Thursday, January 25, 2007

Smashing on the dash: A homage to Flumadiddle

Have you read Flumadiddle yet? She’s a champion blasphemer, possibly even the antichrist. And her dissertations on rednecks and Jesus freaks and an Arkansan existence are an absolute riot.

Warning: If you’re at all religious and like yourself that way, do not dare to read further.

And now - Volume two of FWG's 'Dr. Seuss on Chrystal meth' poetry series for deranged/psychotic children -- this one dedicated to Flumaddidle:

Smashing on the Dash

Are you weary of that dreary little priest and all his chanting?
Would you rather skip his blather or at least dissolve his ranting?
Do you wonder does he fiddle with those little alter lads?
Does this standing-sitting-kneeling numb the feeling from your ‘nads?

Are you one to trace a face in such a place as bathroom walls?
Does your Lord appear to leer at you from tiles in bathroom stalls?
When your bag of peases freezes is that Jesus in their midst?
Is that Mary on your derriere or just a hairy cyst?

Is that Moses striking poses in the soup stain on your table?
Do you find these sightings frightening? Are you mentally unstable?
Do you crave your savior such that your behavior has gone rash?
When your campfire has expired is His image in the ash?

Are you stressing and confessing that these blessings make you sour?
Will these preacher’s teachings reach you when you face your final hour?
Do you fear to not adhere, lest it clear your path to hell?
Well don’t worry ‘bout God’s fury. This is what I’m here to tell.

There are better beasts than priests at least, to give your soul to steer.
There are better pests than pederasts to whom to lend your ear.
There are better ways to spend your days than slumping in a pew.
There are better things to do, it’s true and here are but a few:

Go roam the streets of Rome. Maybe try to grope the pope.
But don’t get caught at that a lot. They’ll swing you from a rope.
Let’s go stumble through the jungle. Let’s go slashing through the gash.
Go sloshing down to Washington. Go crashing Bush’s bash!

Is the bible really viable? Let us spin a better story.
We’ll drive Beemers with blasphemers down the road to purgatory.
Take that auto Colorado bound where fashion’s unabashed,
Where that faggard, Teddy Haggard lives. He’s stashing all the cash!

Read a little Flumadiddle while laughing off your ass.
Try some
Eeeeekkk or Magnet Freak. Their chatter is a gas.
Take a toke or snort some coke. Try mashing up your hash.
Let’s fill craters full of ‘taters. We’ll go splashing in the mash!

Leap the brink and sink a drink. Go thrashing up a splash.
Jump the hump into the dump. Go dashing through the trash.
Drop your hoard below the board. Go lashing down the stash.
Buy a ChristBud from the Price Club. He’ll look smashing on your dash!

There you go. I hope there’s not a hell ‘cause if there is they’ve got a special seat reserved for me for sure.



Babs Gladhand said...

Oh dear sweet mother of god. I'm really trying to collect myself, but I'm having difficulty with it. That is quite possibly the most brilliant thing I've ever read. I can't stop laughing. Seriously. Jesus it's hard to type when my whole body's shaking.

I've never had a poem dedicated to me before, and I couldn't have possibly asked for a better one. Really, blasphemy with a Dr. Seuss flavor and undertones of Poe? Is there anything better than that?

I think not.

By the way, should there be a hell, seeing as how I'm the antichrist, I'll probably have run of the place. I'll make sure you have a seat in the air conditioned section. With all the fine wine and cigars you can imbibe and inhale.

Thank you, Fwig, from the bottom of my little heathenistic heart.

Geeky Tai-Tai said...


Anonymous said...

Isn't Flumadiddle/Bablatrice in prison now? I heard she was supposed to get 20 years for stealing thousands of dollars from her company that she was fired from. Any news on her?