Hahaha.
through
10/12/03
Set #1
I could always kill myself,
Because of course, that solves all my problems.
That would give me the perfect life,
And all my friends would be cool,
And all the girls would love me,
And I would be the most popular guy around,
And my parents would be the nicest people ever,
And I would start getting better grades,
And I would have perfect logic and reasoning,
And if I met another
STUPID FUCKER
Who killed themselves, I would get the
Glorious Chance to
BEAT THE CRAP OUT OF THEM
For being a dumbass,
And then thank them
For removing themselves from the gene pool.
So anyway, where’s my ritual katana-blade thing?
Comes typically at night,
Typically in times of stress or emotional disturbance.
I think I might be onto something....
No, never mind, I like silver and garlic.
Flush away the tears with liquor,
Flood my mind with cheap alcohol.
I tell myself I don’t do it
Simply because my willpower
Is Greater, Stronger, Better.
However, I think that I am, more or less,
Not the Ted Turner of time,
And I can’t find a spare weekend
To go get smashed.
Oh well, score one for vanity anyway.
Jack jump over the candlestick,
And if your boots should chance to stick
In the mud at your feet, hardened to brick,
The flames at your trousers will certainly lick,
And you will be burnt, you poor little prick.
Spending the coin of my sleep
On the slot machines of poetry,
Hoping for a revelation, a jackpot,
A monumental breakthrough
That will give me insight
On what the fuck to do next.
Unfortunately, it is not in this poem.
Sat on a tuffet
Eating her curds and whey,
When along came a suitor,
Who sought to pursue her,
And so she had a nearby spider eat his soul.
And a merry old soul was he.
In fact, a little too merry:
In a thick haze of sherry
He appointed a mule as his Vizier
And declared the right of Prima Nactus.
Sat in a corner
Eating his Christmas pie.
He stuck in his thumb
And pulled out a plum
And said “What A Good Boy Am I!”
But then his dear brother
Jack’s happiness smothered,
When he said “I fucked your girlfriend.”
Had a wife and couldn’t keep her
Because Old King Cole,
That merry old soul,
Kept screwing her when he got boozed up.
Went to the cupboard
To fetch her poor dog a bone
But of bones there were none
So the dog ate her son,
And Mother Hubbard died of an aneurysm.
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
All the king’s horses and all the king’s men
Having no knowledge of current medicine,
Told the midwife to put him back together again
But she couldn’t; she was otherwise occupied
With Old King Cole snoring gently at her side.