What is there to say, on this fine Christmas day?
Is it not as dull as the rest?
Every day is ever changing, except the grayness remaining!
But what has it to impress?
What has Christmas to prove, to celebrate?
What shall I rhyme next, please not ‘masturbate’.
Damn, something broke my concentration,
No, it’s not masturbation.
It’s another pointless Christmas show on TV.
Is this to celebrate the birth of Jesus C?
What’s the point with all this Christmas-ing
I don’t love Christ, though he looks rather nice.
But Christianity in general is not my thing!
I don’t do it for the presents nor the shows,
Anyway, on C-Day TV blows.
But it’s the family and friends that I appreciate.
With them, Christmas is worth the wait.
But hell! These shows are so shit!
Eastenders gives me mental fits!
I’d sooner blow my brains to bits!
Now I’m off to bed to rest my head.
Remember all what I’ve just said!
Christmas is a time of giving, ma daars.
Do as Jesus does and as Jesus saars.
Remember to have endless fun.
Merry Christmas everyone!
Poem 003: Christmas 2007
Poem 002: Avril Lavigne
Some call her Anvil,
Some call her Anvil La Giver.
Also known as Viva La Linger,
Or Vaginal Liver.
Whatever her name,
Whatever her cause,
We shall forever hate her,
And bash without pause.
For she is a poser,
A loser, a hack.
Even when hosting free concerts,
Fans demand their money back.
She has no boundaries, no limit, no touch, no edge,
No talent, no brains and an ignorance without end.
I wonder and ponder,
What we did to deserve,
To even have heard of such a vexatious swine,
Such an insolent turd!
Bashing and blundering,
Blasting and boffing,
Kicking and knocking,
Oh how we reserve,
To hate such a twit,
She deserves such a kick!
Oh how much justice such would serve!
You call yourself a Rock Princess,
Well let me get this off my chest,
I shall put you to the test,
Shall prove you are nought but pest,
You are cocky, snotty, smug and vain!
Bloody hell Avril, you are such a pain!
A pain without reason,
A pain without root.
You deserve not even your face,
But your head is worth the shoot.
When loading one’s rifle,
You must remember to think,
To save just one bullet,
For shooting that ninc*!
*Ninc = Nincompoop
You like?
Poetry 001: Halo
Halo
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
He left her gagging,
He wants her too.
But when he’s around her,
And all are without clue,
You know where they’re looking,
You know they want to!
—————————————–
But how could they tell us,
Us picky prude ponces?
We evade all substance,
And cut straight to the nonsense!
We could never understand,
Their undying passion.
But isn’t it perverted?
For this 30-year-old to be smashing,
An 18-year-old blonde,
Obsessed with fashion and gnashing!
———————————————-
She isn’t right for him!
Oh how this troubles us so!
Get your own man, Pan!
Ours is Milo!
——————————–
But that’s just Big Cheese,
They’re all so high-nosed,
So conceited and complicated,
And assume no body knows,
That when they’re alone,
Or so we think,
They’re thinking of bone,
-ing what we think!
——————————–
Halo is heaven,
Halo on earth.
He’s in her bra,
She’s in his shirt.
What can we do?
It doesn’t really hurt,
For the begging blonde,
To bang a pervert.
_______________________
Now to clear a few things up, the ’ship does not bother me at all. I’m happy with anything Milo is. Though I’d say, he’d be happier with Alexis. But wuteva.
Enjoy. *cackle*
Teh 001 Interview: Avril Lavigne
Moi: The date is December 3rd, 2007. Time: Precisely 08.16. Whereabouts: Room 247 in *blocked out* Hotel, New York. I’m still waiting for her to arrive; it seems she has been delayed.
A shrimpy, blonde young woman of around 5-foot, dressed in stripes and leather of tangerine, enters the room. She murmurs and yawns, shuffling and scuffling towards the interviewer.
Moi: Good morning, Miss Lavigne. You are over 15 minutes late.
Tangigne: *yawn*
Moi: I must say, that is quite a response. I sense a distinct fatigue and I dare say, sluggishness, in your reply.
Tangigne: Uuh yah, they’re supposed to be real healthy, something like nature and ya know that guy who ray-fish killed, survival and stuff, ya noes.
Moi: This has little to do with your late and *clears throat* droopy-pooped appearance, but are you perhaps referring to the deceased Steve Irwin?
Tangigne: Uh yeas, that English croc-hunter.
Moi: I think you mean Australia.
Tangigne: Yah, in Australia, England.
Moi: Crocodiles in the UK? Yes, I believe Queenie rides one. Camilla arranged one for her a 60th anniversary. The funny thing is, Queenie was without a driver’s licence.
Tangigne: Yah, I read about that!
Moi: You read?
Tangigne: Err yah, instruction books mostly.
Moi: Yes, I thought so. Anyway, reports say that you are hosting free concerts. Have you just changed approach for strategic reasons or…?
Tangigne: I don’t have my dictionary with me, so I don’t know what that ’s word’ means…but yah, there is a reason. Well, ya know…*mumbles indistinctly*
Moi: Yes?
Tangigne: Well, they aren’t selling as…*is cut off*
Moi: Efficiently? I don’t have a dictionary with me, so you wouldn’t know what the ‘e word’ means, but…
Tangigne: Err, I think I know what fishing means. And it has nothing to with how crappy my concerts are selling!
Moi: So you are confirming your concerts aren’t selling well?
Tangigne: Err, yah. But I guess it’s just that my fans are getting poorer. I might do another charity thing…
Moi: But it’s been said that your free concerts are “crappy” as well.
Tangigne: Yah, remember my cool quote! You hate me, you suck!
Moi: I was merely criticising your performance standards.
Tangigne: Yah, watch it, you! I said watch it!
Moi: *clears throat* You are spitting.
Tangigne: Wha!?
Moi: And my papers are getting wet.
Tangigne: What are you talking you, ya!?
Moi: Erm, will you please cease, I already had a shower.
Tangigne: A’ight, I’m going to go listen to Paramore or something, this interpol sucks!
Moi: It’s called an INTERVIEW, you crummy, crappy, third-rate stooge!
Tangigne: Err, YOU’RE THE LOSER, NOT ME!
Avril Lavigne (Viva La Linger, Vaginal Liver, Tangigne) storms from the room.
So yah.
