TATI’s & TONY’s DEAD POET TOUR // A Vagabond Song. by Bliss Carman (William)

There is something in the autumn that is native to my blood–
Touch of manner, hint of mood;
And my heart is like a rhyme,
With the yellow and the purple and the crimson keeping time.

The scarlet of the maples can shake me like a cry
Of bugles going by.
And my lonely spirit thrills
To see the frosty asters like a smoke upon the hills.

There is something in October sets the gypsy blood astir;
We must rise and follow her,
When from every hill of flame
She calls and calls each vagabond by name.

by BLISS CARMAN (WILLIAM) (1861-1929)
Public Domain Poetry

SPAM® Sushi #20

Thank you for sharing the info. I love sucking dick btw hmu
— Leola Uziel

Dear Leola (and the 2,951 other spammers who’ve left similar comments on our blog), thank you for sharing the info. We love sucking each others’ elbows btw. DON’T JUDGE US!
— Tati & Tony (The Salty Elbowed Recipients of Fan DMs Outlining Vanilla Sexual Proclivities)

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2021

TATI’s & TONY’s DEAD POET TOUR // Some Little Bug by John Leroy Atwell aka Roy Atwell

In these days of indigestion
It is oftentimes a question
As to what to eat and what to leave alone;
For each microbe and bacillus
Has a different way to kill us,
And in time they always claim us for their own.
There are germs of every kind
In any food that you can find
In the market or upon the bill of fare.
Drinking water’s just as risky
As the so-called deadly whiskey,
And it’s often a mistake to breathe the air.

Some little bug is going to find you some day,
Some little bug will creep behind you some day,
Then he’ll send for his bug friends
And all your earthly trouble ends;
Some little bug is going to find you some day.

The inviting green cucumber
Gets most everybody’s number,
While the green corn has a system of its own;
Though a radish seems nutritious
Its behaviour is quite vicious,
And a doctor will be coming to your home.
Eating lobster cooked or plain
Is only flirting with ptomaine,
While an oyster sometimes has a lot to say,
But the clams we cat in chowder
Make the angels chant the louder,
For they know that we’ll be with them right away.

Take a slice of nice fried onion
And you’re fit for Dr. Munyon,
Apple dumplings kill you quicker than a train.
Chew a cheesy midnight “rabbit”
And a grave you’ll soon inhabit
Ah, to eat at all is such a foolish game.
Eating huckleberry pie
Is a pleasing way to die,
While sauerkraut brings on softening of the brain.
When you eat banana fritters
Every undertaker titters,
And the casket makers nearly go insane.

Some little bug is going to find you some day,
Some little bug will creep behind you some day,
With a nervous little quiver
He’ll give cirrhosis of the liver;
Some little bug is going to find you some day.

When cold storage vaults I visit
I can only say what is it
Makes poor mortals fill their systems with such stuff?
Now, for breakfast, prunes are dandy
If a stomach pump is handy
And your doctor can be found quite soon enough.
Eat a plate of fine pigs’ knuckles
And the headstone cutter chuckles,
While the grave digger makes a note upon his cuff.
Eat that lovely red bologna
And you’ll wear a wooden kimona,
As your relatives start scrappin ’bout your stuff.

Some little bug is going to find you some day,
Some little bug will creep behind you some day,
Eating juicy sliced pineapple
Makes the sexton dust the chapel;
Some little bug is going to find you some day.

All those crazy foods they mix
Will float us ‘cross the River Styx,
Or they’ll start us climbing up the milky way.
And the meals we eat in courses
Mean a hearse and two black horses
So before a meal some people always pray.
Luscious grapes breed ‘pendicitis,
And the juice leads to gastritis,
So there’s only death to greet us either way;
And fried liver’s nice, but, mind you,
Friends will soon ride slow behind you
And the papers then will have nice things to say.

Some little bug is going to find you some day,
Some little bug will creep behind you some day
Eat some sauce, they call it chili,
On your breast they’ll place a lily;
Some little bug is going to find you some day.

by JOHN LEROY ATWELL (1878-1962)
Public Domain Poetry

TATI’s & TONY’s DEAD POET TOUR // The Gods Are Dead? by William Ernest Henley

The gods are dead? Perhaps they are! Who knows?
Living at least in Lempriere undeleted,
The wise, the fair, the awful, the jocose,
Are one and all, I like to think, retreated
In some still land of lilacs and the rose.

Once high they sat, and high o’er earthly shows
With sacrificial dance and song were greeted.
Once . . . long ago. But now, the story goes,
The gods are dead.

It must be true. The world, a world of prose,
Full-crammed with facts, in science swathed and sheeted,
Nods in a stertorous after-dinner doze!
Plangent and sad, in every wind that blows
Who will may hear the sorry words repeated:-
‘The Gods are Dead!’

by WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY (1849-1903)
Public Domain Poetry

SOAPBOX TNT // Tooty Frooty

TATI: Tony, I have found your dream job!

TONY: Is there even such a thing? Work is work after all.

TATI: It’s something you already do for free every day. But now you can get money and respect for it!

TONY: What? Sleeping?

TATI: Nope. Any other ideas?

TONY: Chewing? I chew a lot when I eat food.

TATI: Getting hotter…

TONY: Why, thank you! I always try to look my best…

TATI: Don’t flatter yourself, beta male.

TONY: Well, twist my titties. That was rude!

TATI: Tony, are you going to keep guessing or pout like a little sissy?

TONY: Masturbate?

TATI: Let me just show you the link, because I’m almost scared to hear your next suggestion.

TONY: Wise!

Priest farts on church members as a display of “God’s power”

TATI: So, what do you think? Would you like to schedule a job interview? Or maybe ‘audition’ in this case?

TONY: I don’t think so. I mean, farts do not have magical healing properties.

TATI: Some consider smelling farts as healthy by the way. But I’d rather continue to take care of my health with more traditional means.

Lovely Smells

Is Smelling Farts Healthy? Research Says Maybe

TONY: Yes, me too. I don’t think I want some ‘holy man’ getting all flatulent with my face in the name of some all-powerful ‘god’. I mean, what a crock of shit!

TATI: Well… let’s back to the farting priest. I find it’s rather funny but I feel you may have another point of view as a former believer. May I ask what you think regarding this?

TONY: Believe me, I do see the humour in this as the whole scenario is rather absurd. Someone pretending to have a direct line to a god then demonstrating said god’s power by farting on people? Those are the ingredients for absurdist comedy right there. But I do kinda find it sad too.

TATI: I see. Do you feel cheated, ridiculed?

TONY: While I was certainly never taken in by a scam like this, I was still a member of a christian church for about twenty years. That turned out to be a huge mistake, and I’ve spent the last decade trying to shed the mindset that such a religious culture programs into you.

TATI: So, they didn’t fart on your face, but in your brains.

TONY: Exactly. I was so desperate to fit in with my chosen ‘family’ that I was more than willing to try and believe whatever nonsensical bible story or precept they presented. Talking snakes and donkeys. A boat full of the entire world’s animals. A loving god that sanctioned incest, genocides and slavery. The cognitive dissonance was strong with me.

TATI: I heard an interesting thought recently, that certain linguistic anthropologists think religion is a language virus that rewrites pathways in the brain, dulling critical thinking. So, in regards to what you’re saying… it really makes sense.

TONY: I don’t know if that’s necessarily true of religious people across the board, but it certainly was with me. So, in that sense there is a ring of truth to it.

TATI: I’m glad you have since ventilated your brain. But it looks like now we need to ventilate our room. Tony?

TONY: That wasn’t me! It must have been you!

TATI: Me?! No!

TONY: Well, then it must have been the dog. Or Gerald the Fart Fairy.

TATI: Let’s say it was the priest from Limpopo!

TONY: Yes, let’s say it was that charlatan, for that is indeed what he is. And I despise such people. He’s really no better than the Benny Hinns, Paula Whites and Kenneth Copelands of the evangelical world. He just exists on a smaller scale is all.

TATI: Benny Hill was a priest?

TONY: If only! I think Hinn’s healing services could’ve been more entertaining if they’d utilised under-cranked footage of parishioners being slain in the spirit to Boots Randolph’s ‘Yakety Sax‘.

TATI: I smell your outrage, Tony. Well… our time would be better spent taking the dog for a walk.

TONY: We have a dog?

TATI: Gotcha!

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2021