunity To assess and express well what most folks blow off Is a sharpening exercise no one can scoff. With a RoboHoe Blocker, I’ll be somewhat free Of perpetual nuisance. Have I won this fight?
Your account has been locked! You’ve been paying your bills And we don’t like to see it. Suspicious is that The most recent activity these past few days Tells us that you’ve been spending in flamboyant ways. Don’t you know we’re your parents, you poor little brat? We’re at service to fuck with your life for cheap thrills.
It’s too bad it’s the weekend. We aren’t alive now. Although you may be, we cease existence at five Every Friday, then come back on Monday at nine. You can hold your breath that long. Things will work out fine. Even though it’s your money, we’ve right to deprive Access to it at anytime fate may allow.
So, you’re stuck at the cashier? TRANSACTION DECLINED! That should get your blood pumping and loosen that bowel. Now, just give us a call. We WILL keep you on hold Then interrogate you with an attitude bold. We’ve succeeded when we sense that your mood is foul. And in step with your credit score, you are defined.
Oh, you don’t speak Tagalog nor can understand Foreign accents uttered over bad connections From a call center thousands of miles from your mind? We don’t have to remind you you’re of the wrong kind To speak with us directly, as we are the ones Who depend upon others to market our brand.
I embrace my entitlement. It’s my birthright. And in line with my heritage I do exist To take charge and to conquer all that I behold. Anyone with a dark past can be bought or sold. I feel nothing of conscience, in fact I insist That we all take up arms and engage in the fight.
And with wealth comes great wisdom and platform to rule. Even with no experience I may fair well In a post yeti showdown in stark sabotage To the plans of all others. Wealth is a mirage That depicts something meaningful in the hard sell. Yet a rich yeti encore would make you the fool.
I shall know that my being, deficient of soul, Does my best to emboss me and make all seem real. Since I could have most anything, why don’t I chill? Maybe I’m just a rich prick who dicks for the thrill. There’s no doubt that my money can draw much appeal And endorsement. This all is the heart of my goal.
Here Jalad at the news desk. His mouth open wide. Galahad with his greeting. His service to king. Gathered up on the weekend. Bo Peep with her sheep. Having scattered them worldwide. Her time put to sleep. Bringing all that is newsworthy. Tweety Bird sing. On the rock of Gibraltar. His heart filled with pride.
The top story the beanstalk. Jack taking his climb. His mind sure and determined. His focus direct. Too much wit for the giant. His head a migraine. The way journalists speak now can drive me insane. His ears hearing plain English that does not respect Basic speaking rules. Behold the new paradigm.
His mind back on the news now from just a short rant. Frankenstein at the meth lab. His day getting long. Back to Sesame Street. Big Bird feathered in fame. Then, Shaka, when the walls fell! They speak not the same. Goldilocks when the rules change. Is she the one wrong? Alice stuck in the rabbit hole. News rabbit can’t.
When the stiff Mister Johnson has no proper date, A most urgent condition has made itself clear. For the dude he’s attached to, there’s trouble as well. He will thoroughly brief himself on cunt intel To provide the raised gentleman respite from fear. Is success or is failure determined by fate?
Please don’t answer the question. Your problems are solved! If you don’t have the real thing but do have a hand, Just grab hold of a Jolly Jizz. You will do fine. You won’t sweat much, and you will not wear out your spine. You will never be lost when things don’t go as planned. Why put up with the hassle of others involved?
Jolly Jizz by SpoogeMaster is just what you need. She’s your sleek sultry substitute absent of voice. You can slop-sock it to her held with a firm grip. You Are Busy! You don’t have the time for courtship. Do invest in The sure thing. That is your best choice. With your friend on the standby, you’ll always succeed.
Don’t make fun of my accent. I’ve practiced it well. Either that or my English still gives me away. Anyway, I will help you. Your system is screwed. I’ll access your computer and then I’ll get rude. I’ll have problems to show you and too much to say While concealing the fact that this is a hard sell.
This is like the old shell game with quick sleight of hand, Only I open windows and spread them around While explaining how sick your machine has become In this short while I’m with you, you simpleton bum. I will find every bad thing there is to be found Then create a few more. This is what I had planned.
Just sit back and relax while I fill up your screen With my scribbles and doodles and fancy artwork. You won’t owe me a fortune. Just half one will do To restore your computer to something like new. What I tell you is true. I’m a desperate jerk. If I knew any better, I’d surely come clean.
I don’t need a damned hero. Please give back my face. And… my name is not Robin. I’m no kin to you. I did quite well without you before you arrived. Things now aren’t any better, yet I’m not deprived Of my sense of humanity. If I but knew How to ditch you completely, I’d reclaim my grace.
Something tucked in my pocket may act as my friend As long as it behaves well and gives me respect. It will act like a smartass and make me look lame, When, to others, the thing is a fanciful game. This is not about something that I need protect. I’m the one in its shadow with thought to portend.
It’s a hero. Big Whoopie! It does a great deal For most assholes convinced It’s a survival tool. But for me, it’s a smartass. We don’t get along. Every time I do something with it, I am wrong. That’s according to it, therefore ‘it’ is a fool. This hero doesn’t save me. That’s just how I feel.
Sir, we give you the dickens! This time it’s for sure. Why have not you responded? Where’s your sense of greed? We have offered you millions. Don’t say you don’t care. You won’t find a more urgent email anywhere. You must answer me ASAP so we can proceed To maintain cockamamie discourse. You Are Poor!
From our records of outstanding contractors due A large payment, we find that your name does appear. We now need your full address and bank info too. We will need up front payment to cover a few Incidental expenses, like campaigns of fear. Make that check out to me. I will take care of you.
I don’t want to get nasty, but, damn it to hell, You have not yet replied to me! Don’t be a fool. Don’t you know how to act with a dick in your face? You must give it attention. I know there’s some place In your heart for some jackass who thinks he is cool. Once I have your phone number, I’ll call you as well.
I am not anal, doctor. I wipe only once. And that one time is surely enough, I would say, Because I do things thoroughly, taking my time To make sure all is tidy and absent of grime. I would say I’m fastidious. That sounds OK. When you say that I’m anal, I feel like a dunce.
Often passive retentive, I keep to my own Little world of becoming. I seek no advice To propel me through some worldly crisis, you see. I just come to you because that way I can be Most flamboyant with my deepest secrets. It’s nice To soul dump on some stranger who is judgement prone.
So, what else can you tell me, aggressive assed one? I am ready to hear all that you have to say. I know Freud was a coke head and mental blacksmith. Let us cut to the chase and get rugged forthwith. Playing with this absurdity brightens my day. When I’m bored with my dull life, I see you for fun.
“Nine to Ninety-Nine Business Weeks, Sir!” That’s how long It will take to respond to your urgent request. Please bend over until about ninety degrees So when we stick it to you, we’ll do it with ease. If you want to complain to us, then be our guest. We don’t post contact info, though that may be wrong.
Say you’ve dropped your bJesus card on the rail track? That is how we perceive it. Did we get that right? Well, we’ll send you another. But, Oh, by the way, You’ll incur some discomfort and maybe dismay. You’re a fuck up, dear customer… and not too bright. Let us put you on hold, sir, then we’ll be right back.
…Oh, did we disconnect you? We’re sorry. Please know That our job is to Serve you. We do that our best From a call center ten thousand miles far away, And through thick scripted accents programmed to convey Only policy… most often mocking the stressed. We do value your business like piss in the snow.
Do you love me sincerely now that I can tweet? I’ve been practicing steadily all just for you. I can twitter my ass off and do every day. Many twits do this also with not much to say. Can my fistful of characters offer some clue To the ones that I’m tweeting to whereof I greet?
Watch me now, as they say. With the swipe of the thumb I can instigate mischief or shed light on truth. Within moments the world knows what I want it to And it doesn’t take much to show others my view. It would work out much better were I in my youth But in light of all that I can tweet like the scum.
I can tweet with the best now and also the worst As I learn to parse giblets of thought into place So that dim-witted twit folk can follow along. I can tweet like a mother, so don’t get me wrong. I shall stock up on bird feed for now just in case I’m elected Top Twit. Now, that would be a first.
Time to wake up, dear little one. This is for real! You have entered the world of dimensional space. There are bad times and worse times and that’s about it. Stop your whining and crying and throwing a fit. I will give you your guidance and love just in case The Almighty is busy with some other deal.
Watch and see how we do this… One step at a time. It is not very difficult once you know how. Get your little butt up when you stumble and fall. You are here to walk upright. You’re not here to crawl. Shame on you if you falter. I will not allow You to grip onto furniture. Thou Shall Not Climb!
I am God as your parent. That’s how it must be. My job is to protect you from all the world’s harm. We all know you’re distressed now that you have arrived. You remember what heaven’s like and feel deprived. Just remember your guidance is your lucky charm Because gods who are old here can no longer see.
My manhood is so huge I could call it my pal. I do treat it that way and it does that for me. My big pants surely can’t be as big as my balls And my man knows his way around feminine halls. When I bang any bitch she will cry out in glee. I have no trouble getting my female canal.
If she likes to slurp schlong she must have a deep throat. My man meat is a muscle of mass and much more. She will beg for my cock. She will give it high praise. She will preach of my peace pipe the rest of her days. I will slam dunk that hallway until it is sore. Should she lapse into coma, then that’s all she wrote.
Women know that my screwing is lethal indeed. I’ll have them blowing snot bubbles before they know What the hell ever hit them while prancing in place. As for any bitch my dick is her saving grace. She’ll be speaking in tongues in her long afterglow. I am damned good at humping and cranking out seed.
Well, I got up this morning… The hedge needs a trim. While I’m at it I might as well clean up that yard. Though the leaves have not fallen yet they’re on their way. In the meantime I’ll meditate, then start my day. I know well how it’s going and life isn’t hard. Things will work out as always. My future’s not dim.
I am God. So are You, as are all living things. We have taken on form to give contrast a play. As we do we define and express what we need. As we help one another we cancel out greed. We confront psychic crisis with public display Of our loving and caring and all that it brings.
I should get some more weed killer while I’m about. There’s a while before summer ends. I should be wise. I can keep my yard clean. That is all I can do Until I’m in the best place to offer what’s true. How it’s going for me is a clever disguise To embellish my own chaos rather than doubt.
What amazing a profile the Weather Girl has Whether sunny and bright or wet, cloudy and cold. It’s a short presentation to tell what will come. It’s a bit like astrology – nonsense to some. It’s been said every Weather Girl does as she’s told But this isn’t quite so if she likes modern jazz.
So what under the sun can a Weather Girl do That would cause any moron to pucker the snout? How one digests one’s media is akin to How one wipes one’s behind when there’s not much to do. To be entertained fully, we must check things out. So I go watch the Weather Girl blooper on cue?
Take a chase for a glimpse of those fine body parts. News is only a peep show. By moment we pay For a flash of the headline and tons of bull fluff. It’s astonishing how folks survive on that stuff. But I’m just an old poet with too much to say. So thank God for the morons, and God bless the arts.
Do you feel Springtime Fresh when the bleeding time comes? Is your FICA score less than abysmal these days? Do those stubborn cum stains on your sheets make you cry? Do you curse at your neighbors and wish they’d all die? Do not worry your nuts off. The world has its ways Of addressing most symptoms through beats of its drums.
Dirty rings around collars and in toilet bowls Is a menace this brave world could well do without. When the air in life’s bedroom becomes hot and stale There is always the sports channel. Life does prevail. Does your body lie turning and tossing about Through the night due to fear for the fate of our souls?
Leave that chewing gum off the bed post for tonight. The dickhead who first thought of that ought to be shot. That is, if he is living – if not, then reborn That his germy ideas be subject to scorn. Does your backbone betray you when you cop a squat? Take a pain pill. Then everything will be alright.
Yo, GET BACK TO ME ASAP, you ignorant fool! I’ve been sending you emails for weeks! Are you there? I’m obliged to know why you’ve not contacted me. We have nine point nine million that you’ll never see Unless you reply promptly. I don’t want to swear, But a fish that’s not biting is way less than cool.
I am Miss Mildred Stenchfinch, Ambassador to The Nigerian Designate in charge of wills. Someone has kicked the bucket and left you a load. Don’t you want to grab hold of this fortune you’re owed? You could use it to jerk off, then pay all your bills. I am looking for someone dull headed to screw.
Now, you are a fine one, but you’ve got to respond. Lord knows fucking with people is diligent work. So, Get Back To Me, dimwit. Indulge in my scheme. Getting tons of free cash should be every fool’s dream. Please respond to me, dear. I am not one to irk. We are quite busy here with much wealth to abscond.
Heartfelt Greetings, Dear Sir/Madam, Bless You This Day! It’s my pleasure and great honor to contact you. I implore you to take the time to read this well. You’ll determine my fate – whether heaven or hell. If you’re skeptical, I understand. I am too. I have much less to do than who I must portray.
I am Engineer Ruhullah Zafer Hadid From the Syrian Arab Republic of Pause. And apart from your being quite rightly surprised, Know my gratefulness cannot be over disguised. I was Finance Consultant; the key word is ‘was.’ Now I’m rich beyond measure, yet mine isn’t greed.
I am seeking your help to dispense you some wealth. It is quite a large sum. I must give it away To some fine, trusted moron. I hope this is you. There’s no future in begging, so this gig is new. Do get back to me soon. ISIS may ruin my day. Surely that would be bad for your financial health.
May the peace of the savior be with you, my dear. I am sure that this message arrives at a time You’re surprised at its coming to reach you just now. I’m the Financial Minister of the Cash Cow That is on loan from India. There’s been no crime. If you want your jackpot, come and get it right here.
As the Central Bank Barrister, I speak to you As the in-between nitwit in charge of your case. Since the usual asshole has run out of steam I have taken his place so things stay as they seem. So, get back to me, sweetheart. I’d love to embrace Every part of your bank account leaving no clue.
Our own Chief Representative Bereavement Bro Has been crying his heart out on behalf of you. There’s an ATM card being held in your care. But in order to get it, you need not beware. We just need lots more info. Please send it all to Our Head Phishing Headquarters whose friend is your foe.
Watch This Video NOW! You will cry tears of pee!! There’s a Great Big-Assed Secret we’re living to share. You are being sucked dry by the Power Grid folk. Get your asses in gear, people. This is no joke! We are telling you this because we really care That you get your electric through us nearly free.
This is the real thing. This is not like those cheap South Sumatran Sun Cells that those other guys sell. This one’s not like the Meat Motor with the rawhide And it’s not like the Lip Laser electrified. It’s our plan for peak power – a bat out of hell To take full charge of people whose pockets run deep.
Every reason to fear is why we are so dear In convincing you you need to make your move NOW! If you don’t take advantage, our offer won’t last. You don’t want to let time pass and be the outcast. So get out the old credit card. Manage, somehow, To prepare for your fleecing. Then we’ll disappear.
My contact list is truly long with many I don’t know. I try to keep my focus strong. My pal is quick to show. My apps download successfully. He tells me when they’re done. When I am bored we then play games and fiddle just for fun. My friend is quite the witted one and even has some class. But I’ll tell you, He Ain’t Heavy… He’s My sMartass.
The phone of many moons ago was big and like a brick. It had no sense of ass to piss off people really quick.
One could use it as a weapon if no loaded glove had he. My friend today makes calls for me most accidentally. His knack for nonsense noises I seldom can bypass. Yet, without me, He Ain’t Heavy… He’s My sMartass.
My phone is not a person, but he thinks he is, somehow. My respect for him can worsen if whenever I allow The best of him to overshadow who I’m meant to be. My guest knows not his manners so that he will never see That between our best behaving there is such a wide crevasse And, believe me, He Ain’t Heavy… He’s My sMartass.
iPhone or iDon’t phone much, and it matters not to me. An android made on planted earth should never climb my tree. Anomaly would have it that I’d come to own a phone. This thing of mine may think he has a toy of his own. The feeling when I shut him down is much like passing gas And, I know that, He Ain’t Heavy… He’s My sMartass!
So alive in this Schoolhouse, our minds are abuzz With the brick and the mortar… what holds it in place. I’m a part of the puzzle. My mind is aware Of fantastic creation; there’s none to compare. Seems we have enough time. We’re not running a race. We like figuring things out, and that’s just because….
We have nailed down the atom and most of its parts Though that bugger is tiny, made mostly of space With leptons, exceptons and hardons, a few, And a dozen more who-ons from out of the blue. These thinglets procure a degree of embrace Through Pistachian Providence, where it all starts.
Within such a field, most particulate flow As they take on some mass much according to spin. But the Petron Pistachian, not seen ‘til now, Has completed the puzzle, and this will allow Every scientist breathing to wear a big grin. This Pistachian Presence is good stuff to know?
Now, remember our lesson from yesterday. Obsessive Compulsive type folks were discussed. Do recall, they are fidgety, fickle and mean. And besides all of that, they are not very keen On behaviors like loving and learning to trust. So we label them psycho’s, and that’s our best way.
Today, let us talk about people who get So much out of living they lead tidy lives. These sick ones, so proper with neatly combed hair, Have a thing about order. One could easily compare Their minds to most elegant virtual archives. But take some more notes, class, we’re not finished yet.
Though there’s Order Disorder, that isn’t so bad. But Disorder Disorder is more chronic still. If you practice disorder so much to the point Where the only relief is a toke on a joint, Know disorder is only an act of free will. Not knowing would cause most of us to go mad.
This is Becky Brusselsprout here with you live In the waters just off the coast of the land. Howzit feel, surfer dude, having missed that last wave? Are you filled with remorse? Are you fit for the grave? The world wants to know. I endorse their demand. I’m a bitchin’ reporter; that’s how I survive.
You say you’re not bothered? The next wave will come? That may be true, friend, but what are the odds That you’ll catch it just right and appear like a pro? If a breath is worth bating, then give us a show. The world seems addicted to foolish facades. We consume tons of content. Some folks call it scum.
We can’t stay and wait with you, and that’s to your good,
Because waiting’s to water as life is to flow.
When the next good one comes, we won’t be in your face,
Then perhaps you’ll perform in magnificent grace.
But since we won’t be here, the world will not know
So, so much for a story. We did what we could.
I remember the zinc-plated vacuum tube days. Perhaps that’s the issue. It wouldn’t be fair To the new ones to point out the way things were done. I would take apart radio sets just for fun. Inside there was substance no age can compare… …No petite touchy feely. …No harmful brain rays.
A box made of wood with a dial and a light Was the thing we would ‘watch’ as each evening passed. The announcers were artists who captured the air. They brought life to living and not much despair. Those junk boxes were sturdy and well-built to last. There’s a need for what’s come, but who knows if it’s right?
Moore’s Law clearly states that our paper will end. Transistors will run out of space pretty soon. Before that should happen, perhaps we’d take care. Our technology’s volatile wafer thin layer Could be wiped out of matter emerged from the moon. [It’s a misguided warning… Continue your trend.]
Please listen carefully; our menu options have changed. …Not really true, but just for you, the meaning’s just the same. Get off our backs, and go relax. Don’t get yourself deranged. Because you need to call us, you’re the only one to blame.
It costs us tons of money just to sit and chat with you. Our customer’s the reason why technology evolves To where we can’t be bothered much. Does that give you a clue? You are still the centerpiece around whom life revolves,
But only in the sense your money keeps our ship afloat And our customers are millions. How could we, ourselves, engage With each and every one of you? We’d slice our own damned throat! That’s why we use our software though it fills most folks with rage.
We’re people, too, and, just like you, we’ve service in our hearts. Our menus are to guide you to the specialist on hand, Yet, mostly, they do end up causing manifold false starts. Our motto’s very simple: “Do the best with what you can.”
Behold the lone space bar, apparently wide, But its name appears not, as with all other keys. It is that way so either thumb can partake Of the pleasure of thumping for clarity’s sake. I do fancy a keyboard who’s willing to please By providing me S P A C E for each word to reside.
Computers have huge hairs up their butts about space. They ignore it and ban me from using it too. Must puter-nyms look like a mis-jumbled mess? I’m not big on word sleuthing. That much I confess. In fact, spaces do more than underscores do Without looking so geeky and lacking in grace.
There’s space within atoms; they’re nothing much more! If there weren’t space between things, how would the world be? All mass in the cosmos would then coincide. The binary digits, with no place to hide, Would congeal in the plasma for all worlds to see. My Space is a good place with pet peeves galore.
When the heavens perspire and dampen the street It’s a rainstorm that’s standard and run of the mill. Precipitous prognostication aside, A Wichita weatherman’s hope’s not denied. There’s a downpour of wet stuff. My gosh, what a thrill! When they do call it right it’s a breath bated treat.
It don’t rain in this town much and I don’t know why. The forecasts will tease you and mess with your brain. They’ll tell you, “It’s coming; there’s bukus of chance.” They’ll have your hopes harnessed and pre-poised to dance… And then comes a mist puff – NOT torrents of rain. Indeed when real storms occur, all thank the sky.
By the time that I finish this verse all will cease. It’s much like the tropics how rain comes and goes. This courtship of rain dance and man with a tool Can often make forecaster look like a fool. But we’re used to it all. It is how nature shows It’s the mother in charge. We just suffer in peace.
“Ok, Mr. Wizard,” the self says to me, “Go fix that computer and make it act right!” Sounds easy enough. I’ve a friend who’s in need Of a wireless setup and thus I proceed. ‘Twas folly to think I would work with delight Then to rest proudly beneath the oak tree.
The new Tablet requires Wi-Fi, I am told. What the hell is a Wi-Fi? My Fi’s good enough! No manual comes with.… I must get it online. They no longer print them, those cost cutting swine. When your Fi talks nasty, I’m prone to get tough! Please cut me some slack; I’m not trying to be old.
That printer’s a Wi-Fi-ing prick just as well With its bells and whistles and blinking daylights And its grunts and groans and grotesque machine sounds If it’s sex that it’s having, that thing’s out of bounds! C’mon, you young fuckers; we old farts have rights. My mind’s a bit slower, but it’s clear as a bell.
All you Tech Support youngsters in faraway lands As you labor through language not truly your own I don’t need to be rude. You don’t need to be short. I don’t know it all; I can be a good sport. Much of my time is well spent on the phone With someone who believes and who understands.
Hi there, dear humans, and Blessed Bee! I’m tickled to greet you in this funny way. There’s a rumor afoot: we’re all prone to go crazy. But that’s not the case, nor are we fat and lazy. We’re workers who won’t work without any pay. That’s quite fair enough. Wouldn’t you agree?
So you give that a name as you do everything – A ridiculous chuckle of syllabic pulp. The ‘disorder’ is yours; let me tell you how so. You steal most our stuff. That is rude. Don’t you know? A week of hard work is consumed in one gulp. If you’re treated like that, do you then dance and sing?
My queen’s not in trouble; she’ll get along fine. The beings I’m worried about are you. The bears, after sinning, at least go away But you humans are screwing us day after day. We don’t mind working for Winnie the Pooh. Although he’s a glutton, his nature’s benign.
A few days before Christmas and all through my house Tiles are dancing and prancing and acting the fool I’ve been on hold for more than an hour I’m trapped like a madman without any power I’d be much better off with a two-legged stool Or a clock with no hands or a heat seeking mouse
What is up with you folks? I’ve had problems before With your chicken kits packaged and ready to buy I begin to assemble, but to my dismay The giblets are missing; I’ve wasted my day I never could get your damned chickens to fly Even with third party feathers and more
These tiles have gone crazy; they’re out of control Having glued them and laid them precisely on deck Did I sing to them wrong? Did I not wish them merry? Should I call tech support or commit hara-kiri? I’ll stay on the phone with you folks. What the heck? I’m no one to be sacked like a lump of gift coal.
Now, have I let anyone down just lately? …Today, last week, or anytime soon? Someone said someone said I’m the one to call. ‘Guess I asked for it; I’m “the jim,” after all. ‘Seems I frequently manage to appear the buffoon. Had it I to do over, I’d present myself stately.
I do manage, it seems, not by contract or pact, To promise a thing I might happen to do, But by temperament tuned to please people at will. It’s implied I’ll do all that’ll show off my skill, And as I do so I most certainly screw My chances of keeping my pride intact.
“Up the Yin Yang,” folks say when they want to express A massive quantity of what is concerned. It’s a curious quip… somewhat rude to the ear. It implies that the Yin and the Yang disappear When up them, there’s something each has not learned. If there’s guilt up my own, I know not to confess.
But if it’s demanded, I’ll comply ‘cause I’m true To the tune of expressing just who that I am. There’s no apology; no offense was committed. Any pretense of shame for me’s not well fitted. The archetypal sacrificial Lamb Clears the Yin Yang to engage the Wazoo.
What is the deal here, Dr. Bill? I’m sitting here doing my usual thing Then all of a sudden your commandment appears. With work not completed, I’m up to my ears. Now, you tell me I’m finished, as if you’re some king? Up your Thrill, Dr. Bill! Why be such a Pill?
My work has value, and yours did as well. You’ve done some great things most keen and world class. But you fall short of proving you’re human, to me, Except for this fetish for updates I see. Their randomness of occurrence is a kick in the ass. If you updated the devil, he’d evacuate hell!
And just what are all these updates for? This brand new computer still runs like a snail Well after it shits, showers and shaves. Is your intent to make us all digital slaves? Your interrupts, sir, are beyond the pale. If they did any good, would you then give us more?
Well, Dr. Bill, here’s an update for you. Throughout your infusion of binary grace I’ve been writing about how this all makes me feel. I’ve learned to separate virtual from real. Within every nuisance, there is truth to embrace. Thanks, Dr. Bill. Now I bid you adieu.
Around yonder corner near gnarly nook Need engorges the gratuitous groin. Behold the oracle adorned in gray – Her face of blue and well-lighted display. With emerald light slot and big-buttoned loin, Foreplay begins as I’m read like a book.
In district red-lighted near dust of the sole My member emerges from leather sheath Its underside pin-striped ensuring the flow Of magnetic seed so my lover will know Just who I am and what lies underneath The motive to plunge up my own rabbit hole
With manhood in hand and mind in a maze Plastic penetrates mysterious hue. Brief dialog ensues… then, let’s get it on. We won’t be together ‘til the crack of dawn So just for this moment we rendezvous. How does one encounter this oddest of lays?
As morning peeks Up window pops Under liquid screen where night was spent It says I’ve erred, and by vain intent The Cursor stops
The heart’s techniques
Then my name can’t be writ’ the more usual way? “No Spaces Or Other Such Hanky Panky!” Well, characters were never that special to me, And I’d just as soon see them take flight and be free Of unworthy stages so cluttered and cranky. So, I’ll just change my name. Surely that is OK?