Achtung! Bad Language




Few bards & flunkies did once
tell of an old frying pan worked for London transport
till european mind held up his stagecoach…
We drove as if we had a puncture;
Dad trying not to blink, that man’s eyes
stuck in my head, which is where the story clunks ,
and any attempt to energize this fable
with something aromatic whiff of the nature
of articulacy and inheritance,
since he can well eulogize his own
excuses, you your own accommodation.
As it stands now if you still insist on resonance –
I’d swing for him, and every other cunt
happy to let my Django know his station,
which probably includes yourself. To be blunt.

Hate Book Saturnalia




Ye Gods indigent wriggly worms sport forkpronged unterhosen arc crimson bloodspurt dotty cardboad boxers pulsar expectant warbles bogus whiplash insult in injury small claims courtship

Under earth dark shock overzealous anger shall not fall upon unavenged eejit mortal take these hinter insurrection & evening bread of heaven feed me evermore again like

Third degree Burn’s nightingale okays denouement kulterkampf midway through unsaid sentence befitting crimes against womanity diddling gymnastic ingenuous waitresses

Garden pots or garden knots melt make facts the origin of the specious  creation myth of twelve step dancing kodak bears trance dancing anguished hits from Springsteen for a slow buckshee

With preparations for the Hate Books Festival well in hand Groundswell, Harry Boy, and Lyssa Mandrake-Wart, flop back in psilocibin Chesterfields and hummed Annie’s Song amongst others

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