Who are we to stand in the way of progress? Yes, this poem seems to be very much progressing in a certain direction. We don’t quite know where it will end up, but at least it’s moving forward…
Still, this scares us a little. We were determined to complete the poem with today’s post, but it looks like it has other plans about its existence, and doesn’t want to be completed now. The poem has taken on a life of its own! Oh, freaking my!
Perhaps we could blame Munira Ezzi for this turn of events. It is, after all, the second contribution of hers to make it into our communal masterpiece. This is something that has never happened before! We cannot predict how this is going to end now, so strap yourselves in, Dearest Readers. It’s about to get bumpy!
1) Read the current version of this communal poem below, and shake in your boots at all the different directions it could go. Then submit your own line or two for our consideration. 2) If we like your line (or two) the most, we’ll add it to this runaway railcar of a poem, and publish it in a follow-up post. 3) And so finally the whole process of submission and rejection will be done, and we’ll have the conclusion to this terrifying monstrosity!
hm, what should I draw?
maybe a hairy monster with a furry claw
or a demon crow that sticks in the craw
or a huge bloodstained saw
hm, what should I write?
maybe a slow growl will stir up a fright
or a girl will be twirled by a meat-eating kite
or grandma pole-dances in a bikini too tight
hm, what is that?
the words have disappeared, the pictures aren’t flat
they’ve come to life like a cockroach cravat
crawling helter-skelter ’til i scream like a prat
Yay google is my queen aided me to find this great site!
— obrkybmiy
Don’t try to pull a fast one on us, obrkybmiy. We weren’t born yesterday! We happen to know that ‘aid’ means to pay tax to a queen. Well, you can just go back and tell your Queen Google that we haven’t sold enough of our books yet to be able to pay taxes to her digital majesty! Feh! — Tati & Tony (Desperate Seekers of a Skilled Tax Consultant)
or: EPISODE 8 // Where Tati Refuses to be the Mother of Mutants and Tony Pouts
In our previous episode, Tati and Tony discussed the state-of-the-art hamster porno industry, and proved that no one should buy super secret weapons from James Bond’s personal arsenal in a pedestrian subway in Uryupinsk.
“Please, don’t be a drama queen” growled Tati. “Or I will drop you.”
Suddenly, Tony stopped short. His eyes were as wide as hubcaps, then he began to gasp like a fish in a glass of tequila. He was clearly trying to speak, but couldn’t, mouthing the words instead. In fact, he was trying to draw Tati’s attention to something that was right next to them. Tati raised her eyes from his face to whatever had suddenly blocked the sun.
“What… what the holy, blue, actual huge fuck?!”
And that’s when the whale swallowed them. That’s right. A whale in the sky. A sky whale. It had flippers and it was flying.
Tati and Tony tumbled down the whale’s windpipe for what seemed like forever. There were lots of wet plops and bounces all the way down, until their moustaches and hats disappeared and they were coated with thick layers of saliva. They finally came to a stop in a giant chamber full of a bubbly liquid that was caustic to the touch. Tati clambered up a fleshy protrusion, dragging a hapless Tony with her.
“Shit.” Tati looked down at herself. Her clothes had completely disintegrated and dropped right off of her. She looked at Tony. Him too.
“I am ashamed!” squeaked Tony, immediately hiding his very tiny manhood behind one hand. The other hand was covering his face.
“Well, at least the umbrella’s still okay,” sighed Tati. She didn’t feel the need to comfort her friend in his time of emotional need. There were more pressing concerns.
Suddenly, Tony dropped his hand to reveal a faraway look on his face. “Adam and Eve,” he whispered. “We’re like… you know, Adam and Eve!”
Tati looked at him as if he was a complete, Old Testament bedlamite. She snorted derisively.
“Well… I may not be a Bible maniac,” she said, “but I do believe the ‘Jonah’ analogy is more appropriate here.”
Tony pouted. Obviously, in his wacky mind they’d already been through the Fall, and were ready to provide the whale’s innards with future generations of sticky, mutant inhabitants.
“Fine,” muttered Tony. “Then let’s get the hell out of here!”
“I couldn’t agree more,” said Tati, cocking her head to one side. She was studying the umbrella with renewed interest.
Tony noticed this. “What?”
“This umbrella has a special function. I just don’t know if it’s safe to activate it inside the belly of a flying whale.”
“What does it do?”
Tati glanced at her pathetic friend, then realised something awful. He was bald. The bubbly liquid stuff had eaten away Tony’s beautiful long hair. And his eyebrows. And, presumably, his pubes? In fact, there was not a single jot of hair left on his entire body!
“Why are you patting your head?”
Tati ignored his question, alarmed that she no longer had hair either. Nowhere, actually. She had hair nowhere. What the freaking fuck…
“Well, it looks like I no longer care if it’s safe to activate the special umbrella inside a whale.”
And before Tony could protest, Tati pressed a button on the handle. The umbrella flared wider than before. Sparks flew from its tip and canvas edges, sending what looked like streams of fireworks into the walls of the whale’s insides and gloop. Then everything around them grew brighter and brighter…