Washing dishes; a chore I hate
I will not dishwash, jr8
I will not dishwash in the sink
I will not dishwash 'cause they stink
I will not wash their caked old food
I will not wash; I’m in no mood
I will not wash with soap and water
I’m outta here; why should I bother?
I will not do a chore I hate,
I will not dishwash, jr8
Words
Every
One of
Your words threatens to
engulf me, drown me in a stream
of your endless words that never stop
filling the room and stealing the air that would
allow me to reply. I don’t think you even notice
that I say nothing to balance out your endless stream
of words. Pressed down by their pressure, I don’t even try.
Lunch.
I try to load
the Boards from work.
The hamster’s dead.
I weep.
so much depends
on
a flame from jar
baby
murdering some asshole
troll
in the bbq
pit
After the meal that jr8
I ought 2 scrub his dirty plate.
4 jr ought to go have fun,
And not wash up for every1.
The Ryan
'Twas Pitty, and the hairs were split.
They spiralled down into the waves
of chaos from a hijacked thread,
which burst the topic and quickly spread
along our shattered nerves and braved
our fondest wish to call bullshit.
jayjay
Let me not to the Pitting of true trolls
Admit impediments. Wit is not wit
Which scruples at lambasting such assholes
Or moderates itself eke in the Pit.
O, no! It is an ever-raging flame
That roasts cuntwrenches and is not extinguished;
Indeed, the key to any Doper’s fame
Is but to be invectively distinguished.
Tis not to feed trolls, though such gerbil pimps
Within range of the malediction come;
But all to glad the Doper throngs, as limps
The erstwhile haxx0r from the Thread of Doom.
If this be error, then I never writ,
Nor Doper ever savaged trolls in Pit.
When that May concludes the year of school,
And idiot children come home as a rule,
And fill the doperboards with such bullshit
Which fertilizer doth engender wit,
And Dopers eke with their poison pen
Excoriate the trollish swarms, and then
The twit-assed pricks and bubbleheaded bints
Away from these our boards do mewling sprint,
And small fools maketh threnody
And seeing this doth Dopers laugh with glee,
So are defeated trolls by sharper heads,
Then loveth folk to read bePitted threads,
The snappy vicious flaming for to read
Responding to some assfaced loser’s screed.
Once, after a party cheery,
Head athrob and eyes all bleary,
Staggered I toward the kitchen, halting just before the door.
Through the gaping orifice I
Saw the awful proof that what I
Thought had been a fun-filled eve had left its mark upon the floor.
“‘Tis but onion dip and salsa, spilt upon the kitchen floor. This,” I thought, “and nothing more.”
Then, aroma noxious, sickly
Fell upon my nostrils thickly,
Testifying that my first impression was far from the score.
For a mop and bucket went I,
Thinking quick to soak and swab, I
Finished fast and saw my S/O standing at the kitchen door.
“While you’re up,” said she, “you may as well the dishes wash once more.” “Dishes?” groaned I.
“Nevermore!”
matt_mcl
Wrote some sonnets and did it well
Thus inspiring me to do
Him a Clerihew.
On Dish-Blindness
When I consider how my night was spent,
Ere going to bed in this dark world, and think
Of that last saucepan left beside the sink
Lodged with burnt remnants, how my back was bent
To scrape therefrom with scrungies, and present
A pristine space, lest housemates, filled with drink,
Return and loudly utter,“What’s that stink?”
And wake me up. But never, to prevent
My own ire, do they ever pay much heed
To their strewn leavings and foul mess. Who best
Wash their own pots, they please me best, and quash
My outrage. Though they pay their rent with speed,
And make such pleasant merriment and jest;
They also serve who only stand and wash.
- John Meltdown
I WILL arise and go now, and post to the SD,
And a large post count build there, of fact and TMI made:
Three gry-words will I have there, a trust for the PHP,
And live alone in the new-reply glade.
Twisty 
Oh and big up to december 2!