Smyther's Other

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Here is a punny bit of work I did. Note it is not actually for sale. Below it as well is some older stuff I (may have?) posted already and are seeing new light. Enjoy!

For Sale!

Miscellaneous Omnibus Vol. 1
Edited by Phunn E. Mann

Includes: Steps to the Asian Tango by Dan Sun and Shae Khan
Cooking in a Hurry by Justin Thyme
Weird Things Around Us by Crai Z.
The Sleepover Handbook by R. U. A. Lowd
Get in to Shape FAST! By F. Forte

$1099 + BHT + S&H
Make cheques out to Jist Kiddyn
Send to 123 Automi Way, Yesuville, OMG I8U, BC, Canada
Contact me at lovin_dis@hotmale.com

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A DAY IN THE ASYLUM
The day you dream of tiny creatures that nibble your toes and grab your nose, steal your cheese and whap your knees, chomp your throat and steal your goat, sing a rhyme with a pointless theme and then examine your new whipped cream, nod your head till you think you’re dead, and gaze at a map while you’re having a nap, that’s that the day that everyone says you’re crazy. But you know we’re not crazy, oh no! We just see beyond the everyday wholeheartedmundanelyexceptionallyboringsillyasllehhellbackwardsjustgeneral wackiness. That’s the day when you admit to yourself and everyone else that you’re beyond the limitations of the mortal mind and see the pretties beyond the sky. Believe me, they DO exist. That’s the day when somebody looks at you with an arched elbrow and a lowered eyebow and says, “are you SURE you want fries with that?” That’s the day when nothing matters except a sense of humor and a potty mouth. That’s the day that they send you to the big blue building with the rest of the brilliant minds and say, “are you STILL sure you want fries with that?” That’s also the day you realize you did not pull into the drive thru junk-pile for two pieces of stale bread crammed with sloppy juices and week-old organic materials, but you have actually arrived at the den of a very sarcastic and tired mottled red and pink three nostrilled dragon that happens to know a very good psychiatrist as it has spent the last few months believing that is the new lord of some place in the hills nobody has ever heard of, and that certainly doesn’t want to give you anything to do with fries. That’s the day that everybody says you’re crazy, so you prove them wrong with a long rant about what a crazy day you have had slinging your sword when you realize that it was just a dream. Or was it? Uh-oh. The coordinator’s coming. I’ll have to hide this piece of scrap by saying it’s a memo. By the way, if anybody CAN recommend a good psychiatrist…
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Poem of Garbage

Cans’t thou comprehend the foul, rank stench of yonder vehicle of vile trash?
The assault of odors upon mine nostrils galls me to a retch.
‘Tis only the fumes of Hades that ‘twould rend mine nose the more.
And yet, through councils and committees we find,
This foul transport of lesser goods is a necessity in our times!
Alas, for the days when our refuse littered the streets,
When all good men could gather and glorify the junk with praises.
I now stand upon the bank of mine most beloved avenue,
When in protest to the well being of mine eyes,
One of those vessels of noxious fumes should appear.
I gag as it ambles onwards, towards the pit of diseased spawn it calls home.
Towards the vast heaps of debris that it dwells among.
Even the most detestable of the despicable gulls avoids this locale,
Which the men of garbage call home.
Onwards to the heap! Onwards to the disgusting land where the hoarders gather.
The carrier of refuse meanders on its way down the winding path of mud,
Oblivious to the venomous stares of all right-minded folk.
It stops with a jolt at the gates, gates decorated with trails of slime.
The gates, they stand with foul glee to tower over the mortal man,
And proclaim his lowliness under this disgusting hold of scum.
They swing open with a sickening CREEEK!
That sets the spines of even the spineless to a shudder.
The highest throne of this kingdom of junk sits nigh unto a hill past the gates.
The monster rears it’s ugly head, with a mouth of ash to match.
‘Tis only the thoughts that I am here to stop these woeful happenings,
That keeps me from fleeing in terror upon my gaze alighting on the beast.
The truck, the cart that seemed so vile at the start of mine sojourn,
Pales in comparison to the hideous aberration of the incinerator.
‘Tis like the difference of the heavens and the hells, a clash of titans.
The carrier of disease that is the vehicle ejects its cargo as the man dumps his personal wastes, into the eager maw of the dragon.
The flame of light that ‘twould destroy all delight flickers unto the mountain of rubbish being poured like the sweetest of wines into its jaws.
An inferno erupts, smog slinking up its stairway of the sky.
Billowing clouds of ebony soot circle upward to the vultures above.
Smells like a pit of sulfur waft lazily towards mine distraught nasal cavities.
Roars as of the evil laughter of an insane fiend erupt carelessly from the smoldering wreckage that was our treasured waste products.
Stop! I cry, stop! It is too much for me to bear.
The men of the litter, they turn and stare with glints of mental illness in their eyes.
They advance on yours truly with murder in their black hearts.
I am accosted from all sides, their hands of sludge lacerating mine epithelium.
They cast me down to the sticky soil they live upon,
Their derisive laughter ringing in mine valuable auricles.
Mine last moments of precious life are upon me, mine final breaths of toxic winds.
Beautiful eyes close for that last time,
Taking in the sights that no sane man has ever seen before.
The collapse of mine body upon the pallid earth shakes my soul as a yeoman of the rubbish discharges his bin into the frigate of sickness he rides in.
The dray! The ship my savior, ignoring the unignorable gusts of putrid air,
I rush onwards to the medium of mine escape.
We trundle down the twisting lane, unaware of the fate that awaits us.
Blood leaks from mine wounds, blurring mine eyes.
And past the trail and the gates awaits a surprise.
We smash headlong into the lorry below, bringing reinforcements of filth to those behind.
Life gushes from every orifice, my soul climbing out.
I scan around with lifeless eyes and descry to my horror,
I was wrong.

 

woooo, hotmale ? I like that...

 

"OMG I8U, BC, Canada"

Oh my god I hate you, because, Canada??

Crazy postcode lol.

 

BTW, do NOT go to hotmale site. Just out of curiosity, I checked to see if there was one. I do NOT belong to that site.
It is NOT good and is NOT for anyone under the age of 99. By that I mean, everybody. I am scarred for life.
Oh, Lady Luthien. I have never been described as 'hot' ever. Although, I do have an MSN page, were you interested... http://members.msn.com/default.msnw?guids=5uhSadbeMEeUsq*hNEVALXN8uyp7Wy3Vhg7wkXKQss2p6VIeXOq4QdGOPRT6v7gl1z Jist kiddyn.