Sweet.

oh, hon, ou really shouldn't be replying here. it'snot safe. under more normal circumstances, i'd be eviscerating you, too. habit, dotcha know? did i spell eviscerating right?

 

y a w n

 

you're still not worthy.

 

You're calling me ugly? Jesus, leper-bitch, you'd actually probably be prettier after a beating. And God knows you need a good one.

But, really, I'm not surprised you're so fucking stupid. Your idiot parents didn't even have enough common sense to leave you in a dupster when you were born.

 

I rock, all bow before me!!!!!

 

hm, i know that.

in any case..this thread is great. eases my boredom. flame on, flame0

 

wow yeah and um...shit that was crap....tencent the stick insect...i think i will call him stick insect...perhaps i should draw a cartoon of the rude and crude, highly inflated, self absorbed stick insect...but stick insects have camoflage? but i guess he's nothing without his insults...hmm i shall ponder this long and steady through the night...

 

I like TenCentArcade. Glad to see him back. Infact, it makes me think about actually sticking around for a bit. Hope to see some of your work in the poetry forum soon Eliot.

 

poetry forum?? HAHAHA

 

hahaha

 

What the fuck are you laughing about?? Some people have talent...

 

elliot does poetry? I am not laughing but I am surprised.

 

it's amusing to me that 10 cent whore writes poetry

 

i am laughing at him being int he poetry forum yes..and you adamant protection of him.. haha thats even funnier

 

Yes, he does and he's good at it too. Well, I guess it's not really poetry, but lyrics. At any rate he has some talent.

 

are the lines somewhat like this:

Jesus fuck, go deep throat a shotgun already.
no one really gives a flying fuck
in a rolling donut
about your personal problems.

 

No, not really. There may have been one called Jesus Fuck though.

 

Ghosts of The House

It’s spoken through stingy sage that
Sulfur shores were formed by a
Constant river of gin and scotch
Flowing through a desirous heart
Lost among the calamity of passion and
The two-ton secrets of solemnity
Forever existing, no longer sure
Of their own mutuality

It’s been said that one could find
Beneath the chandelier graveyards
A criminal of disasters, a jester for
The final page-turning machines
Sought among the simplicity of insolence
And the stripes along the jaw-lines
Of the breeding grounds, this soil
Isn’t out to stud quite yet

It’s been seen through the thinnest eyes
Of the scourging scores of scowlers
That the heart of Saturday nights
Are littered with the hearts of minds
Caught among the shrill desires of
The callow children believing
In their insolence, yet they
Aren’t the furious end of death

 

i reckon it's good, but i think you shoul be wary of being too overly wordy at times...