Krangbang

Shredder!  You lured me from Dimension X

With the promise of conquest and hot Foot Clan sex

Now my Technodrome’s home is in Earth’s molten magma,

And those turtles stay triumphant while I still haven’t shagged a

Single purple robo-ninja, shit, I’m still just a brain!

I wanna get mindfucked, but all you do is complain

Cause you can’t get your turtle soup, and the fights you always lose,

While I sit around here waiting for the secret of your ooze.

 

Shredder!  Build me a body so you can bone it!

I wanna unzip your fly like it was Baxter Stockman

And then I’ll make you crumble like you were one of my rock men

I’ll keep your cock Rocksteady while I Bebop your balls

And gnaw like Rat King on your fat thing in the Technodrome halls

I’ll give you schizophrenia like it was VD

Then we can teabag the Neutrinos and drop deuce on Usagi

So go ninja go ninja go!  Respect what I’m sayin’

Cause you ain’t Tatsu, bitch, and I ain’t goin’ or playin’.

 

Shredder!  Build me a body so you can bone it!

Now is the Splinter of my discontent!

Yeah, I wanted a body, but this is where you went?

Great, you can finally can open my can

But it’s attached to a tubby rubber bald eunuch man!

I’m a galactic fucking warlord, no one’s running because

You dressed me like a go-go dancing punker from Zardoz!

So stop the stomach skullfucking and give me some dread

Or I will toss your fucking salad with the fork on my head

The Limits of Our Time

The man stumbled through us,

After the swim,

And swirl,

And pulses pulled away.

He fixed me a postage-due gleam

And with Girls Gone Wild spectator splendor

Said, “Dude, you’re the man.”

Funny,

I don’t feel like the man.

I’m just confused again.

Halfway down the block,

The corner zigged instead of zagged

And I was abandoned again,

The water thrown out with the weekend.

Once again,

Underneath all potential damage,

I’m lying unfulfilled and empty,

Going on eleven.

Bad Goth Bea Arthur Poetry

Bea!

In Memoriam: Beatrice Arthur

By, Caspian Shadowmort

Bea!
Why have you left me? Bea!
You’ve followed Getty to the Gates
Left two churlish Golden Girls to wait
For death’s brass embrace, like Paul and Ringo
Slinging swill without your watchful,
Steely gaze,
Bereft of bliss,
Holding them in check.
If Betty White isn’t next,
I’ll further Rue the day you left.

Bea!
Why can’t the Philistines see? Bea!
The kids only know you from the scene
From Airheads whence Lone Rangers razed
The radio, making outrageous demands
To seek the insanity defence.
They howled for naked photographs
Of thee, Bea!
And when Judd Nelson peered o’er
Stupid Sandler’s shoulder
What did he see?
Thee, Bea!
Judd slithered out a sibilant “Nice!”
And the kids all giggled,
Not knowing why.

Bea!
(Not you, Aunt Bee!
Return thee to Mayberry!)
Bea!
You are free! Bea!
Whilst public lips lament the loss
Of Dorothy, and the ma’am
Who roasted Pamela Anderson,
Their panoramic view
Proves of little use.
They barely knew that Maude was God
And never knew the broad
Who swung out Broadway sleaze,
Or the cantina wench from Mos Eisley
Who danced and sang in the holiday breeze.
They never even knew
You were Bernice.

But from the earth and skies,
You shalt arise
To rewrite your Arthurian legacy
And they shall see, Bea,
The once
and future
queen.