Sick oh fancy that.

Click that link, yank that tag, follow the crumbs to another exercise in mutual congratubation: “Wonderful how you love the way you beautiful way you words the feelings the words that love the way… as ever!”

Hoy llamé a, casa abandonada.

If you’ll like me, I’ll like you, and agree to review the potpourri of mental debris that you spew with a gentle praise, sentimental and undue.

My moniker, caressed with a mouse whisker briskly depressed will confess my address: check my shit, press it. (quicker!)

I plunge my beak in, for some sneak peekin’:

Never an ill word heard.

Never a critique to speak of.

Never mind that it is drivel or makes no sense, like Elliott’s clever pretense, a collusion of narcissism keeps us riding the vanity manatee, splashing through the saccharine waves, protecting the Emperor from the elements.

De las paredes brotan arañas.

~ by Sixto on June 13, 2009.

11 Responses to “Sick oh fancy that.”

  1. wow, claws out.

  2. oof

  3. A) I thought I was being charmingly provocative? [ok, provocative then].
    B) Drunk.
    D) What happened to C) ?
    C) Ah, there it is.

  4. Mantecanaut, please will you tell me what mantecanaut means?

    • Sure, but it’s pretty pedestrian.
      I wanted manteca, spanish for butter/lard (and incidentally, a great jazz tune) but it was taken so I randomly added the naut. So, If I had to think about it too much and invent a meaning I suppose [from the greek ναύτης (naútēs, “sailor”) ] it is one who sails through butter, like Jason in pursuit of animal shavings, the inspissating viscid slapping against the hull and impeding progress, a metaphor for life.
      Or it’s just a bunch of letters.
      Now… Quid pro quo… Sack Posset?

  5. ill tickle you’re fancy here….OMG YOU’RE SO 1337, but in person, it’s true you’re probably drunk.

  6. I got the ‘naut’ bit, but I know no Spanish. Buttersailor. I like it a lot.

    Sack Posset is a thick drink made with cream, eggs and sherry. It was popular in Elizabethan times, and it amuses me to say it out loud.

    P.S. Any idea where Poet Man’s gone?

  7. *lets out a slow whistle.

    nasty. still, likey. wink!

  8. pw0, nice 1337 ref. You had me googlin’

    Sack: buttersailor sounds like a filthy euphemism for something that I:
    a) wished I’d never done [ horribly drunk]
    or
    b) wished I’d had the opportunity to do.
    As for Poet Man… I don’t really know the cat… don’t think he carouses round this way.
    ps) summertime… wheres my invite to the Hall?

    DP. Mwah!

  9. If you can find it, you can come.

  10. Having just read some of the self-important, uber-self-absorbed solipsistic self-rgarding narcicist ‘poetry’ that I was alluding to here, and the quasi-genuine open-mealy-mouthed gibbering self-serving and self-pawing sycophancy and fawning that accompanies it, I applaud myself .

    mutual congratubation

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