Tuesday, May 31, 2016

Hurried Poetry Series for a Ghastly Campaign, VXXII

Praise for Geoffrey Chaucer

(In which we employ unrepentant, spontaneous verse after hearing a racist skank one too many times for comfort.)

Mr Chaucer, O that ye knew

what delights you left for our tongues:

Ribald, quaint begins to describe your language of blaspheme and fun.

Chickens or eggs happening first don't really seem to matter:

Whether you heard 'fuck' or just made it up - we love your damnable chatter!

Most of the time, our quivers are full with things that Webster left us

Until dreadful hos with fangs not teeth insulted but never out guessed us...

With a warning for parents to cover the ears

of their wee ones yet tender and pure,

They'll perhaps find us harsh, unrelenting

saying that which is wise to abjure...

Perdition looms, but Ann Coulter made us just say oh hell just screw it

We wanted to call her anything but that, but alas! We simply cunt do it!

(Tiny curtsey)

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