the x-mas behind the cursor

O my bloggerissimo, I'm feeling cheeky. If ye are one to take offense when the Bible does receive a spanking, I do ask ye to avert your eyes and think on better lines.

Otherwise, let's all agree, Grandma's can be terrifying! 90 years of ago, a century of Nebraskan Lutheranism did arrive in the form of a Xmas gift for myself and my newly as of this summer husband.

Congratstupfiedations, it's the Goad Boot!

O my bloggerissimo, do look closely. Ye will see the bluest arrow wobblingly made by one grandma's hound pointing its sharp lil' harpness at Colossians 3, 18-20 "Rules for a Christian Household", a wholly kinky passage:

18 "Wives, submit to your husbands, ass in fitted tight Leather.
19 Husbands, lick your wives and do not be spare with them licks neither.
20 Children, O buy your parents everything, for mother it's the Leather.

The gift also included a little brochure tucked in there cozy as a well-fitted thong. It's entitled, "The Lesson of the Rubber-band"--a clever little piece about not stretching beyond those limits dick tattled to ye by the Him.

My goodly husband and I dutifully did read these and well, snapped. We had simultaneous snapgaspasms.

Har ha-hawed all that we ha-ha-ha and hey, and it was cheery goad.

the wan behind the cursor

Dis-ease excuse this blogger from posts. She has bane (sic) and ebbed with a throes inflected.

Beast Pharynxes,
Her Mutter

guests kin gallipots, re: views

For all innerested bloggerissimoes: William Neumire has reviewed Guess Can Gallop for The Pedastal Magazine.

moan behind the cursor

O my bloggerissimo, please don't thou feel forgotten! I think of ye often. What am I doing while the national forests undergo a speedy plunder, a cloned cat gets sold down the helix, and the us continues to incite the surging emergency? I'm staring at the laundry piles up like terrestrial storm clouds, the dirty dishes regenerate fecund as mushrooms, student papers and such wait patiently on the couch while bills, job and grant applications rudely bang on my office door. I'll be with you in a minute, I'm with a verse right now. Silly puns, personifications and bad metaphors keep me a make at night. I'll be a better blogger swoon, I's premise. O my bloggerissimo.

from the desk of wilma's butler

Gods--Mall that is god douses glop glamour. A shopped seem cores out the eyes the mall's pernicious mall's ale.

the mess behind the cursor

Fellow blogoets have been posting pix of their poetry shelves, (see the right hand column for the shelfustrious Shanna Compton, Danielle Nester, and Zachary Schomburg) and tho' this blogoet's shelves go on through the days unphotoed, a pic doth exist of the desk which lay board under the write thing of Guess Can Gallop. Note the then newly adopted green muse himself. Even a muse needs a peanut break.

the muse behind the cursor

Muse of a peanut-in-hand! Deftiest muse!

from the desk of wilma's butler

Today, the moon of now's ledge night's well filled like God become a mall.

from the desk of wilma's butler

Life is cavort, and the art is throng.