Annoncing my poem! You jey!

[UnderYourSpell]

Have awful thought of chocolate going up my nose now .. I am very sorry if my mind works in peculiar ways far different than anyone elses but then that's just me and not much can be done about it at this latter stage .. hope you weren't about to eat your dinner.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Hey why won't my posts post?

 

[MTVM]

MTVM — :: suspicious:: why do you have a picture of Tzara for an avatar? Or is that Spike Milligan, hard to tell…

I am disappointed in you El, I thought you had some knowledge of modern poetry. That photo is of modern master Mr. Rod McKuen.

 

[Eluard]

I am disappointed in you El, I thought you had some knowledge of modern poetry. That photo is of modern master Mr. Rod McKuen.

Whew! ::whistling sound:: The great Rod McKuen! "We had joy we had fun…"

Now there's potery!

 

[Tzara]

Just a minute now...

Tzara said that all 'ended well' and I was DEAD. And even worse I was last alive in Smiths Falls which means I already had one foot in the grave. AND Eluard apparently is extremely proud of the fact that he killed me while wearing French lace panties.

I'm insulted.

No. Really. I am.

Smiths Falls? You couldn't have killed me in Toronto or Vancouver? I hope, I at the very least, died in a vat of chocolate at the Hershey Factory in downtown S.F.


Viiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiizier. Hope everything is as okay as it can be.

And you call yourself an English teacher. Hmmph.

"Sara Crewe" is a character in a story! Surely I don't need to spell that out to you, Missy. (<-- severe voice now)

It was Smiths Falls because there is no St. Mary's Mead in Ontario. (I think.)

I missed the part about the French lace panties. That suggests a rather different style of narrative. I shall have to think about that.

Think long and hard.






Good luck with the school year, Ms. C. May I say I sometimes wish you'd give me homework?

 

[Tzara]

Now there's potery!

You got that wrought!

 

[Sara Crewe]

And you call yourself an English teacher. Hmmph.

"Sara Crewe" is a character in a story! Surely I don't need to spell that out to you, Missy. (<-- severe voice now)

It was Smiths Falls because there is no St. Mary's Mead in Ontario. (I think.)

I missed the part about the French lace panties. That suggests a rather different style of narrative. I shall have to think about that.

Think long and hard.






Good luck with the school year, Ms. C. May I say I sometimes wish you'd give me homework?

Okay. Your homework is to prepare my lessons for the rest of the semester.

Should you fail to do this you must take me to dinner...in Paris, Rome or Florence. I'm flexible.



PS I'm Sara Crewe. I killed the little princess a long time ago...

 

[champagne1982]

You got that wrought!

saucy ass

 

[unpredictablebijou]

Just a minute now...
Tzara said that all 'ended well' and I was DEAD. And even worse I was last alive in Smiths Falls which means I already had one foot in the grave. AND Eluard apparently is extremely proud of the fact that he killed me while wearing French lace panties.

I'm insulted.

No. Really. I am.

Smiths Falls? You couldn't have killed me in Toronto or Vancouver? I hope, I at the very least, died in a vat of chocolate at the Hershey Factory in downtown S.F.

Viiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiizier. Hope everything is as okay as it can be.

Daaaaaaahlink Nymph o' My Heart, yes, it is more okay with each passing day. Hubby will live, and has returned to his crotchety bastard self, modified somewhat by Lortabs and a morphine patch. woof.

Salinger once said that his happiest moment was the time when, as a youngster, he wrote a story in which every single character had a Heidelberg dueling scar. Even the dog.

Perhaps Tzara's challenge is to write this mystery in such a way that every single character is at some point wearing french lace panties.

And we have to find a way to not actually kill you. Maybe the actual victim turns out to be your evil twin, and you are found disheveled and sweaty (mm) in a slightly filthy dungeon, unharmed except for your torn clothing and a couple of mild carpet burns.

Unless YOU'RE the evil twin.

I know I am.

bijou

 

[Eluard]

Daaaaaaahlink Nymph o' My Heart, yes, it is more okay with each passing day. Hubby will live, and has returned to his crotchety bastard self, modified somewhat by Lortabs and a morphine patch. woof.

Salinger once said that his happiest moment was the time when, as a youngster, he wrote a story in which every single character had a Heidelberg dueling scar. Even the dog.

Perhaps Tzara's challenge is to write this mystery in such a way that every single character is at some point wearing french lace panties.

And we have to find a way to not actually kill you. Maybe the actual victim turns out to be your evil twin, and you are found disheveled and sweaty (mm) in a slightly filthy dungeon, unharmed except for your torn clothing and a couple of mild carpet burns.

Unless YOU'RE the evil twin.

I know I am.

bijou

I like it! And she has that piled up bedroom hair and the soundtrack is a 60's Italian-style Mondo cool, stolen from a Dario Argento or Jesse Franco movie. She lip synchs something like `Mon Dieu!' before collapsing again into the strong arms of Rod McKuen/Tzara (hell, we know they're the same guy!) who (badly) lip-sychs something along the lines of "You have suffered enough, little bird". Then we see him notice the carpet burns on the knees and his eyes tear up a little in bitter but stoic sadness. Cue credits over Neil Diamond singing "Girl, you'll be a woman soon".

(Final surprise after the credits: bijou comes out of the shadows of the dungeon, holding a largish black "back-massager" and a "whup" of spanish leather. She says, in lip-synch lingo: "You will return to pain". Then she laughs, absurdly loudly.)

 

[Tzara]

Cue credits over Neil Diamond singing "Girl, you'll be a woman soon"

I should be offended (shouldn't I?), but that image is so appropriate and funny that you are hereby exempted via laughter.

But don't do anything like that ever again.

I mean it.

 

[Sara Crewe]

I like it! And she has that piled up bedroom hair and the soundtrack is a 60's Italian-style Mondo cool, stolen from a Dario Argento or Jesse Franco movie. She lip synchs something like `Mon Dieu!' before collapsing again into the strong arms of Rod McKuen/Tzara (hell, we know they're the same guy!) who (badly) lip-sychs something along the lines of "You have suffered enough, little bird". Then we see him notice the carpet burns on the knees and his eyes tear up a little in bitter but stoic sadness. Cue credits over Neil Diamond singing "Girl, you'll be a woman soon".

(Final surprise after the credits: bijou comes out of the shadows of the dungeon, holding a largish black "back-massager" and a "whup" of spanish leather. She says, in lip-synch lingo: "You will return to pain". Then she laughs, absurdly loudly.)

I'm just excited that we have down graded my 'killing' to a 'collapsing'. I have collapsed before...I can do collapsing. Although, both times involved a whole lot of my blood spilling for though...so...maybe collapsing might not be great either. How 'bout I swoon dramatically?


I am glad to hear all is well or getting well in the land of Vizier-ness. I dunno if I am evil. Not evil probably but definitely not good. I guess I am purgatory in human form which shall be dubbed a purgatroid from this moment on. Although, I have to admit that I am a purgatroid with evil leanings.

So, I am tired. Incredibly tired and my week is only half done. I have taken over my young charges and their path to the land of English literature. I decided this year to try to read one poem to them every day...so far they have looked at me like I am pouring paint thinner down their throats. The blank faces are so encouraging. I also decided to do grammar with them every day so I've been a real hit this week. And I am here right now because I dont want to do my homework. Yeah, I am definitely a purgatroid. Anyone want to do my homework? I have questions to answer and two short stories I need to read.

Bloody Helllllllllllllllllll...

 

[Eluard]

I'm just excited that we have down graded my 'killing' to a 'collapsing'. I have collapsed before...I can do collapsing. Although, both times involved a whole lot of my blood spilling for though...so...maybe collapsing might not be great either. How 'bout I swoon dramatically?


I am glad to hear all is well or getting well in the land of Vizier-ness. I dunno if I am evil. Not evil probably but definitely not good. I guess I am purgatory in human form which shall be dubbed a purgatroid from this moment on. Although, I have to admit that I am a purgatroid with evil leanings.

So, I am tired. Incredibly tired and my week is only half done. I have taken over my young charges and their path to the land of English literature. I decided this year to try to read one poem to them every day...so far they have looked at me like I am pouring paint thinner down their throats. The blank faces are so encouraging. I also decided to do grammar with them every day so I've been a real hit this week. And I am here right now because I dont want to do my homework. Yeah, I am definitely a purgatroid. Anyone want to do my homework? I have questions to answer and two short stories I need to read.

Bloody Helllllllllllllllllll...

Purgatroid is wonderful — bloody wonderful! You'll be forgiven much for that!

But maybe now, after your week, you want your collapsing upgraded to a killing again — huh? huh?

 

[unpredictablebijou]

Purgatroid is wonderful — bloody wonderful! You'll be forgiven much for that!

But maybe now, after your week, you want your collapsing upgraded to a killing again — huh? huh?

He's right. You're going to heaven just for that. Cthulhudammit, as if I weren't already entirely in love with you...

Keep the fucking faith, my baby. For every 20 blank faces there's one like mine in the group, falling in love with you, with words, with poetry, with everything that writing offers. They're always out there. You're in the hardest job in the world, and you're a hero.

I say this having actually taught 9th and 10th grade English in a highly urban environment for exactly ONE semester. Emphasis: ONE. Since then, I have believed that those who actually manage to do that should be:

a) given salaries equivalent to heads of major corporations
b) worshiped as gods
c) offered full harems and summers in exotic climes and
d) canonized

I'll do your homework for you. And I'll carry your books.

*blushing and stammering*
bijou

 

[Sara Crewe]

I'm glad you two like purgatroid because you are both members of the clan.


Bijou, my sweet, thank you. It's nice to be appreciated and more...

 

[Eluard]

By the way, what cartoon charcter was famous for the phrase "Heavens to Murgatroid!"? For 200 pounds.

 

[Sara Crewe]

Snagglepuss.


I'll take a cheque.


To:

Sara Crewe
Canada


It'll get to me. None of the igloos have numbers yet.

 

[Tzara]

By the way, what cartoon charcter was famous for the phrase "Heavens to Murgatroid!"? For 200 pounds.

You do know you live in an era where the Internet makes searching things easy, don't you? You're a smart guy, or at least seem to be.

I now want to say 200 pounds of what? Australia is a dollar economy.

Hey. Can you mpeg some archive cricket for me? Copy it to CD? I'd be grateful.

 

[Eluard]

You do know you live in an era where the Internet makes searching things easy, don't you? You're a smart guy, or at least seem to be.

I now want to say 200 pounds of what? Australia is a dollar economy.

Hey. Can you mpeg some archive cricket for me? Copy it to CD? I'd be grateful.

It was meant to be a test, ya danged ijjit!

Now you've gone and spoiled it!

 

[Sara Crewe]

You do know you live in an era where the Internet makes searching things easy, don't you? You're a smart guy, or at least seem to be.

I now want to say 200 pounds of what? Australia is a dollar economy.

Hey. Can you mpeg some archive cricket for me? Copy it to CD? I'd be grateful.

When someone offers me 200 of anything for saying Snagglepuss you had best shush.


*pushes Tzara into the tattle tale closet*

 

[Tzara]

*pushes Tzara into the tattle tale closet*

*Dragging Our Miss Crewe in with me*

This is a problem?

Uh, why?

 

[champagne1982]

When someone offers me 200 of anything for saying Snagglepuss you had best shush.


*pushes Tzara into the tattle tale closet*

but, the shipping charges on 200 pounds of anything from Austrailia would be quite steep, I think. Our igloo economy can't stand that sort of pressure, especially with global warming and all.

<mutter> Melting us out of ice and snow, it is <grumble slunk> Damned polycarbonate fuels</grouse attack>

 

[unpredictablebijou]

but, the shipping charges on 200 pounds of anything from Austrailia would be quite steep, I think. Our igloo economy can't stand that sort of pressure, especially with global warming and all.

<mutter> Melting us out of ice and snow, it is <grumble slunk> Damned polycarbonate fuels</grouse attack>

I was attacked by grouse once. They're meaner than they look. Especially in a pack like that.

I'm sorry about your igloo. Maybe this will cheer you up. I finally got back round to looking at the Official Festival Calendar of Nymphomania and this week it's Marsupial Appreciation Week. Our native marsupial here in the states is the possum, or as we call them round here the rat-asaurus.

And it's time for the annual retelling of the

Legend of the Biblical Possum Spanking.

My mate and I were on the way home from the store, on a winding country road, and came round a curve to a possum sitting right on the center line. He was looking disconcerted, shaking his head, a bit stunned, and we theorized he'd been somehow just barely grazed by a car. He was moving just fine, but he was kinda out of it, and we worried that if he spent too much time collecting his thoughts there some other yahoo might come round the bend and finish the job.

But how to get a possum to do anything? If you've met one, you understand that they're not particularly amiable. Or cooperative. We weren't about to approach him barehanded, and he wasn't responding to arm-waving and such.

My mate suggested I get something out of the car that we could sorta...shove him along with. My car is... well... it's a self-portrait, let's just leave it at that. Coffee cup? Nope. Won't work. Ketchup packets, Ken doll torso, lingerie, a single glove... nope. Wait. I have a King James Bible in my rear window well, just in case I get into a scriptural argument. It's big enough to shove a possum with. So I grab it.

It worked, but my well-worn KJB now has possum toothmarks on the front cover.

The best part was telling this story to my mom, who is a crazed fundamentalist Christian. Her gears ground completely to a halt. Saving a possum, good. Using whatever was necessary, good. Carrying a bible in my car, good. But something disturbed her terribly about this and she never could put her finger on what. She had to be happy about the story even though there was something about it that just seemed Really Wrong in her personal universe.

I love it when the smoke comes out of her ears like that. Bless her, it's just adorable.

Happy marsupial festival, everyone. Eluard, I suspect you'll get into this particularly, what with having all those pouch-bearin' varmints down your way.

bijou

 

[Eluard]

I was attacked by grouse once. They're meaner than they look. Especially in a pack like that.

I'm sorry about your igloo. Maybe this will cheer you up. I finally got back round to looking at the Official Festival Calendar of Nymphomania and this week it's Marsupial Appreciation Week. Our native marsupial here in the states is the possum, or as we call them round here the rat-asaurus.

And it's time for the annual retelling of the

Legend of the Biblical Possum Spanking.

My mate and I were on the way home from the store, on a winding country road, and came round a curve to a possum sitting right on the center line. He was looking disconcerted, shaking his head, a bit stunned, and we theorized he'd been somehow just barely grazed by a car. He was moving just fine, but he was kinda out of it, and we worried that if he spent too much time collecting his thoughts there some other yahoo might come round the bend and finish the job.

But how to get a possum to do anything? If you've met one, you understand that they're not particularly amiable. Or cooperative. We weren't about to approach him barehanded, and he wasn't responding to arm-waving and such.

My mate suggested I get something out of the car that we could sorta...shove him along with. My car is... well... it's a self-portrait, let's just leave it at that. Coffee cup? Nope. Won't work. Ketchup packets, Ken doll torso, lingerie, a single glove... nope. Wait. I have a King James Bible in my rear window well, just in case I get into a scriptural argument. It's big enough to shove a possum with. So I grab it.

It worked, but my well-worn KJB now has possum toothmarks on the front cover.

The best part was telling this story to my mom, who is a crazed fundamentalist Christian. Her gears ground completely to a halt. Saving a possum, good. Using whatever was necessary, good. Carrying a bible in my car, good. But something disturbed her terribly about this and she never could put her finger on what. She had to be happy about the story even though there was something about it that just seemed Really Wrong in her personal universe.

I love it when the smoke comes out of her ears like that. Bless her, it's just adorable.

Happy marsupial festival, everyone. Eluard, I suspect you'll get into this particularly, what with having all those pouch-bearin' varmints down your way.

bijou

Thank you bj — put a wallaby in your pouch for me!


Interesting that you suggest this: I was going to put forward a monthly poetry challenge: write a poem with the phrase Heavens to Murgotroyd somewhere in it. What do you think/ There is even a Kansas connection to it.

 

[unpredictablebijou]

Thank you bj — put a wallaby in your pouch for me!


Interesting that you suggest this: I was going to put forward a monthly poetry challenge: write a poem with the phrase Heavens to Murgotroyd somewhere in it. What do you think/ There is even a Kansas connection to it.

My Goodness, Eluard, you're more well-read than I even suspected. Very few people know about that. For the uninitiated, it has to with the controversial secret meetings in 1872 between Cardinal Seamus Murgatroid and the radical and highly educated Rosicrucian sex magician Paschal Beverly Randolph in an underground Masonic lodge in Medicine Hat, Kansas. The bizarre correspondence between the two, and the odd and temporary shift in the rites performed in Otranto-Millefiore,the Cardinal's home suburbicarian see, which those meetings precipitated was shocking enough, but even Eluard may not be aware of the strange events following His Eminence's disgraceful resignation and excommunication.

See, that's why I love this place.

bijou

Im in ur tubes
fuxin with ur knowledge base