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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: Whiskey Whiskersdots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: elephantasia
    ASL Info:    37/F/UK
    Elite Ratio:    3.54 - 398/490/159
    Words: 361
    Class/Type: Poetry/Misc
    Total Views: 698
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 2610



    Description:
       Wher the hell does inspiration come from...I sat and out it popped lol


    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsWhiskey Whiskersdots
    -------------------------------------------


    Whiskey Whiskers.
    That's what they used to call him.
    His stubble troubled mug;
    protruding peppered logs.
    Skewers for yesterdays wolfed victuals.
    Pineapple and cheese on party sticks,
    But you wouldn't want a lick.
    A cat's tongue would be a smoother groom.

    Talking of weddings...
    It was a grand affair
    A ten grand one in fact.
    An out of pocket experience.
    For what it's worth,
    she did look a million dollars.
    Yeah, she bought it alright!

    Swallowed all the lies,
    Actually she swallowed a lot more than that
    for him, at his whim.
    She lay down her life,
    that was her collateral;
    and in return;
    she held status, as his wife.
    Foolish girl; Payback time,
    Tied herself to a black and blue giver.
    And that's why Whisky Whiskers' liver,
    took the beatings, alongside with her.

    A daughter to the slaughter.
    The woolly headed bint,
    Couldn't see for love nor lint.
    Clouded by lust, promises of gold dust.
    She lapped it all up
    and scraped her hungry heart,
    On the fangs of a smiling wolf
    and got bitten; she was smitten, then smote.
    While Whiskey Whiskers watched
    and twice shied away from the madman
    with the badge of authority.

    Money talks. It talks big.
    Often out of the mouth of a small-minded, big head,
    sporting a little prick, and a double-exhausted sports car.
    And it's always red,
    like their face was in high school.
    Shamer turned blamer turns fat controller.
    Dominant doormat beater.
    Couldn't be sweeter; at first.
    "Come into my bubble my pretty".
    Shiny outside, inside shitty.
    And Whiskey Whiskers stands outside,
    in bourbon, malt and Jack he hides,
    This pickled mess, pickles inside.

    Until a murderous screaming bursts the bubble,
    Goddamit, now here comes the trouble.
    He screams in anger, she in terror
    But neither screamer knows the error.
    Now beside himself with rage,
    Battle cries leap free the ribcage.
    Whiskey Whiskers lets it rip,
    Ten long years of teeth-tongue grip.
    He grabs an empty bourbon bottle,
    and towards his son-in-law full throttle
    he clouts the bastard with a thwack.
    it's good to see that Jackie's back!

    Down in one.
    Daddy had him!




    Submitted on 2005-03-30 15:46:16     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
    Submissions: [ Previous ] [ Next ]

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    1: >_<
    2: I dunno...
    3: meh!
    4: Pretty cool
    5: Wow!




    ||| Comments |||
      Well, I couldn't really think of any improvements or suggestions. You use such colourful words and phrases. Not a nice subject that you write of, but I like this poem nonetheless.
    | Posted on 2005-04-06 00:00:00 | by redthewitch | [ Reply to This ]
      wow! how can SOMETHING like this just pop up?!great descriptions...as cuddledumplin mentioned, it could make a cool song..think about it!
    | Posted on 2005-04-04 00:00:00 | by vedanta19 | [ Reply to This ]
      Quite a poem full. I love the British touches like "double exhausted sports car" or "wooly headed bint"
    We just don't get such color here in the colonies. Perhaps a bit winded, but definately coming to a smart point.
    Dave
    | Posted on 2005-03-31 00:00:00 | by Sandburg | [ Reply to This ]
      Well, this is definately vivid. Well, he deserved what he got in the end. This reminds me of some songs like "The Night The Lights Went Out in Georgia" or old folk ballads like "Pretty Boy Floyd." It's the way it's told. I know the content is nothing alike. I think if you came up with a chorus, you could make a song out of this.

    She lay down her life,
    that was her collateral;
    and in return;
    she held status, as his wife.
    Foolish girl; Payback time,
    Tied herself to a black and blue giver.
    And that's why Whisky Whiskers' liver,
    took the beatings, alongside with her.

    Seriously, he's a BAD man. I was almost happy when daddy whopped him at the end. I know she's a gold digger, but that's legal, at least.

    Money talks. It talks big.
    Often out of the mouth of a small-minded, big head,
    sporting a little prick, and a double-exhausted sports car.
    And it's always red,
    like their face was in high school.
    Shamer turned blamer turns fat controller.
    Dominant doormat beater.

    Seriously, I know guys like this. I don't think they beat their wivs, but they want arm candy, and they were the biggest dorks in high school. They get a little power, and it goes to their heads.

    Is that picture you? It reminds me of me when I was little. I used to love to wear dresses and cowboy boots. I have a picture I made in them, and my boots are on the wrong feet. I even had that haircut. I may post it, so you can see it.
    | Posted on 2005-03-31 00:00:00 | by cuddledumplin | [ Reply to This ]


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