Thursday, March 13, 2008


So some burglars came, and they drilled down the door across the hall! It took them probably half an hour; they were the worst criminals in the world, except for maybe those kids who recently attempted to rob a police station because they thought it was a bank. I watched through the peephole, taking notes, and I finally called the pigs despite the fact that the pigs are my enemies right now, because they're trying to pass a SAGGY PANTS BAN in my town, and you know I wear them huge and you know I wear them low, so this affects me personally. Anyway, I called the pigs, and there was a chase, and one of the burglars leaped catlike through a window and escaped, so the world is extra dangerous for me right now.


john Salisbury said...

The police do not legislate; from what I can see they don't even enforce the law.
If you don't have one I suggest getting a shotgun. The unmistakable sound of chambering a round is an effective deterrent--or so I'm told

Tricia said...

Oh, I'll go out on a limb here and say that I'm probably the last person in the world who should own a shotgun. Yeah, probably the last.

john salisbury said...

You might never find yourself in the position of having to use it, I'm just thinking of it terms of feeling less vulnerable, knowing that if you had to you could protect yourself. Wouldn't have to be a firearm actually, but anything that gives you confidence in your ability to defend yourself.
Because again, the police will not arrive until afterwards, to fill out an incident report.

toro said...

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I'm gethering date about ice cream and dessart.
please link to this site.

Sheehy O'Malley said...


Who flayed the pig?
“It was I!” cried Hostess Trish,
“To stop it from getting so big!
Take your hands off my hams,
Don’t you wish!
You don’t know a quahog
From refrigerated knish,
Or a porgy in a chafing dish!”

Who sailed to sea
In sorrow’s blue bottle?
“Ah,that would be me,”
Sighed Leo Sascher-Masoch.
“I alone was my vessel,
Trisha’s brine, my throttle,
With my mast aloft
And forlorn as a cock.”

Tricia said...

Trisha??? You betray me with your spelling, Sheehy!

Sheehy O'Malley said...


Don’t wallop poor Sheehy with the kitchen sink,
When her only crime was neglecting to think.
Her mind was obsessed with a flying Kraken
And how the only smell that will drive men wild
Is of frying bacon, poor thumbsucking child.
Don’t punish her Tricia, for trivial treachery,
We’re victims of love, but products of lechery.

Sheehy O'Malley said...

How cruel and slovenly
of aerated thee
To ignore the apologies
of moribund me!


Tricia said...

So impatient, Sheehy! I thought your fresh female form would have mitigated that somewhat.

Sheehy O'Malley said...

Three princesses
Of impatience there were,
Pronounced Dervorah,
Who bore a gold hole
In a contested
Obelisk of ice
In Ulster, then Emer,
Who won and wed the mad
Cuchulainn thanks to her
Copious, retentive bladder,

And the infamous bitch
Grace O’Malley,(it means
‘Goes Outside the Hall’),
Who anointed the bolted
Door to Castle Howth
With a bare-assed stream,
The eponymous Earl being
Such a flannel-mouth.
And I, Sheehy O'Malley,
Am impatient as all three,
And I promise ye this.

Tricia said...

Much to your detriment, for I am tardiness incarnate.

Sheehy O'Malley said...


Wisely distinguish,
Tricia, between
Tardiness, a property
Of the pits wherein
Dinosaurs perished,
And the dilatory pond
Where Tyrannus Rex
Grudgingly sipped,
Dipped and emerged
With a triumphant roar
And soft, echoic plop,
Bent to its economy,

Emerald scum, a fern
Fringe. Either La Brea
Or the Vermont Maid’s
Spruce and fir shrouded
Puddle, the rock she
Knelt on, her moss
And flavor of maple.
The essence of water
Is a mirror, the essence
Of tar is licorice,
And its strange peace
Sans carnage.

Tricia said...

It's gotten to the point where I can't even tell when you're talking about pubes and when you aren't.

Sheehy O'Malley said...

May the pearls
Of that mysterium
Pave the path
With their moire
Of wobbling cobbles
To thy outrageous
Delirium! Waves
Of the chained
Bay waters. Poems
Are ice-cream cakes
And jokes! Hostess
Tricia's a Statue
Of Liberium
Naturally green
Around the gills.