Seventeen syllables — Shinto Twitter*, as I like to call it. So few words from which you can unpack so much meaning and interpretation, a “hint fiction” of sorts. Or just a way to kill a few minutes between meetings. Enjoy some of my favorite compositions, by subject. I’d warn you about the adult content, but I’m sure you’re desensitized by now if you’ve spent much time around here.
* not to be shortened to “Shitter”
[ribbon toplink=”false”]Bad Television[/ribbon]
o wretched Orson
Mindy’s phantom incubus
scrambled eggs bear Mearth
shorty got secure
Willis be burning Bridges
Plato’s dead sexy
don’t hassle the ‘Hoff
his buoyant casting saved lives
here comes the montage
Pamela gave rise
before Tommy steered that boat
hepatitis-c
syndicated Flo
our love is so wrong, so right
wanna kiss her grits
Alice, my chanteuse
cats screw with more harmony
over easy, please
wait for me, Vera
thought when you said “just the tip”
dinner was on you
[ribbon toplink=”true”]Heavy Metal[/ribbon]
Metalocalypse
sales aren’t what they used to be
Acoustocalypse
amps on 11
armadillos in trousers
smell the glove, honey
Cum on Feel the Noize
contradicts your hushed namesake
are coffins soundproof?
Cookie-Monster throat
no syllable coherent
hail nü-Hamburglar
[ribbon toplink=”true”]Video Games[/ribbon]
curvy pink-bowed wife
Pacs on the pounds once married
blue and swallowed ghosts
miner works the shaft
spelunking my Commodore
Lode Runneth over
Madden superstar
you got cut in training camp
ironic design
[ribbon toplink=”true”]Zombies[/ribbon]
undead Bobby Flay
I’ll have mine stir-fried, thank you
raw brains give me gas
actor seeks agent
Thriller, Shaun, 28 Days
no speaking roles, please
sinewy goodness
jugular fountain of youth
dibs on the bimbo
hello, IRS?
can I still claim dependents
if my wife ate them?
’til death did us part
sickness and health and rigor
gave it my best shot
army of darkness
stop-motion skeletal hacks
oh, If Chins Could Kill
sweetbreads are offal
try the eggs-n-brains scramble
here at Café Zed
Romero script pitch:
eatin’ ain’t cheatin’ at the
Brothel of the Dead
props to the O.Z.
hare rolled back the stone, laid eggs
dyed for risen Christ
fine, eat the limpers
that low-hanging fruit of flesh
I like ’em brainy
WTF?
it’s not the thrill of the chase
but … save me some face?
we got it backwards
title refers to humans
the true Walking Dead
goddamn, Maggie’s cute
zombpocalypse was worth it
let’s repopulate
[ribbon toplink=”true”]Miscellany[/ribbon]
their little secret
suitcase and a cloud of dust
not daddy’s weekend
respirator off
peaceful smile gives them solace
do angels wear black?
king dealer busted
keep your hands where I can see
welcome to Vegas
crime-scene tape unspools
evidence suggests passion
we share DNA
bound by wanton weight
she yielded as shell to sea
chaste dream and caught hell
“A Close Shave”
swerved ’round a Mustang
steel casket of mangled dreams
just outside Burma
“A Bird in Hand”
gnashing teeth, held tongue
middle curled inside your palm
let that finger fly
“No Soap Required”
hors d’oeuvre bubbles blew
’cause kids helped in the kitchen
said they’d washed the grapes