on A hangman's moaning by Moauram
7 May 2013, 9:32 AM
Yes you the tool.
on To Poets Whose Writing is Fecal. by SupremeDreamer
12 Jan 2009, 7:34 AM
I understand you. You suffered a great loss in your early life and have spent the rest of it trying to replace the loss with a gigantic prosthetic. Unfortunately whilst some may replace a broken penis with a snooker ball in a sock you have chosen a she-pee.
replying on The Man Who Drooped by -=Dark_Angel=-, P.I.
12 Jun 2008, 8:58 AM
How dare you bring the engine of my verse,
That rhymes with shepherd's purse.
I would be nothing without the aid of the 'zone,
And a truncated cone.
That rhymes with shepherd's purse.
I would be nothing without the aid of the 'zone,
And a truncated cone.
on The Man Who Drooped by -=Dark_Angel=-, P.I.
4 Jun 2008, 12:28 PM
Right, either age has wittled the Angel's skill to the crusty husk of a brittle old flange or the original angel handed over their details to a new angel who is simply dunce. -=10=-
on Beard my Homemade Negro Jesus (Improved! With AIDS!) by Everyone
28 Mar 2008, 5:40 AM
I bearded my black christ with swine,
'pon which the holy fella did dine,
His lips slurped and swallowed,
The jew meat thus hallowed,
Pork is thus became divine.
'pon which the holy fella did dine,
His lips slurped and swallowed,
The jew meat thus hallowed,
Pork is thus became divine.
on Voice of the World by Dovina
17 Jan 2008, 7:47 AM
I closed my eyes, until they hurt,
And prayed it would go away,
But when, again, I opened my eyes,
This poem still looked really gay.
And prayed it would go away,
But when, again, I opened my eyes,
This poem still looked really gay.
on A River Ran Through It by Dovina
19 Oct 2007, 4:24 AM
Wow - you're still producing this bile!
replying on The kissing chair incident by Stephen Robins
8 Jun 2007, 2:26 AM
Sorry it is weak in places, however it was written after two bottles of 2001 Chassagne Montrachet 1er cru. I was therefore off my face. I will not make further amendments as I which to leave this poem as testament to the effects of fine wine on syntax.
on Four and a half paragraphs of silence by ?-Dave_Mysterious-?
23 May 2007, 6:01 AM
Rejoice and praise ?-Dave_Mysterious-?
His face is ace, his touch imperious,
He makes buxom young women delirious,
No! of course I'm not being serious!
?-Dave_Mysterious-? well done on relogging in after four years, just one other thing - could you file a patent for this ill-conceived contraption I invented as a panacea for all domestic chores?
http://tinyurl.com/2yfdzj
His face is ace, his touch imperious,
He makes buxom young women delirious,
No! of course I'm not being serious!
?-Dave_Mysterious-? well done on relogging in after four years, just one other thing - could you file a patent for this ill-conceived contraption I invented as a panacea for all domestic chores?
http://tinyurl.com/2yfdzj
replying on Bookshop girls by Stephen Robins
21 May 2007, 1:02 PM
Yes I think the second half of this poem is really soooooooo much more gratuitous isn't it?
on Beetles by cheese.doodles
17 May 2007, 8:46 AM
Excellent. I hate treading on things - like, you know, the earth.
replying on The Wingman by John Rambo
17 May 2007, 8:45 AM
Cutting...
...and True.
...and True.
replying on Fraser Allonby Quidnam Cruris by Stephen Robins
17 May 2007, 8:24 AM
But, soft! what roar from yonder bottom breaks?
'Tis the feast of thy curried buns,
Arise, sweet bun, kill the envious prune,
Who is already sick and pale with grief,
That bun made her fart far more than ye.
Be not her maid, since the prune is envious;
Her vestal livery is but sick and green
And none but fools do consume it; cast it off
It is my Bun, O, it is my Bun!
O, that what a bun she were!
She speaks yet she says nothing; what of that?
My blood with buns courses; I will chance it.
I am too bold, 'tis not to me she wreeks.
Two of the fairest buns in all the heaven.
'Tis the feast of thy curried buns,
Arise, sweet bun, kill the envious prune,
Who is already sick and pale with grief,
That bun made her fart far more than ye.
Be not her maid, since the prune is envious;
Her vestal livery is but sick and green
And none but fools do consume it; cast it off
It is my Bun, O, it is my Bun!
O, that what a bun she were!
She speaks yet she says nothing; what of that?
My blood with buns courses; I will chance it.
I am too bold, 'tis not to me she wreeks.
Two of the fairest buns in all the heaven.
on What it Feels Like by laurahenn2010
19 Apr 2007, 9:02 AM
May I try the next verse for you:
An awkward fumbling at my bra,
A great bulging stiffy in your jeans,
Subsides in a damp, cloying puddle,
I must attend myself, by artificial means.
An awkward fumbling at my bra,
A great bulging stiffy in your jeans,
Subsides in a damp, cloying puddle,
I must attend myself, by artificial means.
on The Corner Tavern by jessicazee
19 Apr 2007, 8:57 AM
Dogs who drink beer? Where did you think up this line? for dogs drink water not beer.
on Always there by holliebollie_19
19 Apr 2007, 8:55 AM
Hollie Bollie, this is indeed sort of like a song. It is sort of like a song before it is sung.
on Pink BAlls by EAger to Offend
19 Apr 2007, 8:52 AM
Verily the most enjoyable romp around the foyer of hotel failure for three long years!
on Sensually Literary Villanelle by bwaha
19 Apr 2007, 8:51 AM
This is awesome.
on Prince of Void by Dovina
16 Apr 2007, 4:02 AM
Why is everyone writing rubish poems about other users all of a sudden they're not funny, or clever, or good. It is a practice I will be mentioning to nentwined in our next conference call on the future of this website. We are currently planning to go for an IPO in the Summer on the proviso we can get rid of some of the more stale old crones who haunt the halls of this institution.