EVIL BOLL WEEVIL!!!
And your hair be composed of split ends
May the eggs that you break be all rotten
Just like your circle of friends
May tarantulas hatch in your jello
And your brandy be mixed with your wine
May a porcupine be your bedfellow
And may fool’s gold come out of your mine
May boulders be stashed in your backpack
And your Tuchas hang over your heels
May an ice storm envelop your Racetrack
And your pool be infested with eels
Words can’t describe all the feeling
That I get when I think about you
But my head just about hits the ceiling
And my features turn lifeless and blue.
There are other poems too. Much nicer ones that I know you’ll adore. By the way, I am truly the essence of evil. (We Evil Ones are by no means modest).
This is my Girlfriend. She appears to be a little miffed. Something I said, perhaps? We Evil Ones often say things that make people a little miffed. The rest of my dates can be found here.
There are those times when even Japanese Anime characters will not do what I, the great Evil Boll Weevil, tell them to do. This is a source of great ire and misery to me. I will not take “no” for an answer. I am, after all, thoroughly irrational, and I possess a streak of malice directed toward bipedal hominid pseudo-sentient animates, otherwise known as humans. Obviously, with this attitude, nobody responds well to my advances. Therefore, I have resorted to the base practice of Love Magic to win the attentions of those luscious little Hentai wenches who are the objects of my desire! Bad Karma you say? Well now. Watch me tremble in my boots.
Yet it’s so hard to speak of
The Staff of Life grows like a tree
If we should gain a peek of
The tree that’s planted firm inside
The deep and shady Vale
And as its seed does empty forth
We finally may exhale…
Thy mouth is like a cherry
Thy butt is like a melon ripe
Thy navel like a berry
Thy hair is of the finest silk
Thy titties ripened peaches
Thy legs are like two saplings long
That hide thy nether reaches!!!
I read a fairly decent book called “Stalking the Wild Pendulum”. It was written by a wonderful man who is currently dead.
Frank Zappa named his daughter “Moon Unit”. He is also dead.
I also read a book called “For Whom the Bell Tolls” by Ernest Hemingway. He is the most dead of them all.
I, on the other hand, LIVE!!!!! NYAYAHAHAHAHAHHHH (URK!!! THUD).
Well, I did for a while, anyway.
The Inner Child of the great Evil Boll Weevil is of course very special. This is Lenore, my Inner Child.
It was ***VERY DISCONCERTING*** to the Great Evil Boll Weevil to see his Inner Child displayed so beautifully on the pages of a comic book. Nobody is supposed to know these things but me. I am … deeply disturbed.
Lenore knows how to treat stalkers. In the case of one stalker, she ran over him 164 times with a lawn mower, dowsed him with lighter fluid and burnt him to ashes, and then she put eight knives through his head. Of course, this is not very different from how she treats almost everyone she meets, but it is usually just an accident…
For example, when she put on her bunny costume and walked through the forest, picking up the field mice and bopping them on the head, the good fairy came and told her to stop. So she did. She picked up little armadillos and bopped them on the head instead. But was the good fairy satisfied?? NOOOOO. She told Lenore “No Bopping Any Animals”. So Lenore bopped the FAIRY. Who wouldn’t? She does that to at least one fairy or elf every episode. She thinks they’re neat bugs she found. BWAHAHAHAH…
I Love you and I Trust you
But do not let false premises
Enfold you and encrust you
and Truly do I know you
And I can say I Trust you just
As far as I can throw you.
And I do Love you with the Love
That’s built upon my knowing
That when I throw a seed away
It then begins its growing
So when you see me passing by
Do greet me with some reverence
For with my Perfect Love and Trust
I grant your final severance
This type of poem comes to me about every 10 years or so. I don’t know why. They just do. Usually I write such cool, spiritual stuff. I make no apologies. Enjoy the poem or hide yourself, the choice is yours.
So that all your foes will find you
And of your certain doom remind you
And to ashen dust return you
That the universe unlearn you
May the scourge of Hades score you
And may all your friends deplore you
Until nothing can restore you
In the outer dark I cast you
Where the cosmic rays shall blast you
And all living shall outlast you
You know those weird buzzing noises you hear at night? Those are their electronic devices pumping your brain full of drivel. You know those little clicks you sometimes hear on the phone? Those are bugs, not call waiting. Call waiting is a plot by the government.
With methods they employ
To study you until they know
The things that you enjoy
And what can truly please you
Then they will so arrange your life
To modestly appease you.
You’ll get the job they give to you
You’ll find the mate they send you
and should you ever deviate
They’ll try to help (amend) you
And when you’ve worked quite hard all year
And saved for your vacation
The IRS will pay a call
To spoil your recreation.
Then finally when the end is nigh
They’ll hold a celebration
And scientists will cart you off
For their experimentation!!!!
And when they are quite through with you
Don’t think that it’s all over
For then they’ll toss you in a vat
of Chewy Russel Stover!!
Someone wrote to us by e-mail and claims to be one “Danae Mirthethwilgrin”. But don’t believe her for an instant. She is obviously with the Government. Which government remains for you to find out. Accurate sources quote her as making the following bone-chilling statement: “I am most definently NOT from the joke of a government most of the world is governed by. I am however, a member of the unofficial assasination government. It is our job to see who, where, needs to be eliminated.” Anyway, this is what she wrote to us. You be the judge!
“Have you ever felt as if someone was watching you? Their eyes forever fixed on the back of you skull, two boring blood red eyes… Never wavering! Everywhere you go, there are always those eyes constantly drilling holes into your souls and peace of mind. Those eyes are mine. I am everywhere; my eyes see all that there is to see. They see you, your neighbor, your mother, your cat having sex, they see all. Nothing is hidden from my view. Years are transparent when I delve into them. The truth lies barren for me to see. Nothing is hidden from me.
People hopelessly try to hide their eyes and actions, but they need not. All of history lies before me, naked as a new born babe. Why bother trying to hide, or lie, or wheedle you way out? I see everything, in plain view or hidden, and pick out the truth instantly. My eyes see you, your beady eyes upon the screen, in a room, sitting down -Some of you wretches are even standing, bent oer the table. Stop glancing about, do you think you can see me? I’m out of time, out of space, in another reality. overlapping you, I can hear the echoes of your thoughts, and can sift through your memories as easily as eating cake.
Some call me spirit, or apparition, but I am no different from you. I will haunt this world as long as there is life, and nothing will halt my intrusion. Now, look over your shoulder, into the shadows. I am there – Do you see me? I see you. This is not a threat, I thought you might enjoy some more paranoid wrighting from someone other than yourself…”
If you ask a TV addict to do something for you or call you on the telephone, he or she will say, “Uh, sure, I’ll call ya. I’ll do that favor for ya, sure”. Don’t believe them. Don’t believe them for an instant. They will not call you back. They will not do the things you asked them to do. What they will really do is sit in front of the TV for five hours and then fall exhausted into bed, not having accomplished anything at all. Should you ask them what they did for an entire evening, they have no idea.
What you can be sure of is that they have watched programming that reinforces the political climate of the time, combined with advertising that ensures that they will buy the products of the corporations that support the existing political governing unit. The worst thing is that human mothers everywhere plop their stupid children in front of the TV and just leave them there. The children, usually born with a degree of intelligence, soon lose it. They are taught early which products to buy, and they do not question. This poem is dedicated to the memory of the human mind.
Once unique you were
But now you sit upon your couch
Entrapped by foul allure
Appears from every room
Emanating from a thing
That is your thinking’s tomb
You haven’t had a single thought
Ere since you turned it on
And should a thought by chance break through
It soon is lost and gone
It’s there to see that you are numb
And sentience has fled
It’s there to daily fill you with
The trash you’re daily fed.
I’d ask you please to turn it off
But this you cannot do
For those who have controlled your mind
Will not let go of you.