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"Chairs Drink Mayonaise Lattes"

This was written in response to a fit of writer's block I had after my therapy session earlier today. (Technically yesterday by those bizarre human standards.)

"Chairs Drink Mayonaise Lattes"
Copyright 2008 By = Opus Van De Oplicter
(AKA Tristan Arts)

Scrape the crud off - ARGH!
Candleabra of God stuck to the windshield of Life,
Unaltered mutants scrabble forward drinking delerium.
What monsters are these in pink pajamas,
Calmly dancing splendidly with thoughts of rainbows?

The caterpillar's gravy-boat sails across the sea
In search of the reflection in the mirror.
An unsettled wind dreams of daisies with steamed milk;
Don't trust them, they work for the CIA and
George Bush's left nostril fills with snow
While Rome burns.

Rendered fat in strips crawls across the floor,
Doing art in circles and cubes;
Gold boullion goes in the soup, a nice golden calf stew.
My minstrels inform me that we can't afford bagels,
But an elephant, we can do.

Cream of Dog Soup in cans on leashes bark
And tables dream of minions fornicating in threes
While there is no turkey! THERE IS NO TURKEY!
Fourteen years ago there was a man named Buttfuk,
I thought he was nice except for the nudity;
His breasts gave delicious milk, though.

In the winter only shades of pink can drive lawnmowers
In a pirhouette to the Macarena and the theme-song of Cops.
Children are lasers teasing cats into madness
And blinding society in the eyeballs, leaving only smoking holes;
Which sounds a good solution to all the lung cancer if not
For the fact that Cancers are crabby.
I tried cracking open the shell of a Cancer once;
He didn't appreciate it very much, but damn he was tasty.
I was shitting bricks for a week afterward.
I used them to build a house.

I thought to chase the dead away
With threats of Martha Stewart,
But when you invoke such powers of chaos,
Don't be surprised when your asshole starts growing flowers.

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