Other № 30440
I Can Write A Wrong, But I Can't Right A Poem
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.
64 comments
me calling shit poetry shit? still you have failed to sight, or explain what your exact argument is about those three (shit poems, stanrice's poetry, or my work [more ammo see, this is where you'll come along and say well horus shit poetry is exactly what they have in common, because you my flamboy-ant buffoon are predictable]) without talking in circles about boston chicken, pimples, diplomas, traveling, fighting, dick sucking, carpayments, who should and who shouldn't be allowed to raise children? usd$$ this and that, plagiarism, gods wife, and whatever else you can find to talk about other than what's on the table.see me soon? i don't think god would allow my christmas to be that good friend.i
.........
L O L
And I thought I was bad... Good use of really bad creativity, I give it..a TEN! Just because you made me laugh...
Me neither
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