posted on December 14, 2000 12:28:15 AM
Happy birthday junkson!!You've got the ladys
believing you are 52,You were 97 last year.
So that means you are 98 today.It will be our little secret,that Chris, has to prop you up to the computor each morning,And tie you to the chair.Its good she ties down your legs as well,All those knee jerk reactions were causeing bruises.I couldnt afford your new store bought teeth this year,Maybe next year.
So I bought you a case of Oat meal and baby pudding,And a big pak of Tums.Doc said he couldnt do anything about the body function
Noises.Best thing you can do is lay off the fats and sweets.Your twin sister is coming to town,Its her birthday as well,You two, ought to make up after all these years.Sandi had a hard life you know.You called her Krazy Randy
Sandi.Not nice,Shame on you.I know you didnt invite me to your high falootin birthday party,I wont embarrass you,I wore shoes.
[ edited by junquemama on Dec 14, 2000 01:00 AM ]
posted on December 15, 2000 09:56:23 AM
In another thread, long ago, I was challenged to write a sonnet. Bereft of inspiration at the time, I demurred. For some reason, perhaps the lovely poetic stylings of dcj, my unassertive muse has returned to inflict upon you all this resultant attempt at immortal verse:
A TriLiteral Obsession
In darkness alone in the night,
as one with the purring machine,
aglow in the monitor's light.
The scribe remains ever unseen.
Practical simple precision
pressures the pertinent hollows.
A momentary decision.
Delight in whatever follows.
A laugh, an apoplectic cry,
grist for trenchant observation.
Abundant snide, elusive wry,
fuel a certain mad elation.
True Auctionwatch glory is extended to none,
but is nonetheless sought by, (we all know the one).
In an imagined, strange reversal of roles I expect to soon be pulled over and forced to produce my poetic license.
