Yeah... I got bored again and had nothing to do and not one single constructive idea. Here's the second attempt at a continuous stream of consciousness thing.

The key difference in this experiment was that I got bored far quicker. The main insight we gain from this is that I have realised it was a bad idea. Still... even random words count as content these days.

 

In the bleak midwinter,
I fell upon a splinter.
It went in too deep,
Put my balls to sleep,
I learned about infection,
From a frog’s cross-section

Now I should get down,
Face be sad with frown,
Yet why bother friend?
If still attached it’ll mend.
This was what she said,
As she tucked me into bed.

Let’s just say the dreams were bad,
Missed my manhood, heart is sad.
Let’s not try to fear the reaper,
Jerking off beside heavy sleeper.
Yes I lied to her, so I did,
Not so sexy after another kid.

Moral tales are for chumps,
A fall back for inspiration slumps,
Let’s all complain about our lot,
From within the stage’s spot.
Disconnect the discontent.
I’m sure every word you meant.

Still let’s try and get along,
Hop around, sing a song,
If you want buy a bong,
In the 70’s? You play Pong.
Pull yourself together peeps,
Listen to ball, bat, happy bleeps.

If you want to change your tune,
Try masturbating with a spoon,
If you want to appear more calm,
Smoke a pipe full of lip balm,
If you want to be reborn,
Cast yourself in film of porn.

Change the style, more respect,
If the rhyming I now neglect,
The elite scorn the couplet,
So let’s give that a try.
Maybe every other line?
Interest, thy end is nigh.

So here we are, trying new,
Things that feel slightly odd,
Like waking naked in the dew,
And realising you just fucked god.
It was a party, you had a drink,
The beer goggles did their job,
It was not a good lay, I think,
From the burn rings… I fear hob.

Had to go to eight lines,
Poor structure, inconsistent,
Fuck you all you picky sods,
I’m not going to rhyme at all,
Just read it in a stupid beatnik
Voice.                          Okay?
        How              About
   I put
          The words
In                  Random
    Places?

Fuck it, I feel lazy,
Pretension make Hulk crazy,
Let’s go back to simple things,
To rhyme I’ll end this line with rings.
But doesn’t it feel a little too easy?
Even though change feel queasy?
Perhaps it’s time to try the random,
Fuck, fish, naked tit, elephant tandem.

Tiny mice are face down in mud,
Big fucking cow,
Mistakes my happy face for cud.
Chew me now,
Let’s make this personal bitch,
Trouser’s down,
Tie the loose skin in a hitch,
Nuclear kitten town.

I can’t remember if words must stream,
If structural alteration fucks the scheme?
But hang on a fucking sec,
What the hell is there to wreck?
I’m doing this of my own volition,
This isn’t a fucking competition.

So dear reader, here you go
Fuck you left, fuck your throe,
As far as I’m concerned,
Life was good before I learned,
To put in any extra effort,
So rhyme this line your-fucking-self.

Distract a dog from household tasks,
Push my knees up to my chin,
Whistle calmly and make it turn,
Confuse it with old Egyptian masks.
Let’s all just consider this,
Hold my cock, I must piss.

But is it wrong to change again?
Should I put down my virtual pen?
Bah, I don’t care,
Here’s one about my hair.

It sticks up, it sticks down,
Often looking like a clown,
Dandruff snowglobe when aroused,
Falling down shirt where nipples housed,
Reject the system, reject the brush,
Yoghurt is used to cure thrush.

Tiny mouse, has a gun,
Says I killed his only son,
Wants revenge, to kill me now,
But I took him down, here is how,

Punch to the face,
Punch to the jaw,
Swing the mace,
Fuck the whore,
He draws a knife,
I draw still-life,
He tries to cut me,
Blind, I no longer see,
My other senses now grow,
Hear the colour of the snow
Train for years on mountain top,
Swing that sword, never stop,
All about the inner peace,
Mountain on ten year lease,
Long flowing robe, flashing blade,
Cut the apple in mid-air, progress made,
Be the wind, be the tree,
Ultimate swordsman be,
I return to find the mouse has eaten,
No need to fight, he’s already beaten.

Wasn’t that a change to advertised program?
Sorry folks, today on rational I call pogrom,
All about the moving on,
Beat you Scotland, got your scone.

That was all some misdirection,
To distract from my erection,
It’s not my fault,
I’m a 45 Colt,
Six Ball Bullets aimed at you,
You know who, yes you do,
Yes, it’s a shame you’re already dead,
But Anne Boleyn, you gave great head.

New low
1500’s Ho.
Not topical,
Mango = tropical.

Less than you, more than me,
Teach my neurosis how to ski,
Beginners slope
I can cope,
Oh fuck, I just hit a tree.
Yes, now I’m snowblind I can see.

Let’s not waste our time with idol chat,
Look how fireworks fit in this rat,
Feed the rat into the cat,
Feed the cat to Oliver Platt,
Wait for the breath of a gnat,
Get umbrella, dodge the splat.

This goes on at endless length,
Holy Shiva give me strength,
Actually to continue is not frugal
This all a scheme to get more Google.