Your Totallycrap

Thyme Cube

2008-10-18T01:52:02+01:00

It’s not mine and this is the only category I could squeeze it into:

No human or god can match
Nature’s simultaneous 4 flavor
revolution in 1 Earth plant.

No human has a right to
season wrong - for that
would be evil cooking.

Ignorance of 4 flavors is evil,
Evil home ec teachers
teach 1 spice.
1 spice will destroy humans.

OPPOSITES CREATE.
Soil and water gave me birth, not a queer jew sprig.

Singularity sprig is EVIL as
Creation reigns as Opposites.
Educators, and You - ought
to be killed for ignoring the
fact that “Spice is Cubed”.
(ignored and suppressed by EVIL chefs)

Joy of Cooking was
far less of an achievement
than Thyme Cube discovery,
for I have Cubed the Spice,
with 4 simultaneous flavor
types in 1 plant of Earth.
(singularity belief scientist can’t comprehend J.O.C.)

Iron Chef SUPREMACY and the
academic taught supremacy
constitute great evils in the
Cubic World of Seasoning -
Opposites taste buds and
Opposite leaves of plant life.
The Universe is composed
of Opposites - existing only
as Opposites - with a zero
value existence - cancelling
to nothing as a singularity.

I think Cubic, therefore I
rise above the bland
mentality human and the
false spices they cook with -
discovering a Universe of
Opposites their cuisine
will never allow them to
know. Evil of taste-testing
is not measuring and the
result of not measuring -
is never knowing the Recipe,
ineffable by man or iron chef.

You Were Seasoned Stupid.

Green Ray, Cubic and Wise Above Chefs

http://www.thymecube.com/

Mi little brown hen

2008-08-09T01:59:35+01:00

I remember when I was young back when
I was young I was fine I used to do time
I liked to mess around on the scene
I liked to back chat to the machine
I homed it down , I liked to hear the Gen
but they didnt know I fucked my little brown hen

Willy
I seen that film, American Pie
Where a bloke fucked a fruit, so I gave it a try
My technique was slightly off-key
It involved tinned meat and a pop celebrity
I wouldn’t hurt her if I saw her on the street
But I wanna make a statue just of Kelly for me
You know, it all started way back when
Using spam to cap? Boys II Men
I used bacon to make Rusty Lee
Kelly Osbourne, you’re my meat fantasy
You’re always there when I need to talk
And I love the way your fingers and your toes are made (from pork)

All
I made a corned beef Kelly Osbourne,
And I fucked it when I was watching porn
I made a corned beef Kelly Osbourne,
And I fucked it when I was watching porn

DB
Minimum content, 3% meat
I trimmed the fat off, it looked really neat
Made the torso and shaped the thighs
But I’m stuck, I’ve got nothing for the eyes

Garry
Fluid dripping like a running tap
When I warm my meat up and rub it on the lap

Naughty Teddy
Making bacon with reformed ham
People pay money for this in Amsterdam

Cowboy
Meat fantasies often give me the horn,
But nothing like a corned beef Kelly Osbourne
You’re divine, so sexy, so tasty
Like meat in a pie when I penetrate the pastry

Stoffy
This girl I was with had a vag like corned beef
It was all smashed up and I thought it had teeth
I thought kebab was on the main course
So I covered it in my own special garlic sauce

All
I made a corned beef Kelly Osbourne,
And I fucked it when I was watching porn
I made a corned beef Kelly Osbourne,
And I fucked it when I was watching porn

Steamo
I fucked a corned beef Kelly Osbourne
I fucked a corned beef Kelly Osbourne

Willy
Sit back kid, take a book outta my leaf
I love to fuck a pile of sweaty sticky beef
Down Aldi’s they’re looking at me funny
Twelve tins of corned beef now it’s a cunny
Ooh, I’m gonna fuck you, right here, right now
Make a mess with my stiff, gonna show you how
Stick it in, watch the foreskin
Try to fuck the tin, rip my banjo string
Cos you knows I wanna fuck that prime fillet cut
With a bit of lippy dressed up like a slut
Getting down on the floor for a bit of screwing
‘Til someone said “oi wanker, what you doing?”
Threw me out, I raised an objection
With corned beef still stuck to my erection
So what, fuck ‘em, I don’t give a toss
I’m going home with a Fray Bentos

All
I made a corned beef Kelly Osbourne,
And I fucked it when I was watching porn
I made a corned beef Kelly Osbourne,
And I fucked it when I was watching porn

meshan
Meat fantasies (meaty meaty meat)
Meat fantasies (meaty meaty meat)
Meat fantasies (meaty meaty meat)
Meat fantasies
Meat fantasies

meshan
That’s right, back with the rhythm
Like a Ginster’s pasty covered in jism

Naughty teddy
Meaty bitches out on a binge
I’m going home with a corned beef minge

Gary
Shagging the meat, but I ain’t mincing
Hiding my eyes to stop me gagging and wincing
At the smell of the rancid spammy clam
As a steak tenderiser goes “bam bam bam!”

DB
Madame Tussauds you got nothing on me
I got my own meatworks laboratory
All Saints and Spice Girls and miss Zeta-Jones
All I want is the meat, don’t care about the bones

Cowboy
I tried sex shops, I tried DVDs
It don’t mean shit compared to meats like these
Aspic jelly, and a coating of lard
These are the things that make my penis go hard

All
I made a corned beef Kelly Osbourne,
And I fucked it when I was watching porn
I made a corned beef Kelly Osbourne,
And I fucked it when I was watching porn

Spaceworm
I fucked a corned beef Kelly Osbourne
I fucked a corned beef Kelly Osbourne

This a Rap by the way

Spaceworm

White, red and blue.

2008-08-12T01:00:56+01:00

April is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee
With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,
And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,
And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.
Bin gar keine Russin, stamm’ aus Litauen, echt deutsch.
And when we were children, staying at the arch-duke’s,
My cousin’s, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
In the mountains, there you feel free.
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.
What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish?Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
There is shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.

John Lillison

2008-08-09T02:08:59+01:00

The poems of John Lillison, England’s Greatest One-Armed Poet.

* “In Dillman’s Grove”

In Dillman’s Grove, our love did die,
And now in ground shall ever lie.
None could e’er replace her visage,
Until your face brought thoughts of kissage.

* “Pointy Birds”

O pointy birds, o pointy pointy,
Anoint my head, anointy-nointy.

As featured in The Man with Two Brains.

A lisping ode to Kari Byron

2008-07-31T23:09:25+01:00

Myth

I need

To give you

a proper

Buthting

My poem to ’Sabine’ (from Top Gear)…

2008-07-27T22:01:05+01:00

Sabine, Sabine, Sabine…

Take off your leather gear and sit on my face…

(If that dont impress her...Well...Hey, i know how to ‘sweet talk’ a woman)

The Dream Ticket

2008-07-07T13:54:48+01:00

Henry Normal wrote this years ago but it still makes me laugh…

THE DREAM TICKET
by Henry Normal

...Man with obvious disability in maintaining relationships seeks all consuming passion but will settle for friendship and the occasional shag. Doesn’t believe relationships ever work but has been known to fake undue optimism.

Woman must be classic beauty, half saint half whore (ONO).
Must be 100 per cent loyal but tolerant of bumbling indiscretion.
Must have no friends that she wouldn’t ditch just to spend a few extra seconds in my presence.
Romantic but practical.
Have a good sense of humour but still laugh at my weak puns.

Must be available to lavish attention on me whenever I need pampering but have interesting things to do when I’m busy so that I can be entertained when we next meet.
Must have no friends that are male, unless they are grossly ugly.
All female friends should be incredibly horny and desperate to sleep with me given the slightest chance.
Must be caring and gentle in bed but willing to be ravished, tied up and have various substances smeared over specific portions of the anatomy.
Must come very loudly every time we have sex.
Must synchronise with each of my orgasms.
Must groan and moan softly until the final stages then shout such comments as `I’ve never had it so good’, `You’re so big’ and `God, I love you’.
Must burst into tears for no reason occasionally and when challenged say, `I don’t want to lose you’.
Must hate every one of my male friends. Find them sexually repulsive and inferior to me in every way.
Must understand that my female friends are just friends and that’s different.
Must always have a worse time than me at parties. Must hate parties, students, arty wankers, wanky art students, parties with wanky art students.
Must be completely naive innocent and optimistic but worldwise.
Must be young at heart but sensible.
Must be practically a virgin but have a sophisticated knowledge of sexual technique.
Must be intelligent but not so it makes me realise my simplistic thought processes.
Must importantly must realise that all the above is not a joke.

Send tasteful nude photograph to some a.nonymous box number.

What poem is above the entrance to Wimbledon’s centre court

2008-07-07T19:20:10+01:00

Wimbledon has finnished and I love this poem by Kipling.

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same:
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

America? by A.Filth

2008-07-18T01:44:18+01:00

This is no complex political statement poem, this is no revolutionary call to action, there are no big words or literary devices to modify it, this is simply a thought from an American, not an American poet, just a simple American, one who has no political ties, none of that bollocks.

I’m only 25, I know I’m not the most intelligent man on Earth, but I have tried my hardest to learn what I can every day, I appreciate history, I’m thankful for science and I read comics

I wrote this today on a piece of paper while looking at the sea, stuck it in my pocket, and came home…

I’ve always come back to TC, I have good friends here, good times, alot of laughs and most of all it takes me away from my current position, Long Beach California…

-------------

We’re running out of money…

It all goes to gas and food,

Water is scarce, and people don’t realize it because they’re too busy paying for gas.

We’re just trying to live,

Stores and local businesses are closing every day, even the fuckin banks, crime is everywhere and jobs are hard to come by…

Houses cost a shitload, food costs a shitload, gas costs a shitload and we all don’t have that much…

I see it getting worse everyday, and many people don’t even notice, and if they did, they probably wouldn’t even care…

I feel like my country is going into a type of depression or something…

I have no idea how to improve, I’m already trying my hardest, I take money to my parents, I work all day and night and I feel like its not good enough…

“Whats going to happen to America?

Whats going to happen to its people?”

My family?”

Sometimes I can’t help but think…

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The World’s Shortest Poem

2008-07-18T12:46:14+01:00

According to the ODQ, anyway, is:

On the Antiquity of Microbes

Adam
Had ‘em.