Tiff's Tarantela

Oh-ho, but you have done me proud, dear commenters! I asked for topics on which to write, and you have pulled me through this dark patch of mine and provided me with blog fodder of the most interesting type.

I made up my spinny wheel of chance this morning, and lo and behold, the pointer thingie landed smack dab in the middle of "Rage Poem" and "Creative Epithets."

What are the chances, I ask? Slim to none, yet there it was. A clear signal that I was to write a poem of rage using creative epithets. Right the heck up my alley, I say. Even at 5:30 a.m. Because, when your day truly DOES begin by slipping in a puddle of dog vomit on the bathroom FLOOR, well, the scenery does look tinted in rage red for a time.

Forthwith then, my poem. Please to enjoy, all y'all.
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The mood I’m in (by Tiff!)

Kind sir, if you were to realize

The mood that I am in

You never would have flipped me off

In rush hour’s smoky, clotty din.

You could not realize, you foul snake

That my morning began

With cold dog puke and hot kid snot

And from there down the crapper it ran

You pusillanimous yuppiefied jerk

In your Bluetoothed pussified car

Shot a bird at belabored old me

A blackhearted skunk is all you are

You cad, you worm

You evil smell

You reeking horned habitant

Of acrid raw Hell

You moronic, vapid

Sonofabitch

You troll, you wuss

You scabby itch

You stink like the crotch of an unwashed whore

You look like the leavings of a sick dog’s ass

You insufferable, nut-jingling, pimpled bore

You bloated windbag of colonic gas.

You’re the thin coat of slime on a nightcrawler’s head

A gobbet of spit from a coal miner’s throat

The leftovers found on a cheap motel spread

The scummy dark algae of a festering moat.

You’re a dank bubbling sulfurous deep-ocean spout

A fungating mass of malodorous hypahe

You’re a stink in the wind, a bad taste in my mouth

And to you, you ass, I say:

BITE ME.

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So, hi! Wasn't that fun?

Tomorrow IS another day. There's still time to leave Make Tiff Dance with your ideas on what I should write for Thursday; cuz tomorrow's WORDSMITHS DAY and so ye shall have a story of a most ineffectual Superhero instead me waltzing or jitterbugging to a tune one of YOU plays.

Have a lovely, lovely day.