Friday, June 15, 2007

Abandoned burblings

I was writing something for bloc on the theme of escape last night, until 5:30am. It still wasn't any good. I also stepped on a slug, whilst barefooted, for the second night in a row (not the same slug). That wasn't any good either. Yeuch. Anyway, for reasons I can't be bothered to explain, the story (such as it was) ended up containing a couple of burblings that might loosely be described as poetry. So, rather than waste all that effort completely, I'm putting them here:

Burbling No. 1

Assault
(Battery not included)
Nonetheless, ouch

Burbling No. 2

Why not be a butler?
(Serving suggestion only)

A buffet of innuendoes

(Serving only suggestions)

A pretty woman, by men

(Served only with suggestion)

What exactly is a butle?

(Just a question)


Right, back to the drawing board. Well, a blank Word Document anyway...


[Sighs]

7 comments:

Taiga the Fox said...

Butle is a bottle, or that's how I might pronounce it, at least after three drinks. It might be found also here. I wonder if one drinks from that botle does one sound like a duck?

(Just an answer. And a question.)

Taiga the Fox said...

I might also learn how to spell butle. One day.

(Just a notice.)

Emily said...

At least you're trying - I haven't even got to the stage of opening a blank word document recently.

Must, must do some work. Sorry I missed you the other day - did shut up shop to go for a sleep.
x

X+ said...

40 days until deadline.

(Just a reminder.)

Petink said...

Now that's proper poetry, random burblings that sit nicely on the tum.

Jen said...

There are snails EVERYWHERE on my road. If I come home after dark I have to dodge and weave to avoid them. I'm surprised there are any plants left.

Not seen any slugs though, maybe they are all at your house?

Occasional Poster of Comments said...

Jen, not at my house, in my house. Specifically, my room.

Still, being in an extension at the back does have its advantages - namely I can play my stereo whenever I like. Which is probably worth the odd accidental slug-icide. Well, for me anyway. Can't really speak for the slugs. Not unless they speak English. But that seems unlikely. If they did, one of them might have explained what slugs are for, exactly. Then again, no-one's managed to adequately explain what humans are for, exactly, either; so, perhaps not. Although, that doesn't entirely eliminate the possibility that slugs do speak English. Maybe they're a bit shy.