"Whip me!" he hissed.
And they did.
Over
and over
and over
again.
Lulled and drawn in by the
Pulse and the gaze
Of a mass of masqueraded meat,
I, in my "Captain Canada" costume
Bop with 'tude
Under the scaffold,
Oppressed by the random fondlings and thrusts.
Ouch!
She writhes in bondage, gesticulating and snarling.
A coy smile slickly slathered on her face.
Medusa with a giant cobra rising from her reptilian coiffe,
Fidgets with the diaper pin,
Trying to remove the Pampers from a bebe with bib: "I love Mommy."
Another jello-shot, another Wonder Woman fresh from Paradise Island.
hissssssssss from the boy with a whistle and the f-word on his face,
Boss Hog from "The Dukes of Hazzard" hark, I say, HARK said the owl;
C'est le fin de siecle et on sera mort,
Que sera sera, sang Doris Day.
But this poem is not pretentious enough
For the Adams House Masquerade.
Do you DISAGREE?
Obviously not one of us, they say,
Those denizens of the House that doth not speak its name.
Cries of decadence, of le vrai chic,
Of a monopoly on hipness,
Of an unplanned and undeserving mobisme
Randomization come claim it,
Shoot it as you would a noisy peacock.
Read more in Opinion
Quebec Vote a Hoax
