And Now, Poetry that would make Shakespeare Cry and do Balet in his Grave

{Poetry by Adevt}

Snow

Its really cold, dude
Its fucking cold today, man
Snow is fucking cold

Xander

There once was a pirate named Xander
Whose penis could not be grander
His balls were so large
That each held a charge
AND LIGHTNING SHOT FROM THE TIP OF HIS DICK!!!

{A poem by The Corporal Boyardee}

Abstract Art is a Cop-out

I wake up, the clock says something.
It doesn't matter.
Horns honk.
Prostitutes offer.
The man in the car is too cheap.
Bastard doesn't know what he's missing.
I think my neighbor died.
His stereo has been on for three days.
At least he left it on a good station.
The fire escape is cold and sharp on my feet.
I light my cigarette.
Emphysema tastes good after a while.
Doctors tell me my health is horrible.
I tell them to live a little before they die.
People who don't do anything should die.
They are wasting space.
It is quiet when I walk the streets.
City sidewalks come standard with cigarette butt carpets.
I add to the lining.
Grey isn't such a neutral color.
When it's the backdrop for a dead bum.

Next time on The Excellent Velociraptor Explosion Extravaganza:

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