Purge

Freshman year: I’ve scrawled a saw-toothed gargoyle on my day planner with a 0.7mm mechanical pencil. It takes up all of the space alloted for Thursday, where I was supposed to mark down my homework. My gargoyle spreads big bat wings and flexes the pectorals and abs a boy learns how to draw after years of reading shitty Rob Liefeld comics.

Crap Poem

fuck your middle class, contemptible ass reachin for brass rings
grabbin pointless things, suburbanous bling
you’ll do anything to dull the sting of self-awarenuv
I mean -ness, go ahead and confess, you’re nothing but a Big Lots Crassus
sittin high on a pile of denarii until a Parthian guy lets some sky in your asses
you didn’t grok my sasses? take some classes, hell, get a study guide
won’t see no history on your fucking DVD of the blind side
can’t abide these facts with which I pepper you, the only way out now is shameful sepperku
there’s no meter to these verses, but you know the worst is yet to come
this writing’s fucking dumb, a rumbling ramble through syntactic bramble
I’m no poetic Fred Astaire, I’m running out of care, pitstained shirt and white stockings
I’m writer’s blocking, wanna quit this shockingly bad harangue
50 words to go, let’s google “what rhymes with boomerang”

For the IndieInk Writing Challenge this week, The Lime challenged me with "Write a post between 100 and 200 words long that includes the words 'pepper,' 'boomerang,' 'stockings' and 'bling.'" and I challenged MaryBethC with "Write about a good old-fashioned training montage. What's the character striving for and what's keeping them going?".

Horsewise

Charlie knew the jig was up when his exercise partner stopped talking.