bltsandwich17 throws up some rhymes here

311446

I rate your comic good and blt's poems crap. I believe they are direct rip-offs from Kip in Napoleon Dynamite. Here are a few more gems, blt:

Kip: [typing a poem on his computer] Your sandy hair floats in the air... To me it's like a lullaby... I'm just flying by... Oh so high... like a kite... tied to a skate...

What the fuck do you know about poetry or writing or even me?

You know jack shit.

More than rhyme you say? as you cna see there is an "under construction" sign. I am still adding my writings to my site. And those poems that is one there, they do a bloody hell of alot more than rhyme. They are every person's deepest feelings at some point. If you read them careful and look, you can find hidding messages, hidden meanings, and a whole lot more.

So, you do not have a write to tell me that my poetry is crap, or i dont know how to write.

You look at those and see crap and depressing things. Other people look at those and feel moved and touched by what is said. They can relate to it.

So, i suggest you shut your fucking mouth. Cause unlike you, im a writer.

GOOD COMEBACK.

GOOOOOOOOOD COMEBACK.

BEST COMEBACK EVER.

Although, I KINDA side with blt here. I, too, am a writer and I would hate it if someone insulted my writing. I porbably would'e responded differently, but all the same...

i really wana be touched

I'd touch you if you weren't so far away...spiritually speaking.

i have to admit, that is the best comeback ever. that's some funny, funny shit.

quote:

---

What the fuck do you know about poetry or writing or even me?

---

But only God can make a tree.

Dude. I made like 3 trees last week.

quote:

---

I know very little about you Becky. I'm just picking a fight because I got frustrated with your inane spamming of the forums here. I did find your poems retarded though.

---

I jØØzed my !337 h4xør1|\|6 skills. No, everything in this world is just a google away.

And that is why I google all my different names regularly just in case I fuck up and actually put some real information somewhere.

i looked on google, my name is not present on there.

am i going to have to report that i have another internet stalker?

Hold on... before you call the man. Let me just hack into your computer.... ok... ok... hacking.... and I'm in. Alright, whoa... looks like you do have a stalker problem but it's not me. It appears to be some skinny goth guy. Yep, it's a goth kid alright and he does seem to be wracked with morose sorrowy melancholy. Write him a poem stat. Ok, I'm hacking back out of your computer now. I cleaned out some spyware and popuppy stuff on the way out. Your PC should fell a bit snappier now. No need to thank me.

quote:

---

Nickname : mojojojo
Comment : Wow becky, you are truly gifted
Compliment : Bacon!
Insult : Eat peanut butter and die!!! lol, j/k
date/time of entry : Sept 19, 2005, 2:14 am canada time!

---

I fucking hate poetry.

This dumb bitch put her retarded high school poetry online, if she can't handle people telling her how much it sucks, she should either write something that doesn't suck or fuck off.

bltsandwich17 check out my hard hitting rhymes and see what you should be doing.

Last night
I was getting a jar of vegemite
And knocked a bottle of sauce
To the floor
It shattered
I didn't think it mattered
At first
But it burst
Red sauce everywhere
I didn't want to clean it up but it was hard not to care
But screw it
I'll just walk through it
I'm wearing red socks anyway
I kicked the broken glass out the way
But didn't clean up the mess
I might if there was less
I put the bottle in another room
With a broom
And shut the door
But it was a whore
I had to hold it with a chair
There was something in there
Pushing it open
I'm not jokin

Also she's probably really fat.

I have conferred with my associates and we have deemed your poems worthy of 3 green stars and 3 silver stars. This puts you in the 40 percentile of 3rd graders in the state of Alabama.

Oh shit dcomposed, that ruled. Got me snappin' my fingers like a stoned beatnik.

It actually turned me into a stoned beatnik.

quote:

---

Dude. I made like 3 trees last week.

---

Some poems by the_young_scot

I think I thought I wrote a sonnet
I think I ought to sit upon it

I sat my hamster on its destiny
The ever spinning wheel of fate
Dance the tap dance of eternity
Just try not to be late

He pierced the air like a giant red arrow
His giant metallic shlong shining in the light
Your pride you had best swallow
RAAAARR TOBOR SHALL CORNHOLE YOU THIS NIGHT!!

*clicks fingers*

That

was

BEAUTIFUL.

That cheese cookie thing poem made me cry a little. You have the gift.

Oh, and as far BLT not finding herself with google:
I saw your picture today! And several MSpaint-y drawrings! I like exclamation points!

I like my BLT sandwiches without the T.

I also like my poetry without the suck.

haiku for u tranny fucks:

bltsandwich
once entered #stripcreator
then left; no one cared.

A poem by me to all of you.

I like me some meat
Meat is good to eat
Eat that meat, fo sheet!
It's no big feat!

BLT, you name yourself
BLT, we blame your.. self..
And I can't be assed
To finish this poem now.

Damn, I guess I'm just too lazy to write kickass poetry like our little veggie lover here.

PLANTS SCREAM WHEN THEY DIE, YOU SICKO!

Carrot juice constitutes murder!
Cole slaw's a fascist regime!
Don't think that they don't have feelings
Just because a radish can't scream!

There once was a girl named Becky
Whose poems were like a car-wreck-y.
They consisted of rhyming
But lacked any timing
And were, overall, rather blecchy.

(Wow, that rhyming is hard!)

Alright folks, we all know about the high school mentality of picking on a person that you deem a loser.

We also all know that the Internet in NO WAY can lower your self esteem and self worth. However the peeps on the Internet can.

That being said, I do agree the forum SPAM is utter shit, and unfortunatly participated myself, which I apologize for.

So anyway, more people need to be picked on. Singleing out one person in not enough. That's just high school. We need a good WAR!

Shut your fucking trap before I stuff you in your locker you fucking neophyte.

NECROPHILIAC!! GET IT RIGHT DAMMIT!!

Now get back to sewing class, Lance already misses you.

We're not sewing today you dolt. Don't you know Tuesdays are cupcake day. Idiot. And after you finish with Lance, please make him wash his hands. They smell like shit!

Cupcake day?? Man I spend too much time in metal shop making weapons and hash pipes to know about your silly little cupcake day.

Yeah, Lance sure got the shit kicked out of him. I'll have him clean himself and send him back, he mentioned something about wearing your leapord print g-string for you today.

Hoping to be entertained
By BLT's lofty refrains
I checked out her site
And recoiled in fright
Now all I can taste is the pain

I have not searched at all, I admit,
For her poetry -- I ain't read one bit.
But I'll say bitsandwich's
Odes cause shits and twitches
For that's the sole rhyme I could fit.

IT'S SATURDAY

It's Saturday
My butt hurts

"I kill Colombians for fun."
-- Ethel Mertz

LEAVES AND GRASS

Fill your ass with leaves and grass
Set them afire, to the tune of a lyre

Dance and jangle
Weenis at an angle
Pubes in a tangle
Naughty bits dangle

Fill your hole with smoldering coal
Feel the burn, a lesson you'll learn

Flail and amble
Tippy-toe ramble
Flit and gambol

Signed,

Glen Campbell

There once was a girl named Becky
Who only wanted a fecky
She said so in verse
That was judged to be worse
Than a straightforward come-on from Becky

There's a lesson in this for all of us: Poetry won't get you laid unless it's, like, Yeats.

Room Service Weird Cheese Cookie
by boorite

The room service guy brought me
A midnight chicken Caesar
And lying atop it
Crooked, stranded, shipwrecked
The weird cheese cookie thing
My puzzling old friend
Posing its gastronomical dilemma.
I ate it.

OMG CHEESE COOKIE
by boorite

A conundrum haunts me
In the likeness of a cookie
But made of grated cheese
Fused and hardened by some unknown process
Like particle board
But made of grated cheese.

Who the author, wondered I,
Of this little marvel?
Whose the hand and what the fire?
What the mind that conceived it?
What the gas that breathed it into being?
What the cheese and what the grater?
Whose the hand and what the fire?

It tasted OK.

quote:

---

Poetry won't get you laid unless it's, like, Yeats.

---

That's because she has tits. Tits will get you laid much faster than poetry. So the ideal getting laid poem would go something like, "here are my tits."

I'd give that poem a standing ovation.

In my pants.

Lay Me
by A. Girl
(psued., boorite)

Here are my tits.

Women should not have to use their body to get laid.