Thursday, December 31, 2009

The Last Cigarette

When I make certain life-changing decisions,
I usually don't mess around. I go massive.
I go huge. I change so much geometry,
biology and so much psychography.

I already showed you that I can act badly,
now it is time for me to show you how I can act well.
Just broke down for a spell, no big deal
and yes your species is still allowed to invent the wheel.

I'm so scared but the scariness is actually fun.
If I get a stomach-ache I'll have my pack of Tum-tums.
The last cigarette is burning away in my fingers
here's hoping it won't ever again in my histories linger.

Schrödinger's Blonde

When philosophers speak of Bertrand Russell
they often bring up how the lioness's mind
must be so completely different than you.

Though she would rather not have it this way,
she certainly will not mind eating you, like a mouse.
Also, she will wake up in the middle of the night,
stare at you

Stare and stare and stair and stare.

"Help me," you cry from the ruins of your mind, "please help."

Wednesday, December 30, 2009

I Suck at Street Fighter Navi

It is all because of you.
Because you left me.
Now I have to go ahead
and SUCK at the Street Fighter II game.

Can't even do a single-finger-emotion,
let alone the Hundred-Hand-Slap.
The buttons are just not fast enough.
Need true Sanwa parts.

What is the sound of one hand clapping again?
| \ -

Actually A Very Nice Fellow

I'm not a good person.
I know, I know
"you gave me *everything*"
But I'm still not good.

Sunday praying guitar with a hand so evil

switch to the component cables.
HDMI hi-def 1080p.
lolz 'p'. as opposed to interlaced.
streetfighter 2 conversion cartridges.

incense, in a sense.

Brain Rotates About 89 Degrees

You are going to h8 at me in the morning.
When I procure some kind of 'flu'
and 'almost' die.

Yes, I already solved the 'flu' problem.
I'm not going to give it to you, though.
Cos you wished me death.

Boredom Access Slot

The Boredom Access Slot
is a place in memory where
you forget.

What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas

except if you were once defeated by Vega's
sharp claw. Then the access is no longer
a matter of just playing with little masks
but vengeance.

Tuesday, December 29, 2009


This is an old work, written probably in 2005 or 2006 or something, originally here, but renewed anew ... err. I'm going to try to quit smoking again.

(being a variation of psychosis experienced while attempting nicotine discharge from the body. and an homage to that great creator,
mr. pregnant)

I was woken around 3am by the wails of a child in the aisle. Naturally, I tended towards shutting the noise out with my pillow, and was ready to sink again into sleep and strange dreams when my, shall we say, 'maternal' instinct was awoken.

Far be it from me to harbor such instinct, being a well-formed man at the rim of youth - but I always like to leave my senses open and varied to the smells of the universe.

Here it was, then, that I smelt the fear of the screaming child. After a moment's heshitatition (befluffed also by crumbs of dried soymilk profusing from my beard), I picked up my pistol and rose out from my room.

Two women were in the vicinity of the elevator door. From between them, I could see the hint of a handlebar, and the sound of the wailing child. Brandishing my pistol, I courageously approached these foul whores.

"What are you doing with the baby?" I demanded.

They were shocked. No doubt it had not occurred to them that some hero may come to rescue this poor child they were clearly smuggling away.

"Whereforth you steal this child?" I demanded from the one to my right, an elderly crone who may have been named Madame Shcadenfraude.

She gawked. The woman next to her, somewhat younger, yet no less foul in demeanour, tugged at her sleeve. The elevator had arrived. They opened the door and hurried in.

I peered between them to see the baby. Finally - there it was. Sitting in a stroller of pink nature, with lots of - pinkness. It smiled at me. I smiled back at the baby. However, at this juncture the baby started crying again. "Don't worry, baby," I said, "I'll save you!"

The crone tried to shut the door, but I put my hand right in the way, the one holding my pistol, so that it pointed at her head. "No, crone," I said. "Inform me of the whereabouts you intend to impose upon this fine child." I looked at the baby again, and it wailed louder.

"You're going to burn it aren't you?" I exclaimed. "You're going to burn the baby!"

The women gawked.

"You're taking it to the basement and throwing it into the incinerator!"

Eyes wide open, the older woman grabbed the elevator door from my hands and closed it upon themselves. I was surprised by this move and did not have time to fire my pistol.

As I heard the elevator ride down, I beat my hands upon the door. "You will not get away with this! I'm calling the police! I'm calling the police goddamn you and putting an end to this baby burning business!"

I ran back to my apartment, a cold sweat breaking upon me within the 12 steps it takes to get there. What if they reached the incinerator before the police arrived? What if that cute baby which smiled at me was borne unto ashes?" I had promised that I would save it.

Shaking my head, I stamped my way to my desk and picked my phone up. I called emergency services. I dialed 9-1-1. "They're burning babies over here!" I screamed. "Babies - they're being burned!"

I was made to hold for about 35 seconds while they patched me. In.

It was while waiting, then, and rolling my pistol around my finger, that I realized it was actually a chicken bone. A wing piece, attached to the arm as is customary. I remembered that a neighbor of mine owns a child, and due to its wailing on certain nights, takes it out for a stroll to soothe it.

"Sir, are you still there?" came the emergency voice.

"Ah ha ha ha." I said. "No."

Man Goes So Green He Even Recycles Memories

In the dream, I was trying to be so efficient.
Achieve top marks in all areas: Wealth, wine, women,
even be more perfect than any religion or 'God'.

I would recycle keyboard input.
I found a way where by coaxing some of the wires
on the motherboard, common editing software
could be induced to reproduce characters
from works of old.

You didn't have to spend the energy to press any buttons.

I recycled my habits, then recycled my water supply,
in a very literal and bodily manner.
Cos I was living on a fucking island, you see
where the illustrator forgot to add the surrounding ocean.

Woke up musing about a man who was so efficient he even recycles memories.

Monday, December 21, 2009

Wise Men Say

Wise men say,
she'll leave when said.
You can't hope to hang out
with all of us back then.

Take my hand.
Wish you'd been there then.
So cold at the end,
wish it wasn't so, friend.

Thursday, December 17, 2009

Christmas Gifts for The Black Adder

Throughout history many have attempted to gift unto one another, spawning a maddeningly wild cacophany of gift lists that now just stream obliviously through the world, having long lost their owners. Every single item in these lists is always so carefully selected, so fawned upon fondly, then seemingly so callously discarded till the next year, when you have to make a new list and have no new ideas. What if the gifts had feelings? Did anybody even try to think about that? In spite of this great personal tragedy, but nevertheless, none are so select as this list, this small, tiny pin-prick of a list of:

Christmas Gifts for The Black Adder

5) Doll house w/ accompanying doll collection of male cock-ups.

4) 2 beans. And 2 more beans.

3) Lady Ponsemby's head (on a pike and presented in Mr. Ploppy's very own cunning fashion).

2) People. Yes, just people. For pushing off ledges. (It's funny).

1) New, shinier, sharper and just plain better codpiece.


"I'm sorry, I only have room
for 1 sci-fic engagement
this year (being timed so

And I spent it all on Paranormal Activity.
Ok, no, I didn't.
Okay, so here is the deal:
Imagine being immersed

In a James Cameron movie like Aliens,
where you get to have a pocket device
that lets you see how close you are
to Newt.

Then, as you approach the vector,
the slimey backgrounds and cold internal pressure
just becomes a full-fledged war
within the Battlestar Galactica universe.

You're like "Newt, Newt!,
but why am I shooting Cylons?"
"Where is the Doctor?"

It would be even funnier
if they just put a button in a tree
where you can go and push it,
then they just tell you where you are.

Shooting Everybody Can Help

When you start off with a new name,
it just isn't the same
oh 'joanna in antartica'
to justify your religion from the start.

Shooting everybody can help
especially if you have to look up kelp
on dictionary dot com.

It's the sound of the whale
eating its ordained slab of krill
enjoying life for what its worth.

In any case, if I somehow fail,
I can just hire a lawyer from Boston
who sounds like Bert.

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

ze Chocolate is zo Jocholaty Funny

Hello Andrea, thank you for the email. As a tip, one of the things you have to do in the "gift industry", so to speak, is that you have to be aware that you are in the business of helping customers with their relationships. A relationship is something that might exist at one point, but later it might not. Getting 'follow-up' emails from people in the gift industry after the whole thing has collapsed is not a pleasant experience. It could potentially open up old wounds. This is not how your boss wants to sell the chocolates.

One of the reasons I chose to solicit your company's service is that you deliver to Romania. I recognize, and realize that these aren't the limitations of your services, and perhaps one time in the future, I will use the service to entertain another chocolate requirement :)

As a compensation for being soul-less, I leave you with a piece I wrote some time ago about the soul.

"Dude yoo can't fuck with that guy. He does stunts with his fucking *soul*," said a Kris Kristofferson lookalike.

"He'll end up like Evel," worried his nerd buddy. "Washed out and toothless in a Home for people without teefs."

The performer climbed up the tower. On the way, everybody loved him, passing flowers and chocolates and he progressed. "Wot," would say a girl, "they only gave you Roses? Check out this custom-made confection I ordered from France, just for you."

Then he was finally up there. How had all of this become a monster truck event? Where did it go wrong? He sat on the chair, and a crane slowly lowered a laptop onto the desk.

As the computer, booting, calculated RAM, his life flashed before his eyes. Then the network came online, thanks to citywide wifi.

The crowd roared.

final draft @ trooli: -fr0
Original Message:

On Mon, 07 Dec 2009 20:00 +0100, "Andrea from zChocolat" ( wrote:
I noticed that you have not used our services for quite some time. I hope that you were not disappointed with our products or services in any ways. Please let me know if it is the case.
Why not give a try to our new chocolate collection before the holidays and treat yourself to a gourmet experience unlike any you've ever had. I invite you to indulge in our new collection, and discover for yourself the new recipes that world champion chocolatier Pascal Caffet and zChocolat have dreamt up. I would also be happy to help you find the perfect gift, so please don't hesitate to repond to this e-mail if I can be of any help whatsoever or answer any questions you may have. I hope to hear from you soon! Of course, feel free to click here if you no longer wish to be contacted via email.
I wish you a sweet and happy holiday season.
Andrea Booth
Customer Service

Most Women *Love* Canal Sex

Imagine a canal,
with just you the woman
and me the man.

It doesn't have to be a gondola.
We can just as well do with
some kind of small canoe
or perhaps this new paper airplane
everybody is twittering about.

But you want the gondola, and you want Venice.
Because you actually *like* canal sex.
So the paddle-man paddles, and paddles,

and paddles and paddles,

making you go through and through
through the whole history and stuff,
until we finally reach the canal.

Then you jump into the #()@# river.

I curse in the gondola at the paddler.

About A Nose

Addendum to the 'nose is so sneezy' poem, written in the style of nirvana with their song 'About a Girl'. Thanks for the comments!

About a Nose

I need an easy gland
I do
with an ear to lend,
I do
think you've thought this through
I do
think you fit the helmet.
Take advantage while
you pull it all out with pliers,
I do.
I've sniffled on your case,
I've marred
our big great escape.
Take advantage while
you're caught pedophile inspectors.
I do.
I need to pump my nose
I do
with a bitter gourd,
I do
think you know this fruit
I do
smile when you put your foot
on my advantage where
I see you calculate our range
i do.






But I can't sneeze at you every night!
No I can't sneeze you every night,

Thursday, December 10, 2009

nose is so sneezy

like someone blew anthrax
right in my face.

that is of course a lung infection
yet it could damage olfactory sections,
i look ugly when it goes, i look so ugly with this nose.

so powerful, i'm killing trees
just by virtue of my silly sneezes
i can't even see my knees
i think i've out-silvered my silver sleeves.

Monday, December 7, 2009

Sour Monday

"Tell him I don't want to see his grumpy face until it becomes a ... a ... a nice, pleasant face!"

Who the hell made your beds when you were eight years old?

I came in cursing at everybody - especially the people who were expecting the most out of me on that morning. I then made assessments of damage done, apologized efficiently where needed, ignored without guilt as required and saluted mock-sarcastically to the people who thought they knew what I was up to.

Finally I was able to get into the location on the GPS. I touched a part of the screen where some semblance of 'smooth-touched computer graphics' deigned a 'text label UI element', and waited until the fucking thing finally went through its "user-fucking-acclimating" animation and presented the fucking data. I was in my office.

"Fuck this shit," I said, and went outside the building.

I went to a coffee shop and waited until my friends came over. Then we got some coffee and cigarettes and talked and chatted. After some time, my mobile device was making too much noise, so I just turned it off. We went on talking about how stupid everybody else was, and why they are not important.

Sooner or later, the sky above us started exploding. This was when Charlie said "Maybe we should check out what is going on with these fuckers."

We all sighed. Yes. Maybe we should check out what is going on with all these fuckers.

Thursday, December 3, 2009

Ghost Teacher

Children in Primary schools
make light of a 'Ghost Teacher'.
A teacher who teaches you
after she has died.

Can anybody say 'milf fixation' or
box art? Can any body say anything
when she has control over

your future directions?

The 'Ghost Teacher' appears
randomly out of nowhere,
showing you how to press the button.

It will even hold your hand.

Shrimp VS Prawn

I was drinking a humble cup of green tea
at a quiet roadside, gold and ruby leaves swirling,
but not under my feet. Under my feet, only wet mud.

Was thinking about noticing the smell of rain on stones
or the earth, as a child, as anybody does and
finds so, so ... unique, somehow.

A girl slipped by. At first I thought to refill my green tea,
instead she dropped a note written on one of those paper flowers.
Not origami -- these are real flowers, organic, but look and feel like paper.

Name escapes me now, but I got this note. A link. A link in a note.
Touching it, I envisioned the writings of probably the most constipated
person in the universe. It was so constipated, it even had

an update for its constipated post. Update on constipation.
I now fwd u with our latest technology
Shrimp VS Prawn:

Wednesday, December 2, 2009

A Roll In The Hay

Somehow, she'd pounced, and they lay together,
her on top of him, her evil toothed grin bearing down.
"You like this, don't you?" he said, then threw her around.

Now he was on top of things, straddling her.
In all the wavy smoke and ether, he finally found her face again
just to ask,
"Well then, how do you like this?"

First, there was a loss of pressure, then her thigh shot upward
only to be gently diffused by his downward palm.
"I knew you'd try to slam me viciously," he explained.

As she looked at him ferociously, he gently eased off her,
rolling over to *his* side while making sure at all points
he was protected.

Later they would have in-depth conversations as he slept face down
about why he wouldn't let her kick him in the balls,
how he would like children (not necessarily with her, if were to pass),

and why this whole thing is possibly just a musing.