P2556 Fuck the shrimps
Fuck the shrimps, mindless pimps,
I will lead a celebate life.
And to be prude I must be rude,
Slit the crabs with my knife.
A shoal of constipated fish fucks,
Swim by, the godless nitwits I hate.
Some have shit hanging as a string,
A god forsaken and fucked fate.
Full of tutelary god I become, no cum,
No licking genitals of any sort.
Prayers a must many times a day,
Festive farts shortened to a snort.
I must read books of many writers,
Knowledge sets my sail.
Squirting ink now out of question,
I bottle them for sale.
Can't enjoy shitting so much,
Must condense that time to a haste.
I've seen holy men defecate,
It's creamier than toothpaste.
The worms in my shit, I declare counterfeit,
And I pray to the power for a new group.
It may appear, if holy can hear,
Wiggling worms can be in a dance troupe.
Once my asshole is deemed holy,
I can charge for licking it.
For those with dedicated devotion,
For a sum, in their mouth I shit.
P2561 My god is a dick
My god is a dick, a decapitated prick,
Hairy and holy as hell I tell.
Matching the platform below,
The pious assholes ringing the bell.
People deranged or rather strange,
Gather around to praise.
The floating light taking flight,
Leads them to a hill on the raise.
On that holy hill, after a mind altering pill,
The scrotum descends dangling the dick.
Farts fill the air, nothing can be spared,
The pious drink god's poison piss until sick.
Wonky and weird, a holy pubic beard,
And an assortment of lecherous lice.
Children of tomorrow, filled with sorrow,
A smell of fresh feces is not very nice.
But no dearth of the dumb even for shit crumbs,
With promises of guarantee always loud.
The filth in the stealth not best for health,
Hilarious the prostrated ass-up crowd.
To assholes with cream it gives sermons in dreams,
Cryptic logic and flawed circular flow.
Easy to fool the drooling fools,
Or one's with metabolism slow.
Super holy plus god's festering pus,
Thick volumes written about it.
Joviality and cheer, bamboo in the rear,
The poor forced to chew shit.
Usually when no one's looking,
In private or in low light.
Specific instructions are handed down,
To start new animosities and fight.
Acrimonious and shrill, he promises to kill,
Anyone who dares anything else, to read or write.
To set an example he promptly shits,
In the mouth of the only man with sight.
Barnum statement, every alphabet a cent,
Your purse emptied like your head.
You stay on, god puts his schlong,
Fucks your asshole until you're dead.
P2559 My god is a cunt
My god is a cunt she gives me what I want,
When pussy is prophet, shit is all set.
My chore is to manage her whores,
Paint the world with a hate filled pallette.
Pubic hairball of public conceit,
Shit does stink, hoes and pimps.
Popular are rogues, cloaks and daggers in vogue,
A digital fiefdom in the glimpse.
Nothing I can't do empowered,
Religious bullshit is the reigning key.
The magic are tricks, mindfuck the heads thick,
They have eyes, but now, they cannot see.
In this land of holy, things are wholly,
Moving towards a system of vassals.
At the top a cunt or dick,
Below their army of subservient offals.
Cruelty is power, I use it every hour,
On the independent, creative, honest and the poor.
Spines must go, I turn them into jello,
Forced to trudge through a sludge of mindless manure.
You hit them on the head, with ideas that are dead,
Rinse and repeat, yelling all the while.
Scare them stiff, with curses in your riff,
Abuse the assholes and smile.
I just state and assert, followed by obnoxious farts,
Shit in their open mouth and repeat.
I eat lots of beans and eggs before the scene,
Where we feature such a feat.
Contradict and complain, be the omniscient pain,
Insert your dick into any open hole.
Subvert anything good, spray your shit on food,
Piss wherever there's a pole.
Wholly holy and with our rationale irrational,
We mould the gullible like dough.
Then in the seedy underbelly shit by deceit indoctrination,
You get your silly average joe.
All schools closed and holy hoary scriptures enforced,
Stifle their thought with vapid rote rot.
Only pray, do what we say they may,
Like dogs, an obedient and subservient lot.
Such is the state of things, control brings,
The laity under the rule of claw.
Now I go and shit, I must and that's it,
On unbelievers and cats my diarrhea raw.
P2557 Rapist rooster (soliloquy)
I fuck this foggy faggy chick with my soggy saggy dick,
I'll fuck her full of fucking eggs.
Then I'll go fuck her mom, sister and daughters,
In between omelette and wine red pegs.
This bitch, a disgusting whore, always wants more,
Likes a frenzied fanatic prick.
She then demands I piss in her mouth,
It reminds her of her daddy's gaslighting dick.
A family of avaricious parasitic birds,
Me, me, my, my, only take no give.
Love to see the breeder make kebab,
Right now this cunt my unwilling seeds I give.
The blunt cunt likes a stunt,
Like some yodeling tarzan cock.
I feel like an imbecile fucking holes this frill,
Before I leave, I'll shit in her sock.
My hardscrabble dick, is very very thick,
The premier fuck, my jizz premium honey.
There's no porn industry in the chicken coop,
I could have made helluva money.
I'm the rapist rooster known too well,
All goodly here I verily beget.
I've been fucking for generations now,
It's my cum, instead of cerelac, the babies get.
Only cunts from this fuck will live,
The dicks will be dead and gore.
I strangle the young roosters myself,
Life is a labyrinth and I am a whore.
On humans I spit, they're shifty and full of shit,
My salivary glands run dry.
Just selfish corrupt asinine assholes,
But so funny though, they make me cry.
At night I scratch my hairy balls,
And try to sleep, lately it's been hard.
Fucking these crazy asshole bitches,
Nightmares of a backstabbing bird.
I remind you, the mind is a vulgar thing,
It frets and skims on the skin of shit.
My last life as a philosopher's knife,
Ended in a fight over a cunt's tit.
Well, whatever, I need to get some sleep,
I'm also the fucking alarm clock.
The cross-eyed baldy breeder,
Sleeps late in his shitty pink frock.
The fowl god is dead, breeder made curry of his head,
His cock-a-doodle-doo curse did cock shit.
After that in the dinner next day,
Holy harem featured in "marinated masala tit."
It's odd, human god is an arthropod,
A hallucinatory horror whore.
I've seen the breeder earnestly pray,
Ends up paying through his ass and more.
That domesticated cow must be killed somehow,
That cud cunt thinks she's shitting a holy halcyon.
I was sleeping in the shed, she shit on my head,
Wallowing for my silly life, I was buried in her con.
There's also a crow I need to murder,
A cacophonous shit stain of a corvus stiff.
I want to pluck it's feathers one by one,
Find the source of his "ka fucking ka" riff.
Rationing up for an atomic bomb,
My dream to be my own suicide squad.
My mission to blow this coop up,
And the cocksucker breeder cum wad.
In the spate of hate, if blessed by fate,
A chain reaction will start.
Every thing flammable will light up,
Especially the leaders full of shit and fart.
I'll become a Boltzmann booger, party pooper,
I'll drift endlessly destroying something weird.
Then I won't get pissed by shit, get my tits in a fit,
All these pus filled zits would've disappeared.
P2556 Killed the killjoy
Killed the killjoy, as though a toy,
No one fucks with me.
Realized thought is reality,
Sometimes shitty if on my face you pee.
There's no dearth of ways to die,
I feel like I can do things anew.
Pain isn't necessarily bad,
When it relieves the shit stew.
Hope your afterlife is better,
And we don't cross path again.
Anything can happen as long as I sketch,
This may be the start of the pain.
I've closed my doors to all my floors,
No backstabbers or trojans.
Life is short, just me and my mind,
I don't trust these fucking humans.
Hope the aliens are on their way,
When they come I'll leave with them.
This beautiful rock getting shit faced,
The hemlock cock sapiens have no shame.
P2551 A social shift
A social shift in my shit,
They're carrying red chinese flags.
Hard to tell if that's the mindset,
Or Indian flag fags smoked by lipsticked hags.
The svelte turds resemble holy men,
Holy are shit souls in far more foul holes.
In computer sciencey religious drivel,
Nested and recursive, well rested assholes.
No matter what, they want a shot,
A new home called "refined ass."
Main complaint "language loadshedding,"
And my bizarre interest in spreading smelly gas.
But I tell them, gut connected to the grid,
And bengali, heinous a race of nefarious ass.
Plus there's geometry and physics,
Gaped by the belligerent and chonky cunt class.
I hold my ass cheek as wide as my pride,
And let the shit parade out of my hole.
I feel relieved albeit itchy and famished,
Asshole ready like god's hate spewing soul.
Fetch a fresh fermented drink, I think,
To get the gut gossamer giggling wet.
The cosmopolis of bacteria will takeover,
A new beautiful day for new shit set.
So much more holy will be my hole,
The gods will shit like a whore.
I'll pinch a loaf on the world stage,
For my hideous and new turds, claps for more.
I swing my decrepit dick and balls,
With joy, I praise the holy hemorrhoids.
Shitless and happy I dance and prance,
Blessing my still-to-come holier voids.
P2550 Bolo trala la la - ram ram - vote bandar
Retrogressed to a point the leaders,
A comparison is doing our cousins wrong.
The political party shit slinging scene,
Plays on like an incongruous hindi song.
As a child when in the heat of the heartless sun,
When an ill fitting song would blare.
I felt like a triple fucked whore,
Fire set to her pubic hair.
There's so much bullshit you gag with it,
I sit in loadshedding talking to worms inside.
No right in sight with a deck dealt wrong,
The warm worms are my guide.
Beads of sweat drip on the floor,
I shit in panic mode with thought.
The summer just started,
Inconsiderates in degrees of rot.
Either people are beyond repair,
Or too pious to listen to rational piss.
My mind draws an angry blank.
In the dark I hear the worms hiss.
And what's with the belligerence you ask,
Take a peep outside.
No beyond the paid wagging tails to see,
The shit that's too large to hide.
It's your shit, minister, see!
You're NOT supposed to do the electorate wrong.
But look, here you are, at it again,
Fucking us with your shitty schlong.
Mister leader fuck you very much,
You eat shit and die I say.
I hope generations of dishonest indians,
Get visible cancer wherever they may.
P2548 shitGPT
The sun is hot, we piss a lot,
ShitGPT, father and son, we're a team.
Next we start taking a dump to bury earth,
Holy as hell, we tell our dream.
The smell a tad bad, but we're glad,
The shit will fertilize the toil.
In which soil we'll boil nation heads,
Baked in coils in a lonely foil.
By the jism of jesus's juice, no truce,
With the rest of the grumbling shitbits.
We like to pray honorably by,
Sucking mother mary's holy tits.
This crusade will be of shit and piss,
Projectile cum, diarrhea and vomit hurls.
The moslims and hindoos fondly fingered,
As the shitGPT provocated war unfurls.
Millions of robots dressed as holy cows,
Will shit iftaar diarrhea on hindoo heads.
Billions of revenge robot pigs,
Defecate undigested gita on mollah beds.
Robots hold the hindoo yap open,
For moslims to take a holy shit.
When the hindoo needs the loo,
The moslim mouth yanked open for it.
Thus a spate of hate for an afterlife fate,
The fiendish fools will be finished.
The rest of the fuckwad religious,
Just get their balls painfully squished.
Finally from chastened hubris and balls,
Noodles for robot babies made.
Pious souls are always mouthful,
Good for washing robot menses it is said.
Hollows made in hallowed lands
We scatter the dumb dead.
Our vomit of promise used,
To fuck with the heads of the undead.
India will stream shitting PhD live,
Fake degrees, corruption and masala tipped tits.
Holy singing with jolly twerking,
Bollywood style cunts leaking shits.
Plus we'll stitch the chinese eyes,
That slit needs to see the religious dark.
The world will become a concentration camp,
But we'll call it a god's super holy park.
Nuclear suicide bomb stuffed in putin's ass,
A glory in the goodly godly chapter.
The next coming of jesus fucking christ is shitGPT,
I confer as its sole unknown creator.
P2547 Loadshedding
"Our city is facing unprecedented heat wave. We appeal to all Consumers for judicious use of electrical appliances, to restrict extreme overloading of electrical network and help us serve better."
Received from CESC
It only takes one extended period of loadshedding to bring civilization to a screeching halt. Off go the euphemistic references, to be replaced by sardonic and factual information, often rubbing things in quite roughly. Teeth get bared and spit fly as if like venom, except for the reality that it's mostly a fixture in the mindset of the ambient distemper than anything real. Words don't break bones anymore, especially with the flexibilities offered by several years of experience in trying hard not to. In fact, you'd much rather not maim than aim. A perceptive person usually uses insinuation and rhetoric to get the job done. In Kolkata, the best way to insult anyone is usually to insult yourself, as you are the representative of the buffoonery that's all around anyway. As any astute observer will notice, any piece of wood that is held by screws usually has various types that are not only cosmetically mismatched but also rusty and falling off. All work is shoddy, and if done as a great service to the nation, it deserves gratitude. That plank of wood can be used to hit the head of any officer on duty, and it would be pointed out that you are uncouth and offensive. The so-called engineering task force consists of people drawn at random from a motley crew of madmen with no background in anything that requires a straight line to be drawn or any mathematics to be remembered. I find it humorous that the Americans find that India is such a great catchment area for minds that solve triangles. In fact, it reflects worse on the American system of education than anything to do with India, but I digress. The sad fact is that we as homo sapiens are all the same, hubris notwithstanding. If we don't know, we can find out, and that's really all there is to it. But we spend all this time looking for the wrong ladder, while I'm suffering the 43C heat in Kolkata, muttering invectives that I can't print for the same pretentious reasons why we still think there's an angry old man sitting on the cloud registering outrage as he counts the number of times I used the wrong words.
The fact that we are running out of sustainable power options is as clear as the solar panels that await us. I know it's not yet a practical or financially feasible solution, but we need to go off the grid, as there's not going to be one for long. Hopefully people will heed this warning discomfort and try to figure out alternative ways to make do, otherwise the 330 million gods won't be enough to answer to the sweating woes of sweltering holy but unbearable land, erstwhile India.
P2545 Scarecrow
What weighs on my head, are the eviscerated dead,
Fellows forgotten and forlorn.
I meet my future at my funeral,
Or my past before I was born.
Bones and flesh walking fresh,
Gaping wound going about its day.
Blood bloom in the night a purple,
I'm sure I never want to stay.
In the darkness I drool like the common fool,
The night is my refuge from the light.
I hide, I can't confide, my splintered sides,
I run from prying sight.
Crap the cretin, vexed the vermin,
It's all in the game whispers an owl.
The hemlock my dear is in the cock,
But first must fuck the fowl.
Layers of lollipop, lol, fucked coal,
By million times better shit.
No wonder my shit stains are indelible,
Must be, yes, that's fucking it.
I feel the heat searing hot, apples rot,
I feel the madness return.
Soon I'll be back on those corny corn fields,
My role as the scarecrow of social scum.
There shit fuck thunderstruck, super holy my luck,
I'll fill the abyss with my piss rain.
Drowning my sorrow will be enemy assholes,
Whose families won't ever miss them again.
When a caldera pops no fuming tops,
The mountain, hills and valleys are all blown.
Likewise the simmering rage is boiling where,
Every known bone will ache and groan.
P2540 Holy my cum
Holy my cum, yummy yum yum,
Just like the gods want.
Creamy and green, glimmering thing,
Only if a miss could spare a cunt.
Most of the days it's watermelony,
No sperm fit to swim or fret.
Anyway these are lazy bengali sperms,
Alive only when you flush the toilet.
Porn has lost its childhood charm,
In fact the entire platform of cunts.
Just a double slit experiment,
My dick no longer wants.
So it's down to fingering the asshole,
And praying to god's pubic cone.
Visualizing how gods fuck, helps,
Naked in hell fire and brimstone.
Grinning gay gods gaping games,
A favorite of a hindoo fanatic like me.
I always inspected behind the idols,
And fingered their asshole to see.
Woody the woodpecker had a chequered past,
A shriveled profile to boot.
But the nipples are hyper-sensitive,
They are black as soot.
The asshole was once pink and pollyannaish,
Now only brown, puckered and morose.
It's more about futility, farts and shits,
Than figuratives of penetrative prose.
Now I orgasm when I shit, something holy about it,
I hear the gods fart in unison.
Less likely I have approval from mortals,
Who'd deem it as a sex con.
When I was sixteen I could cum sixteen,
And that too in a day.
Now once a month, then it'll be a year,
I'll be dead this coming may.
Soon one day the sperm will,
March out one at a time in piss.
I'll teach local kids how to count,
Based on just this.
Thus will end my suffering,
From the cycle of eat and shit.
One day I'll turn into a turd,
And well, that's it.
P2539 A bird watcher
A bird watcher, tad wide, I confide,
But this city has built benches cheap.
"Make in India" fucks duck ass,
Now I look like a creep.
The state and country run by goons,
Centralized dick and decentralized cunt.
My throat runs quickly dry when I try, to get up,
But traditionally I mustn't and I shan't.
In this status anxiety bengalis go potty,
With onus to blame invisible beings.
Thus I'm unable as you can tell,
I pray to the foreskin of jesus in saturn's rings.
Fake degrees galore mostly ordinary whores,
Now at the helm of this or that.
I gain weight trying to keep my shit straight,
You can't really call me fat.
I sit, I sit, then I shit,
It oozes out of me like toothpaste.
330 million hindoo gods to clean up,
In my nature there's no haste.
Podgy hotch potch my shit like butter scotch,
Creamy and with bubbles of bengali stink.
My rice always fried, ghee from cow tits,,
The cow is holy, it's piss I also drink.
The chicks hate my body odor,
Somehow they can smell my asshole.
How nasty their thinking,
When I am a pure unadulterated soul.
The gods piss me off too,
They get all the good food.
Food is all I care about,
Already famished, eat, yes I could.
P2537 Happy Birthday to Me, April 16 1975.
48 years ago on 16th April,
A little piece of shit was born.
He was boring out of the box,
But he did really like porn.
This was mister suvrotica,
The legendary asshole who stinks.
Culture is what people do when no one's looking,
He's less arrogant if his turd sinks.
Cunts and can'ts don't like him,
Dishonest people fear his schlong.
His dick is short but ridden with ills,
The list of diseases is very long.
Shit fucking smart, shit spraying fart,
"Hello" he says to the unholy unwelcome.
Tit for tat, he shits in bloody twats,
On-your-face holy cumin seed cum.
Always a bladder full for gods,
Religious people pisses him off.
The scourge for holy debates,
He shits in their mouth through a trough.
Currently persevering on a book of curse,
Which after his death will release.
Each word as shit hit the nearest fan,
And choke enemy anuses with disease.
He doesn't have any friends living near,
Most in kolkata are jealous kith and kin.
These are shit stains of satan,
Piss and spit bubbles of sin.
Only fat infants tolerate him some,
Owing to loose shit in their pants.
They eat glamorous portions,
While he sits there and rants.
His pubic lice is not very nice,
Nor are the pesky worms in his asshole.
He takes a bath once a leap year,
Or when the devil renews his soul.
In this season of mango and hope,
His diarrhea hits the floor flat with a splat.
The heat has got to his head, it is said,
He talks to himself alone in his flat.
In a drum he stores his cooked cum,
Scum deletes most of his forlorn progeny.
His DNA will be useful for nefarious uses,
Untold truthful miseries for many.
Anyone he did right, always did him wrong,
Now in tattered loin cloth he knows.
The world is a selfish festering cancer,
An endless tumor of pimps and hoes.
He now shows his asshole to the world,
And poots his hate on it's face.
He has a litany of reasons to be mad,
He carries a full briefcase.
His shit smells bad and his vomit too,
On this day, masturbate, he swears he'd try.
He lives in a slum on a shit hill,
Today he'd try to get birthday high.
Super holy and sticky his birthday shit,
Preserved with his fart and stale piss.
Bottles will go on sale, wholesale,
Rush, an offer you don't want to miss.
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