Sunday, February 8, 2009

Ian loves Joe or Joe loves Ian which ever

This is a site devoted to competition and hate.  But in the spirit of the season, let look at love.  The kind of love a room mate with cats that piss all over the carpet can show another room mate who pisses on the cat pee to reclaim his territory .  So you must write love poems to each other.  
Now these can not be sarcastic and do have to be poems (but not haiku or fucking concrete thats not poems thats a fucking picture).  
Good luck gentlemen. 
(Also Ian you can't just take one you wrote for your woman and put Joe's name in.  I'll know too cause 1) Joe's not hot 2) his name doesn't rhyme with fish or dish so   "Oh Joe, You are my one wish"  would be a dead giveaway)

5 comments:

Joe said...

Not hot? Well, I know a few old ladies who would beg to differ. Gladys? Where you at, Gladys? You want to weigh in here? You remember that "internet" thing I showed you?

Unknown said...

Poem for Joe

Joe, your eyes are as blue as the skies
I want to eat you like a big pizza pie
My loins are on fire
You make me perspire
I love you forever Joe, at your behest I shall be thou squire.
When I look at you I melt like butter on flapjacks
I want you to clean my utensils as if you were Ajax.
I’ll love you forever I’ve never been more sure
In the language of love, “je t'aime mon domestique partneur!”

Joe said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Joe said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Joe said...

He laid my foundation wetly,
And it has hardened. He keeps me,
as if a warden. His brew, bubbly
and warming, ferments by the toilet.
And when he brews anew, he boils it.

If our country’s new calamity engenders concomitant bedlum,
as did its predeccesor,
and spoiled paunch melts into
Fiercer hardness the world over,
And if the zombies come,

I’m not going fucking anywhere!
I’m sleeping under a blanket
Of industry and hair. I’m marching
To the call of Ian’s fearless stare,
And we will live, again,
to see this place grow soft, ugly and fair.