Varcitos

varcitos

varcitos
monsters, asemic writing, and stuff

Wednesday, December 12, 2012

Stufflegroat the communist elf

 upon a tiny grey sea
aboard a wee little boat
 lived the communist elf
 known as Tom Stufflegroat
 many years in the past
 Tom had well riled
 that fat old Santa
and was soon exiled
 It started off small
chats with the neighbors
 did the Claus unduly
 exploit all their labors?
 But his talk of unions
 got the fat man’s attention
 Santa made the jobs
 he would brook no dissension
 Claus was the all
 Stufflegroat was a cancer
 the cure was a beating
 from Blitzen and Prancer
 Followed by exile
to the distant grey sea
 busted and battered
but finally free
 He built a rude schooner
 painted it yellow
 as the time passed
 he soon found his mellow
 his only companion
 was a mute buffalo
they spent their days
 peddling bootleg snow
 Tom thought he ‘n’ Santa
 would be forever estranged,
 until that fateful morning
when everything changed
 Tom sat at breakfast
 which was coffee and gin
 his buffalo devoured
buffalo chow from a tin
 when out on the deck
 there arose a huge clatter
 Tom idly thought about
 checking into the matter
 The cabin door shattered
revealing a fat man in red
 he strode in and stated
“Stufflegroat, you’re dead”
 Santa had come!
after ten long years
 he’d not brought presents
only thuggish reindeer
 “Typical Santa”
Tom noted drily
“In private a douche,
 but in public all smiley”
 “Cut the crap, commie’
 Santa replied
 “production is down,
I blame you for the slide”
 “You were the elf
 hated jolly and jingles
 instead spent your time
 with Marx and Engels”
 “You told all your pals
my platitudes were lies
 they could never be free
without the right to organize”
 “about your dangerous ideas
 the trouble revolved
 I’d hoped banishment
 would mean problem solved”
 but the elves did listen
 the bastards remember:
they’ve been on strike
 since mid-september!”
 At news of the strike
Tom’s heart filled with gladness
 but his happy smile
only stoked Santa’s madness
 “Christmas may be cancelled
 it’s all come disjointed
 the elves now claim
 their labor’s exploited”
 “I won’t let dirty pinkos,
my empire trample
 Stufflegroat, prepare
 to be made an example”
 The cabin went silent
 Time seemed to slow
when suddenly a noise
from the mute buffalo
 the beast had never spoken
 not so much as a squeak
 but in the tense stillness
 it began to speak
 Tom was quite stunned
 as was the killer in red
in tremulous voice
 the buffalo said;
 “he’s got a gun oh god oh god oh shit help me somebody help me please help oh god oh god”
 The buffalo panicked
Tom hit the floor
 Santa was kicked
 straight out the door
 Into his reindeers
 old Santa did flail
and then the whole gang
went over the rail
 “save me I’m drowning”
 the fat man cried
but Tom was unmoved
and so Santa died
 Tom ordered a poster
 from printers in Atlanta
 it had a picture of the buffalo,
and said “this machine kills santas”


 all copyrights and lefts to JB Lee

Thursday, June 23, 2011

Friday, April 15, 2011

Sunday, March 6, 2011

did i tell you i might be coming down in april? right around your birthday time
7:37 PM me: cool! we can go to busch gardens!
Sara: wooo
i want to go to weeki wachee. i've never been there
if it's even still open
me: they had to lay-off the mermaids
7:38 PM it was so sad
all the mermaids, just flopping around on the side of the road
gasping for air
then they died
so sad
Sara: ...
whut
no
NOOOOOO
7:39 PM me: it was like splash, but sad, and in florida, and no plot
john candy wasn't in it

Thursday, October 22, 2009

Saturday, August 30, 2008

Wednesday, July 9, 2008

The Rules of Garden Croquet (Var.)


blue jays is corvids baby
just likes the crows
blue jays is corvids baby
and now you knows

Tuesday, June 24, 2008

Monday, June 23, 2008

blocked by craigslist!

Hello, I am writing from Clearwater, on my "Internet" machine, and I wish to update you my quest for the magical fruit known as the coco-plum.

As you may recall, my last post [ http://tampa.craigslist.org/m4w/729097728.html ] described how I used "Internet" to hack into the memoirs of a dead kidnapper, and discovered therein a most intriguing anecdote regarding the magical fruit of the coco-plum tree. I posted this on craigslist's personals section in hopes of picking up bangin' chicks for meaningful relationships.

First, I would like to thank all those who responded with well wishes and advice. A few personal responses:

Marti - when speaking of the coco-plum, never put " " around the word "magic". It diminishes our heritage, and by extension, the fruit. Also, get some sleep.

Robin - you do not know the full extent of my obsessions. But they certainly don't extend to a drive to Homestead. Not for some stupid fruit anyways. HOWEVER, if I were to find an accessible patch within reasonable walking distance, I could practice both freeganism and carbon neutrality, and if trespassing is involved, it would make me a true DOUBLE CRUNCHY OUTLAW, which is equivalent to three (3) facial piercings and a tribal tattoo. So yeah, eat local, blah blah blah. Also, I would give you the secrets of the Olmecs, but, frankly, if it isn't on the FCAT, you're not gonna teach it.

Jenni - : )

Mary and Lucy - you are robots

Karen - Perhaps not so SOL as you think... which brings me to my news

I have discovered disputable Internet proof that coco-plums exist in Pinellas county! Behold!

http://davesgarden.com/guides/pf/go/67612/

I proceeded to discover that Oldsmar is named after the Olmecs! who knew? (yes, yes)


Furthermore, I have discovered science! Scientists in remote Brazilia have been running extracts of the plant through their various science mills, and have reported:

"[We] investigated the antiangiogenic potential of Chrysobalanus icaco methanol extract..The results showed an average of 44% angiogenesis inhibition in CAM areas with the plant extract compared to the controls. The data indicate that C. icaco methanol extract reduce the formation of new blood vessels in chicken chorioallantoic membrane."

This means that coco-plums get you completely high.

Heartened by this news, I now command the Internet to find my lazy ass some coco-plums. Use that cloud computing stuff.

Thanks again in advance.

Saturday, June 21, 2008

I have discovered a new substitue for cocaine!

I am reading the autobiography of a man who kidnapped Native American women and children for a living.

We placed our dusky prisoners in the boats and steered for camp Close watch was kept over them lest one should escape for each represented two hundred and fifty dollars We had fifteen of them which amounted in all to about three thousand seven hundred dollars They made no demonstrations on the journey indeed some of the squaws became friendly and communicative and even smiled at intervals The children however kept up a dolorous wail the entire distance One of the girls about
Pamphlets By Samuel Roffey Maitland

After bonding with the Native Americans over meals of snapper turtle and raw bear meat, he realises the error of his ways, frees the captives, and leads the Seminoles in battle against the greedy developers...


ha ha, just kidding, they happily sell them off in Fort Myers

Text not available


Our hero heads back to do some more kidnapping, this time in the everglades. Which leads us to this curious passage...

Text not available



I see...

the plant is now used mostly as a shrub and ornamental, also grows wild across southern Florida.

also, the seeds are oily enough to be used as candles.

and furthermore...

Text not available
A New Voyage Round the World ... By William Dampier, James Knapton


Text not available



I CAN, WILL AND MUST SEEK OUT THIS MAGICAL COCAINE FIRE CANDY FRUIT THAT IS FIT TO FUCK RATHER THAN BITE, AND COMES RECOMMENDED BY BOTH A FRENCHMAN AND A CALLOUS KIDNAPPER OF INDIANS. As soon as it stops raining.

Saturday, June 7, 2008

This started out as an underwater graffiti werewolf...

...an unfortunate soul, every full moon he (or she) not only turns into a wolf woman (or wolf man), but then must swim into the open ocean, and tag a fearsome shark (or shark). If they do not tag at least one shark before sunrise, they turn into an ottoman (or Turk).
The particular underwater graffiti werewolf I planned to draw had spray-painted a dirty word onto a basking shark. This basking shark was subsequently caught by the police fishing squad, and now the wolf man is a DOUBLE OUTLAW.




I can't draw double outlaws very well, so I just drew another stupid space monster, which will serve as a metaphor.