Number one: you forgot 'deliberately mispronounce' his name as well.

Then he ate her, and livingston's seagull went splash at mach ten.

Talent and likability are two entirely different things like vulva and cock, and cheetos and fritos salmon & pike, Jews and Genitiales.

This is much much better if you mean 'burning bridges' literally.

Damn. Dats all i can say

once again Damn dats all i can say

screw dis

i changed my mind

Blahblahblah. i'm a better pornographer than you, so there.Yonic 0.

This has got to be the lamest reject metal song since Twisted Wizard. Fabio Lione could totally kick your ass.

well, my old pal, i see what you are saying here, and i'll not lend you my box matches, nor let you siphon my gasoline!!! i may need them myself, and nothing makes me happier than a gigantic FIRE!!!!!

i remember this one time when i jumped this guy for being gay and i held his wrist and kept making him smack himself with his fist, saying "stop hitting yourself. stop hitting yourself!" until, finally, i got bored and went on to the truck pull and drank lots of miller beer. that aside, your anger detracts from any thoughtful poetry. rage on. 7 swastikas!

all i have to say is: this is some fucked up shit this is some fucked up shit this is some fucked up shit this is some fucked up shit this is some fucked up shit this is some fucked up shit this is some fucked up shit this is some fucked up shit etc. (it was supposed to be ten times, since that's all the rage around here, but i ran out of Natty, and have to grab another 30 pack before my man gets home. one black eye is enough, don't you think?)

Great haiku Tony, sorry i've been healing from a groin pull these last three days. i've read it, and i would like to have a phone meeting about it with you 12:00 my time 3:00 yours tomorrow if possible. I think we are good to go. Great revisions, and way to sink the magic bullit. 10.

Where the hell have you been? I suffer through one more trial and no Lucifer to tempt me with his light. Lovely poem. 'Pea coat, stool-pigeon, cracked lips...' This poem is speaking to my twisted-up guts. Last stanza, second line 'punctures this skin' try it, you'll like it.

i before e. what does it mean? e after i, this poem is fine. in fact i think it may haunt my confined sleep tonight. the mouth on the face of the man spitting blood, breathing life and death by the fence... brrrrrrrrr.

love h8 love h8 the massacre was self induced! your mind is a fucking supernova and the lense on my telescope has a scratch right across the middle. punkrock. teeters, William Zanzibar Bubbington

Yes it is rude to plagerize but I rather like allusion. Wilde is a good choice for a companion but I think I'd call on Blake, Wordworth, and Burns. Perhaps little Emily too. (7.)

Glad to see you back in the saddle. Busy and active poem ya got here. Good thing they didnt dash out in front of you.

And we hope you eventually read Voltaires "Candid", and it makes you rape your own ass with a polo mallet and pam spray on cooking grease at 375 degrees until crispy on the outside and off pink on the inside. Perhaps you should take your mouth off of your mutha's udder for a sec and squirt your name in the grass? Just don't carve in the tree bark, please. Trees have feelings asshole.