The Serialised Diaries of Attila Z. Spasm: 12 Aug 2008

This week's research : Fucking poetry

I awoke today with a fish in my ear
A silver fish, indeed? How queer!
I asked the fish to stay to dinner
And we dined on scrotums in paint thinner.
"O fish" quoth I, "O fishy one",
Let's play a game now, just for fun -
climb into this forget-me-not
and if you fail I'll have you shot/
Well he ummed and he ahhed and he scratched his chin
and looking at me with a sickly grin
said "I accept your challenge, silly man"
as he sipped on diesel laced with jam.
So then in a trice, nay the blink of an eye
the fish blew his nose and he started to cry,
and the tears, as they fell from his fishy green eyes,
turned from water to octopi to my surprise,
and these octopi managed with their tenacles eight
to deposit said fish in the flower on my plate.
"Holy shit" cried yours truly, who'd just shat a brick
"your lacrimal sea-life has just done the trick".
Then the fish gave a shrug only fish can construct
as he looked at me smiling and said "Now you're fucked,"
"coz now it's my turn to come up with a task
and if you should fail you must do as I ask".
"You must dance and reel and build me a palace
made of pubes and spittle and a small dog called Alice.
So I ummed and I aghhed and conceded with class
as I silently shoved a grenade up his arse.
And I laid on the floor with one hand on my balls
as the fish guts were sprayed across doors, over walls.
And I thought to myself as I wallowed in fish
that I'm fucked if I'm playing these games as you wish.
So bollocks to you and your challenge and guts
I'd rather nod off with my hand on my nuts.

So may well you doze in my ear little fishy,
but know that Attila can make you go squishy.

Result: I suck at rhyming.