Gorerotted
Special Agent Fox Mulder: FBI
The whiskey in my blood – it shudders to think
Just how much I’ve actually had to drink
The thinner of the blood, this alcohol
Makes me feel both big and small
And where I’ve been and what I’ve said
And if in fact I’ll wake up dead
The smell of whiskey on my breath
Is enough to ward off God and Death
I chew the gum and smoke the clove
And cook the pizza in the stove
And eat it to dilute the fluid
And act the Star Wars druid
Obi Wan Kinobe in his brown cloak
After imbibing hard liquor aged in oak.
The naming of the subtle signs
Alludes to those that have maligned
The name of Wild Turkey thus
Which have created quite a fuss,
That prohibition seems due course
That none shall feel liquor’s remorse.
But that shall not stop me from quaff
My fill of whiskey and such stuff
To get me drunk and make me think
That what I love is only pink.
Knowledge is something that’s gone out the window
All about three shots ago
And thus my head reacts quite slowly
To all the input that all around me
Imparts itself as factually
As the tide and of the brandy.
So I say and so I feel
That life is all too surreal
For the fox and the hound
And the difficulties which compound
The nature of this sovereign host
Which acts as only but a ghost
The God of Christianity
Is but a dog that bears a flea
A joke, an itch that if scratched
Will bear unholy wings of hatched
Eggs containing demon spawn
I think I need to mow the lawn.
The epic of Beowulf or the Illiad does not compare
To the things in common that we share
Such things as drinking Wild T
And enjoying jocund company
Such that we never think to take
Another drink lest we forsake
The memory of the purists and the sober
Well fuck them all and lets get hammered
Because life is short and silent still
In the night unless we kill
The cells of brain and cells of God
In this simple human shod
Which transports thought and mind and will
And seeks only cheapest thrill
That we may only pass the time
And live on through our basic rhyme.
It is true I love to drink
The liquor for it helps me think
Of irrational and irreverent scheme
And skew the very basic theme
Of life and fate and predestination
For none who practice contemplation
Believe there is life in our final death
That there is more to final breath
When departing from our shell
There is one only final hell
All souls reside and thus abide
To the din and thus they hide
In these meager mortal forms
Which pale in light of cosmic storms
That rip through systems out of scope
And remove all our earthly hope
Of something greater and profound
The only thing left to resound
Through space and time and afterlife
Is my constant struggle and strife
To pass from my weary ass
The smelliest of the cosmic gas.
“If we have more, great!
If we don’t , that’s fine”
- “If we have more, great!
- That’s the bottom line.”
I believe I’ve had too much alcohol
For all that I need to enthrall
Are simple sounds and simple words
The pluck of very basic cords
Of my humor and my mirth
Giving way to wild birth
Of abstract thought and strange diktat
And with Boston accent I faht
The methane in the air doth reek
Of the sullen and the meek
Whom only want to keep warm
In the rage of winter storm
But their clothes are shabby still
And lack of bath stinks of landfill,
The mephitic stench of the wretched
Leads me to believe the conquered
Incans, Mayans, and the Aztecs
Deserved all the horrid wrecks
That came about during their time
And serve as but a warning chime.
So much whiskey I’ve imbibed
That hollow lens that such contrived
To look upon the inward self
Seems to only hog the shelf
For its lackluster and outdated
Purpose has been elated
Only by the fools and jesters-
I am one who seems it pesters
To listen to them talk of reason
I seem to think this coming season
Shall bring about the change – such treason!
The change that which upon
Shall rest the very somber song
Of heart and homage to portray
The celestial dance of day
And no more shall the deity sing
Of praise and pray and holy thing
Upon which so much times has been spent
I gave up farting for Lent.
I seek only to destroy
The moral obligation’s coy
Reasoning and self-contented
Realm which it has surely entered.
There is no more truth in true
That solidarity hath hue
Of black and white and surely gray
Out of its way I’ll surely stay
Unless I seek to be laid waste
By its lies and undue haste
In this modern world of fire
Which no longer exalts the lyre.
Faaaaaaaaaaaaaart.
Just how much I’ve actually had to drink
The thinner of the blood, this alcohol
Makes me feel both big and small
And where I’ve been and what I’ve said
And if in fact I’ll wake up dead
The smell of whiskey on my breath
Is enough to ward off God and Death
I chew the gum and smoke the clove
And cook the pizza in the stove
And eat it to dilute the fluid
And act the Star Wars druid
Obi Wan Kinobe in his brown cloak
After imbibing hard liquor aged in oak.
The naming of the subtle signs
Alludes to those that have maligned
The name of Wild Turkey thus
Which have created quite a fuss,
That prohibition seems due course
That none shall feel liquor’s remorse.
But that shall not stop me from quaff
My fill of whiskey and such stuff
To get me drunk and make me think
That what I love is only pink.
Knowledge is something that’s gone out the window
All about three shots ago
And thus my head reacts quite slowly
To all the input that all around me
Imparts itself as factually
As the tide and of the brandy.
So I say and so I feel
That life is all too surreal
For the fox and the hound
And the difficulties which compound
The nature of this sovereign host
Which acts as only but a ghost
The God of Christianity
Is but a dog that bears a flea
A joke, an itch that if scratched
Will bear unholy wings of hatched
Eggs containing demon spawn
I think I need to mow the lawn.
The epic of Beowulf or the Illiad does not compare
To the things in common that we share
Such things as drinking Wild T
And enjoying jocund company
Such that we never think to take
Another drink lest we forsake
The memory of the purists and the sober
Well fuck them all and lets get hammered
Because life is short and silent still
In the night unless we kill
The cells of brain and cells of God
In this simple human shod
Which transports thought and mind and will
And seeks only cheapest thrill
That we may only pass the time
And live on through our basic rhyme.
It is true I love to drink
The liquor for it helps me think
Of irrational and irreverent scheme
And skew the very basic theme
Of life and fate and predestination
For none who practice contemplation
Believe there is life in our final death
That there is more to final breath
When departing from our shell
There is one only final hell
All souls reside and thus abide
To the din and thus they hide
In these meager mortal forms
Which pale in light of cosmic storms
That rip through systems out of scope
And remove all our earthly hope
Of something greater and profound
The only thing left to resound
Through space and time and afterlife
Is my constant struggle and strife
To pass from my weary ass
The smelliest of the cosmic gas.
“If we have more, great!
If we don’t , that’s fine”
- “If we have more, great!
- That’s the bottom line.”
I believe I’ve had too much alcohol
For all that I need to enthrall
Are simple sounds and simple words
The pluck of very basic cords
Of my humor and my mirth
Giving way to wild birth
Of abstract thought and strange diktat
And with Boston accent I faht
The methane in the air doth reek
Of the sullen and the meek
Whom only want to keep warm
In the rage of winter storm
But their clothes are shabby still
And lack of bath stinks of landfill,
The mephitic stench of the wretched
Leads me to believe the conquered
Incans, Mayans, and the Aztecs
Deserved all the horrid wrecks
That came about during their time
And serve as but a warning chime.
So much whiskey I’ve imbibed
That hollow lens that such contrived
To look upon the inward self
Seems to only hog the shelf
For its lackluster and outdated
Purpose has been elated
Only by the fools and jesters-
I am one who seems it pesters
To listen to them talk of reason
I seem to think this coming season
Shall bring about the change – such treason!
The change that which upon
Shall rest the very somber song
Of heart and homage to portray
The celestial dance of day
And no more shall the deity sing
Of praise and pray and holy thing
Upon which so much times has been spent
I gave up farting for Lent.
I seek only to destroy
The moral obligation’s coy
Reasoning and self-contented
Realm which it has surely entered.
There is no more truth in true
That solidarity hath hue
Of black and white and surely gray
Out of its way I’ll surely stay
Unless I seek to be laid waste
By its lies and undue haste
In this modern world of fire
Which no longer exalts the lyre.
Faaaaaaaaaaaaaart.
