Shankatron – the Angry Poetry Robot

Well today’s been a bastard. The continuous geometric redesign, the geriatric mastication of ova, the sheer gullibility and ignorance… Ach. Much stupidity on a grand yet disappointing scale. Accidentally taking the cold & flu capsules that have caffeine in them on top of sleeping tablets produced a night of astonishing fucktuckery which in no way prepared me for a day in the office. Rage ensued. My highlight was declaring that I wished to clothe the building in napalm, oh and singing. Soon I shall pass out.

This one was slightly too long to fit in a tweet:

Julie Christie Blues
Lions and kittens and fucktards with wings,
Your giblets all ripped out and dangling on strings.
These are a few of my favourite things.
Then I remember you’re dead in a ditch
You ancient and evil fiendish old bitch.
And then I don’t feel so bad.

If you fancy you can follow @shankanalia on Twitter too, or just wait for the ‘collected works’ to turn up here.

Cut Around The Clock
1 o’clock, 2 o’clock, 3 o’clock SLASH,
4 o’clock, 5 o’clock, 6 o’clock SHANK,
7 o’clock, 8 o’clock, 9 o’clock STAB,
10 o’clock, 11 o’clock, 12pm SLICE.
You’re gonna bleed around the clock, and die.

Plasticity
Your face is
The shape of
The things that
I hate
Your face
Shapes my hand
In a sympathetic
Fist
Your face:
The last thing your
Children will ever see.

Customer Service
I’d forgotten,
Forgive me
How needy you are.
My apologies.
Your need exceeds your wit.
Your need exceeds
My desire to assist.
I want to forget you.

Fishing
Eviscerate,
Defenestrate.
These are great
For irritating playmates.
If they’re testy,
Use castrate;
You may need bait.

Clipboard Dreams
Death lust upon me
Once more your steely embrace.
Red mist,
Spattered moron on the floor.
Gut and paste,
Taste your pain,
Feel your wounds.
WIN.

Crowd Control
Hateful squealing mass
Gawking
Drooling
Illiterate gibbering
Point
Stare
Stop in the street
Solipsistic twats
I’ll mow you down
Impinge on you.

Girth
Oh lady,
Oh fat lady
Are you smuggling a whale in your arse?
Were you proportionate within
Your ovaries would be hockey balls.
Oh lady,
Fat lady.

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