Fear of Garbage
on Another Endless Night by MacFrantic
18 Oct 2004, 12:27 PM
Did you write this with syllables in mind? I can't make up my mind.
The first half of this really got me going...and then that kind of cop-out at the end....
Yes.
I think it's Ironic that in this poem you perfectly described... A roll of toilet paper, that's DEEP.
Now, fly the gay winged bat back to uranus.
-=0=-
Amazingly amazing like orange tang.
I mean do you really think we're interested in watching you stick your head up her twat? I'd fucking rather be gay, you're right!
And you're a mediocre pussy whipped hack and?
How utterly relevant! She obviously dreams of tramps, eulogizes them.
Retard is good. Even retards understand that one. Listen up, hywel, in case you don't understand this site. Most people on this site who insult others with zeros and monologues on how dim their poems are use many pseudonyms. For all I know, you are zodiac using a friend’s computer and a different handle. So, as for never meeting you, how would I know? You would know me because I am Dan garcia-Black. If hywel is your real name then you are right. I've never met you. However, you responded to a comment that named specific people on this site. It leads my retarded brain to think you are hiding behind that hywel persona. If I'm wrong, it's because this site makes one mistrust words. Since words are the building material of our poems, the people I named in my comment are doing a disservice to the entire point of this type of site.
I am always let down when someone who I will never meet insults me. I just wish they would show their face. But they know nothing of the mean streets of hollywood. I am a humble shoe shiner making it in the states, not in some towel haired nation. Those educated and intelligent people, they are the real dims. Retard.
"Here is found a paradox in that during the latter third of the nineteenth century, in a period characterized by the vilification of the tramp, there is a concomitant process occurring that also eulogized them." from "The American Hobo" by Colin Beesley
Thanks for proving my point, coward.
No gentleman would fight a tramp so just put away your fists and go back to your favella. It is late and no one wants their shoes shining in the dark.
I also "feel" that nothing you ever say has any relevance or meaning.
Yeah, okay, you were running in your dream. If only I'd known.
are you sure i wasnt the focus of the trojan war?
All right, I don't know what your problem is, but it doesn't take a genious to click on the link that says "View voting details."
As in a nightmare? If you're telling me you've never had a dream in which you were running, well then I'd say I have a hard time believing you.