Oh Britney

I love this outfit!




Everything makes sense now.

Through the Crazy Glass

Tweedledum and Tweedledee
are well and perfectly wed
for Tweedledum and Tweedledee
have matching empty heads.




"The time has come," the Scientologist said,
"To speak of many things:
Of e-meters, thetans, and little green men
and the fame that Xenu brings
and why you need to join my church
and open up those purse strings!




"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The nose that falls, the mask to catch!
Beware the Jesus juice, and shun
The frumious Childsnatch!"





Twinkle, twinkle, little canary
your listless singing makes me merry
up above the more talented you fly
being voted out you still defy
wiil we ever say goodbye?

Edgar Allen Poe is rolling in his grave

Once upon a midnight dreary
while I smoked the chronic bleary
and did another line of coke from off my parquet floor
whilst I grooved to Jay-Z rapping, suddenly there came a tapping, a tapping at my bedroom door.
Tis some Greek bilionaire, I muttered, tapping at my bedroom door
only this and nothing more.

Tho I really don't remember, it could have been around December
when Stavros went to get more drugs and head out to the liquor store
"Hurry up" is what I thought, while I wiped away some snot
I wanted to see what he had brought, brought me from the liquor store
"It better not be the cheap stuff," is what I swore.
"or else he'll go back for some more."

But suddenly I was uncertain
that it was Stavros behind the curtain
maybe it was the papparazzi like so many times before
yanking on some slutty clothes, I primped and preened and prepared to pose
and my vagina to expose
for the photographers whom I do adore
presently my buzz grew stronger, I couldn't wait a moment longer
and here I opened wide the door
darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into the darkness peering
long I stood there wondering, fearing
was I just too high from all the crack that I had smoked galore?
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token
and the only words there spoken were the whispered words, "you whore!"
The hissing, electrical whisper, "whore!"
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into my bedroom turning
I grabbed the joint that I'd left burning
but soon again I heard the murmering, somewhat louder than before.
Surely this must be the paps, out to get unflattering snaps, of my loose vagina flaps
that the tabloids love to call for
or else just the wind and nothing more
this I was what I had to explore.

Toking once more, I flung the shutter
and with many a luminous flutter
emerged the glowing, stately goddess of my television's yore
she did not smile, or beam, or chat
and in person didn't look so fat
but glared and sat, she just sat, sat beside my bedroom door
This woman whom the world doth adore
glared and sat and nothing more.




Then this goddess did beguiling
turn my poufy pout to smiling
by the grave and stern decorum of the disapproving frown she wore.
I couldn't believe what I was seeing, and suddenly I felt like peeing
'cause this like, celestial being was sitting by my bedroom door.
"Oprah, what could it be that brings you to my chamber door?"
Quoth the Oprah, "Quit being a whore!"

Startled by the words she'd spoken
I grabbed my pipe and started tokin
Wishing Oprah would go away, she was being like, a total bore.
Still she sat amid my clutter, nothing further did she utter
till I heard her start to mutter, "Heed my advice, do not ignore. The way you act, I do deplore. All I want to do is roar,
Quit being such a drugged out whore!"

There I sat engaged in smoking
the yummy weed, my lungs were choking
and I thought she must be joking
about my being thought a whore
Said I, "What can you be thinking? Surely you must be the one drinking
everyone loves me for my singing, no one thinks that I'm a whore!"
And I rubbed more Valtrex on my sore.

And then it seemed the air grew denser,
Oprah's eyes did flash with angry censure
and she grabbed my little, tiny bong and smashed it on the hardwood floor.
"Foul wench," she cried, "I do decree
to the girls at my Leadership Academy
you will end up with the HIV
if you snort up coke from off the floor!
No one should be famous for being a whore!
Clean up your behaviour I do implore!"


Soon her words were realling smarting,
"You're bumming me out," I shrieked, upstarting.
"Go away, go peddle The Secret, to the soccer moms you blather for.
I wish that you had never spoken, and had left my bong unbroken
now how am I going to be smokin the weed that Stavros went to score?
Oprah, I can't take it anymore, you get your fatass out this door!"
Quoth the Oprah, "Nevermore."

And the Oprah, never flitting, still is sitting,
still is sitiing,
by the shards of broken bong that lie beside my bedroom door.
And I wonder, was I dreaming?
My reputation did she try redeeming?
Maybe that's why she is now screaming,
while Stavros fucks me on the floor.
Stop doing coke and billionaires? Nevermore!

A Midsummers Night Argument

A play by Edith Jones


Scene 1 THE PARKING GARAGE

Enter Jessica and her boyfriend Cash, dressed in black.




Jessica My Lord! Thy disposition is great and I hath felt in the past thy mind pure of unclean qualities. I had long admired thee, indeed for thy virtues, but no longer! Nay!

Cash My good lady? What sayst thou? You doubt mine virtues and goodness? What nefarious villian has turned thou against me, pray tell? Who hast thus spake evil of me? I demand vindication!




Jessica Good sir, I have heard many a brazen tale of your love for another. O how I have wept o'er thee! If thou dost love another, fairer maiden, thou must make thy desire heard. Indeed I demand satisfaction of this intelligence!

Cash Madame, I am most sorrowful and grieved. Thou dost doubt mine love for thee which shines hot and bright with the power of a thousand suns.





Jessica Oh doth thou now protest? When you hath only recently bequethed admiration to a certain gentlewoman by the name of Mistress Britney? I have heard thy veneration for her "well shaped backside." Thou dost bring shame upon mine breast and the name of my family.

Cash Now Mistress, I desire only thee. Be thou blest with unthankfulness? I am not such a sickly creature, heaven praise!




Jessica Hummmmmph!




Jessica Marry you I shall not. Against all cheques, rebukes, and manners thus I will retract the colours of my love and my goodwill. Unless thou tellst thy hartlot farewell. I'll be not thine friend but thine enemy!

Exit


SCENE 2. AT NIGHT IN THE STREET




Britney Nay, good sir! Nay, master! What foul confidence have you thus relayed to me? It is the rankest compound that ever offended a nostril! Love me you do not? How is this possible? Is this a vision? Is this a dream? Do I sleep? Why dost thou cuckold me? You have promised me marriage! Thy sperm didst bind us together.

Cash- speaking off stage Nay, Britney. You mistook mine erection for love!




Britney What sayst thou? What sayest thou? I'll have thy brains ta'en out and buttered and given to thy dog for a New Years gift! I abhor thee! Oh but you had been drowned like a fiend but the shore was shelvy and shallow. Devil! You shall not go unpunished. Though what I am I cannot avoid, yet to be what I would not shall not make me tame: if I have horns to make one mad, let the proverb go with me: I'll be horn mad!




Cash No Britney, not the Escalade!

End

Edith Reads Some Rags

Our LAdy Gaia
swoops into an impecunious jungle
impatient to benefactor.
The cherub, encased
by veinous limbs
will join a rainbow tribe of wanderers
cameras flash!
El Dorado makes a fine dwelling
but is it a home?





He promised her publicity in abundance
a plentitude of possesions
a life of opulance
and a cat and comb.
Surrounded by riches
her eyes, two dark dungeons
cry out
the gilded cage
has lost its allure
Alice has married the Cheshire Cat






There was a young lass from Nantucket.......

Hollywood Gossip with Cousin Edith

Dear Friends,

I'm so sorry I've been such a rotten blogger buddy lately. I didn't mean to stay away so long but the simple truth is that I time traveled back to the fifth century to do some research on Vikings and they won't let me go. I am presently being held captive by a warrior prince named Big Eric the Woman-Satisfyer. Now don't worry about me, I've got an escape plan all figured out but it's going to take some time. I thought I would "exhaust" Big Eric, and then sneak out while he was sleeping but the man seems incapable of fatigue! Must be all the rare red meat he eats. But I don't need to rescued or anything. Really, don't even think about trying! I'll be back....soon. Until then I've asked my cousin Edith to fill in for me. I told her to do a gossip post since I haven't done one in ages. Edith is kind of annoying. She's one of those academic snobs who never want the world to forget that they went to a good school and have a doctorate while I, Prunella Jones do not. Humph! Well anyway please be nice to her while I'm gone.

Love,
Pru

P.S. Actually scratch that last part.





Gee thanks, cousin, you are too kind. Hello everyone, my name is Edith and I'll be helping out for a bit while Prunella extracts herself from the land of the Vikings (takes her medications). Anyway I don't pretend to know too much about Hollywood gossip, it's not something I'm all that interested in quite frankly. When I was at Harvard I began each day by reading three newspapers cover to cover and I've kept up that habit throughout my academic career.

Prunella is a sweet girl and I do love her, but it's such a shame the way she turned out. I mean she works nights at a topless bar and spends her days writing trashy purple prose! I know she is quite jealous of my work as a poet. It's too bad she spent so much time in high school ridiculing me for being a dateless grind instead of studying. Maybe then she could have gotten a full scholarship to Harvard as I did. Oh well time for a post.




I'd like to write something about the sad, sad death of Anna Nicole Smith.

Calamitous Clown

Oh Death!
why didst thou lugubrious spector
attack one so fair
and child hearted
swept away in a pharmacological tide of despair.

Oh Death!
Why not spread thy wings further still
for the patriarch of Anna's wretchedness
a spouse whose heart is encased in formica
and an infant cries out from her hippodrome of misfortune

Oh Death!
Isn't it rich? Isn't it queer?
Send in the doomed clowns
don't bother. They're here.



Well that was fun. I must get a cup of tea and I'll be back with some more poetry for you. And I'll come pay a visit to all your blogs as well. See you soon!

Just Because I'm Obsessed with Vikings Right Now

Random Facts About Vikings




The Vikings did not wear horns on their helmets; that was a sign of a chieftain only, and a practice that ended early in the Celtic age. It was usually a sign of afilliation with Kernnanos, a god of the wild animals.


Vikings were farmers first and warriors second; because the Scandinavian custom of the time said that all land inheritance went to the first-born son, all later born males had to find thier own land, hence their terrorization of Europe, and settling in Scotland and Ireland.

Vikings had the most nutritious diet in Europe, hence their amazingly large stature compared to the rest of the Europeans of the time.


Vikings bathed several times a week, so the Anglo women liked them better than their own men. (Can you blame them? Back then most people never bathed.)



Four of the week days are named after Norse gods:

Tuesday: Tyr, the one-armed leader of the gods' army.
Wednesday: Wotan, the chief god.
Thursday: Thor the god of thunder (in German, the day is also known as Donnerstag -- thunder day).
Friday: Frigg, Wotan's wife.
Sunday and Monday have similar names in modern Scandinavia -- I don't know if those names came from Norse to English or vice versa. Saturday, I guess is after Saturn -- but in Norse it's called Laurdag/Lørdag -- washing day.


The Vikings invented pants.

Dublin was founded by Viking raiders in the ninth century

The worst possible death for a Viking chief was to die peacefully in bed.

The Berserkers, literally "bear shirts," were the most feared of the Vikings. They worked themselves into a frenzy before going into battle and fought on, regardless of pain.

They invented one of the most horrible methods of torture and execution. Called The Blood Eagle it was performed by splitting open a person's ribs at the spine, spreading them wide "like an eagle" and tossing the victims lungs over his shoulders while still alive. Death came from shock and asphyxiation.





Some Real Viking Names

Thorvald the Skull-Splitter, Rollo the Dangler, Ragnar Hairybreeks, Auden the Bald, Styrbjorn Man-Cleaver, Sigurd Snake-Eye



Some Viking Names I Made Up

Jorund Hot-Breeches, Magnus the Swarthy, Asgrim Killyoudead, Hauk the Large-Bulged,





Go here to find your Viking name. Let me know what you get.

Britney Gets Help from House

All right, House. We think we've finally figured out what's wrong with Britney Spears. It turns out she's suffering from bulimia in addition to the postpatum depression. We also think she has severe PMS, OCD, an STD, ADD, acid indigestion, airbrushitus, and she may have lupus.




Lupus? Give me a break, it's NEVER lupus. This is a bunch of crap. I told you yesterday the only thing wrong with Britney is drugs and alcohol. You know how the old song goes "the Cuervo Gold the fine Columbian, makes Britney go nuts and shave her head." That's it. Oh and maybe a bit a attention whore syndrome.





But House, that's crazy! This is Holllywood! Things like that don't happen here! She's really suffering. Cuddy gave us permission to test for lupus and that's what we're going to do.




Wait, you're all wrong. I'm Special Agent Mulder and this Agent Scully. We're with the FBI. We've recently discovered a government plot to cover up a virus that's extraterrestrial in origin. It causes this kind of behaviour in spoiled celebrities and it's very, very serious.




Oh really? What brought you to this conclusion?




This recent picture of Britney was snapped using infrared alien virus detectors. She needs help immediately.




My God! Cameron, give me a quick injection of Vicodin to my brain stem. I've got a lot of work to do.

The Late Night Scientology Show

Greetings people of Earth. Welcome to my late night program. I am your host, Xenu the great and terrible. Fear me! Very good. This is my evil sidekick Mr. Prozac. Say hello to the humans, Mr. Prozac, if you are not too drugged out of your mind to do so.




I'm sorry, Xenu, but I'm too busy twisting and destroying the brains of American youth to help you out. What you need is a vitamin pill.




HA HA. So very, very true. Now let's get started with this entertainment show. My first guest is a very rich, famous woman who has silly beliefs. Please welcome Madonna.

Greetings, Madonna. Tell the audience how this Kabbahla nonsense has ruined your life.




Hullo, mate. Are you daft? I'm bloody marvelous. Really everything is quite tickety boo. Why Kabbahla is the dog's bollocks, it is!




What did she say? There is something wrong with your speech. You need to be audited very badly. Mr. Prozac, bring me the e-meter.




Blimey, are taking the piss? Are you having me on? An e-meter? Not bloody likely. I can't be arsed about that naff shite! Bloody wanker! Why I should box your ears, I should!




So you are refusing the great gift of Scientology? You prefer to wallow in ignorance? You won't relinquish your large fortune to my church? Well then you leave me no choice.









Our next guest is an actor I've never heard of. Please welcome Cillian Murphy to the show.




Uh...hello. It's really great to be here, I guess.




First question: Are you a male or female humanoid?




What? I'm a man.




Hhhhhm...are you sure about that? You are quite lovely. Well no matter. Scientology will help you clear up your gender issues. Mr. Prozac, bring me the e-meter.




No! I mean, no thank you. I really don't want to be a Scientologist but please don't zap ---









Our next guest is a mouthy female and surogate mother to the soon to be born chosen one. Please welcome Prunella Jones and the male fetus she carries!




Get back, Xenu! I've got a knife and I'm not afraid to use it!




HA HA. Isn't that cute. The pregnancy hormones are making you feisty. This boy child will be a strong one. Together, he and Suri Cruise will bring a glorious new age of Scientology upon the world. Exxxxxcellent. But you should stop talking so much. My chosen one needs to be born into silence. Mr. Prozac, bring me the e-meter. She needs some auditing so she'll quit all this yammering.



I'm warning you. Stay back! Or I'll...I'll scream so loud during delivery the kid will never rid himself of Thetans!




(sigh) why wasn't she lobotomized like the last one? Mr. Prozac, take care of it will you?




Nooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!




We must break for a commercial but don't go away. Coming up we have our amusing top ten list of reasons why Matt Lauer is glib. Stick around or you'll be zapped. Muhahahahah.