Newsgroups: alt.slack

Subject: Chick Stuff

From: twgs@whatsthepoint.net (Dave Lynch)

Date: Thu, 02 Apr 1998 02:15:09 GMT

 

Thus spake Yarky Craploaf:

>I COULD'T make ANY of this ANY WORSE!

 

I don't know. I could probably make it a lot worse. It sounds like a

Billy Joel song, or something. Two years ago I probably would've started

on a rant about what a brain-irritating pinkboy Billy Joel is, but I really

don't care anymore. I don't listen to his music, and I figger there's

enough room in the universe for me and Billy Joel both. Anyway, how I'd

make it worse is first off I'd add a whole bunch of really baroque and

stilted imagery. I'd describe my breasts like silver pendulums. Or ochre

pendulums. Or loamy pendulums. Something like that. I'd also set it to

music and have Don McLean sing it, or whoever that chick was who did "The

Night the Lights Went Out in Georgia".

 

So yeah, it's definitely a chick poem, and I can't, to use chick terms,

RELATE to it at all. But I can understand how a chick could find that poem

meaningful and touching. I figger as long as I like watching movies where

lots of shit blows up, I can't hardly complain about chicks liking chick

stuff.

 

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