Follow Captain Pigheart on

Shanktimonious: Self-Righteous Angry Poetry


Human to Humour Interface

Much of my emotional distress is, I believe, the result of a mismatched interface between me and the outside world. For example, I consider the ability to be asked a question, understand it and provide a suitable answer to be a pretty basic, core requirement of communicating with others. This is less normal than I had once suspected.
I spend much of my day, especially at the moment, talking to other people. They have a lamentable inability to comprehend information, no matter how simple the presentation and content. It is painful to listen to and observe. How the fuck can these (apparent) humans interact? Are they fucking psychic and so find my primitive scrapings of crude symbols to be so far beneath their telepathic intellects that they cannot comprehend written language? Or are they just utterly incompetent?
I’m regularly assured that while many people are lacking in certain skill areas (like communication, memory, reason…) they have been employed because of their amazing skills in other areas (like talking to other people – sure they can talk, it’s unfortunate the content is meaningless repetitive babble). But I doubt it. If you can’t communicate then there ain’t much else you can do either. I suppose they must just be the drones of a psychic hive mind.

Follow @shankanalia on Twitter to experience anger in real time.

Shanktimonious: Self-Righteous Angry Poetry

Your Call Is Important To Us
Whaddup fucknut,
Thanks for your call.
I’m hanging up now
So I can hang myself.
Did you think,
When you rang
To withhold your shartbrain query?

Sometimes I feel like putting
My fist into your face,
You know I can puppet you;
Make your face flap
When you’re talking like a twat.

Downtown Fo Shizzle
Put yo hands in the air!
Put yo hands in the air!
No, your other hands.
I don’t accept surrender from imbeciles.

Blubber Spear
The only tears I’ll ever shed again
Are other people’s blood.

Soft-Hearted Smiler
You know I’d beat you with a stick
Just for looking at me slanty:
your judging eyes.
Maybe I’m over-sensitive,
Let’s see how your screams affect me.

All My Wheels Are Round
I can only assume
That you’ve got a plan
That I can’t understand.
Miracle brain sparks,
Random ideas.

Thousand Yard Glare
Fuck you and fuck your stupid face,
Stick to chewing and spitting.
Slack-jawed boggle-eyed
Blandly hateful faces
Gazing with malevolent vacancy.

Related articles

Read More of Shankanalia - Poetry

Similar Stuff

Share This Thing

Leave a Reply