It’s time for the next exciting edition of Random Image Inspiration… where anything can happen and nothing really matters. Let’s pull some numbers from the Randomator this week and see what impossible task it will give us…
46, 25, 14, 2
The 46th post in my Reader was this one by River Girl
The 25th word in that post is “even”
The 14th word in that post is “changed”
Putting “even changed” into Google Images brought this up as the 2nd result…
Wow…. that’s deep, man.
The sound of bongo drums can be heard in the background, while the air will choke you with the smell of stale MARIHUANA. A beatnik steps up to the open mic, which means it’s time for…..
Dead Poets Society
BUSTER: I’ve got some rhymes for the house!
Walk, don’t run
Through that moonless night
Slow and steady
Will do you right
Life’s not a race
No need for flight
But tell that to the truck
That ran the red light
And left me there
As a bloody sight
The audience politely applauds with their non-toking hand
BUSTER: Here’s one my Mama taught me when I was still in the pouch…
Don’t let the crotch lice bite
And if you die
Before you wake
I pray the deli
Your carcass to take
BUSTER: Thanks everyone! Is that the peace sign you’re flashing me, or is it my double vision?
A shooting star
Streaks through the sky
From outer space
It meets my eye
As it descends in the night
Till it hits my head
And ‘comes a meteorite
BUSTER: Wow, I’m really killing it up here, ain’t I? This next poem is my magnum opus! Been working on it for over twenty years… never before published or spoken! It’s going to make me world famous like Emily Dickinson and that Shortfellow guy…and you’ll get to be the first ones to hear this epic rhyme! I’m a bit parched right now, so let me wet my whistle first…
BUSTER: Oops! Wow, this mic’s sizzling tonight!
Ten seconds of crackling electrical sounds mixed with blood curdling screams later…..
The audience is too stoned to pay attention to what’s going on up on stage. Too bad, as they missed Buster the Bard officially joining the Dead Poets Society….
*Snapping her fingers while nodding in her black beret… River peers through the smoke and says, “I dig it Daddio.”*
Groovy, man, groovy.
Wow. Dude. Who knew Buster was a poet (even a dead one)?? Deep, way deep man.
They say artists have to suffer for their work, and who has suffered more than Buster. He could put together quite the collection of poetry if he’d ever live long enough to write it…
Far out, man.
Gag…cough. Ugh…I’m too cynical in my old age. Buster…get with the times, Busta!
So no donations from you for Buster’s tip jar/embalming fund?
The check is in the mail.
It sounds like River has been hitting the “good stuff” along with the Critters, lol.
If could be second hand good stuff smoke. That stuff’s pretty potent Fuzzywig uses…
LOL! The rhymes were great. How do you come up with this stuff?
The key to great poetry is to use simple rhymes that match a lot of words!
we love that kind of poetry… and we think we will avoid the deli from now on LOL
Good choice. You don’t want to know what’s in that headcheese…
Buster being DEAD – yet again – is no surprise of course but who knew he had the soul (and blood) of a poet? Groovy. Totally.
Nobody appreciates great poets while they’re alive, so Buster has that advantage going for him in that he’s usually dead.
That is one hell of a way to end a poetry reading about his own death!
It will take them a while to realize it wasn’t a part of the act. Especially since the smell of rotting possum can’t overcome the odor of the Good Stuff…