September 1st, 2007

ANGSTY.

SONNET FOR A SORCERER

OKAY, DOUCHEMORT, I CAN TELL YOU'RE FEELING IT TOO, BUT I THINK OUR HATRED FOR EACH OTHER HAS SORT OF...GROWN TO BE A FORCE OF HABIT. IT HAS LOST ITS MOJO. WHAT ONCE WAS SHEER LOATHING HAS NOW BECOME RELEGATED TO SOMETHING I DO EVERY DAY, LIKE BRUSHING MY TEETH OR SHOWERING WITH RON OR CALLING GINNY A WHORE. I JUST DON'T MEAN IT LIKE I USED TO.

SO I'VE DECIDED TO WRITE A POEM ABOUT WHAT AN TWATNOSE YOU ARE, AND HOPEFULLY THAT WILL RE-IGNITE MY FERVOR, BECAUSE YOU'RE A DICKNOSE, EXCEPT NOT LITERALLY, IN THE SENSE THAT THOSE ARE THE TWO MOST PROMINENT BODY PARTS YOU LACK.

SONNET XLIII
HOW DO I LOATHE THEE? LET ME COUNT THE WAYS.
I LOATHE THEE TO THE HEIGHT AND MASS AND WEIGHT
MY SOUL CAN REACH, WHEN FEELING LOTS OF HATE
JUST AS TUCKER CARLSON HATES ALL THE GAYS.
I LOATHE THEE TO THE LEVEL OF TOILET STALLS
WHERE I WOULD HIT YOUR HEAD, REPEATEDLY
AND KICK YOU IN THE NUTS QUITE HEATEDLY
I LOATHE THEE TO THE COMPLETE DESTRUCTION OF YOUR BALLS.
I LOATHE THEE LIKE GINNY WEASLEY IS A HO,
WITH RAGE BECAUSE YOU KILLED MY MUM AND DAD;
I THEREFORE KNOW YOU ARE A DOUCHE FO SHO,
AND YOUR FACE WOULD BE FUNNY IF NOT SO SAD.
I KNOW THAT NO HOOKER CAN BLOW LIKE YOU BLOW
AND ALL THIS MAKES ME VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY UNSPEAKABLY MAD.


I THINK MY EXTRA SYLLABLES MIGHT BE SHOWING ON THE LAST LINE, BUT OH WELL. I NEVER SAID I WAS A POET.