take the piss

The sprite her long fingers they do seldom miss yet all she doth want is for to take the piss. She'll take it from women and take it from men and then turn right back around and take it again. Her aim is to learn how to tell funny tales about foolish humans and elusive whales but all of her thieving has just been a waste that leaves a few yellow stains up on her face. She'll keep on piss-taking and struggling though the ways of us humans to study and know and hers is a turbulent and stinky wake as long as she's chasing that wily piss-take.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

pixies and tricksy

The miners were braver than most of the rest for they ev'ry day-round would give it their best. Despite many pixies and tricksy cobalt that labored their labors to hamper and fault the men in their hard-hats the men with their picks would pry precious morsels that in rock-veins stick. Then women came working to make up the balance when in our harsh wartimes were needed the talents of strong bulging muscles and engineer-wit to get our small nation back out of the shit. Then many young ladies did learn of the stuff that gives people rock-smart and elbow-grease guff and they left for fronts to our west and our east the horrors of combat to lessen and ease. They fought in the trenches and dug a few more and helped then win every subsequent war and mix with the laddies still unto this day when it's time for war-games to pick up and play.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

jawbones and ears

His name was John Rainbow he was a crack ace and always wore a vest always carried mace. His MO was simple – to shoot first then query to never think twice to leave up to chance every roll of the dice and his foul appearance was nothing but scary. He wore not a top-hat but a scarlet ribbon that screamed, “I am man-thing not baboon or gibbon” and kept many trophies of jawbones and ears and long was the toil of his warlike years. But then past his zenith he went into hiding yet always kept weapons dug into the siding and under his toilet and behind the stairs and had many manner of curious wares. From each of the countries he'd been to they came and were with the blood of his enemies stained and there in his trophy room sat the grand piece: the horns of a demon set in golden fleece. He'd wear it while hunting big game but not man for he had been shown a more peaceful-like plan that involved his cunning and all of his wits and henceforth he always made all of his hits. New trophies did stack up of chipmunk and rhino of bears black and bears brown and bears full albino but hunting men still was foremost in his mind so he left the civil life way far behind and went back to work in the gunslinging racket with only a small knife and his leather jacket. For ISIL Al-Qaeda and many such others he worked killed mothers sons daughters and others. IS didn't differ from his erstwhile bosses and he among madmen was once more Colossus.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

her blessed home

She stood in the clearing of a wooded glen and marveled at bush rock vine tree flower fen. Such colors did greet her as she'd never seen and shadows did dance there about in between the big soaring redwoods the small tiny sprouts and leap did her heart-beat and silently shout. She'd found it her homestead her small verdant vale and all of the others before it did pale and all of her wanderings then there bore fruit for her old worries were suddenly moot. With a few blows she quick secured her tent then to the task of a fire she bent safe in the confines of her blessed home far from the worries and burdens she'd known.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

honor to burn

Their clamor of squawking and anger did rise when they heard that she had cracked open her thighs. It was not their business to be so concerned or with their foul rumors her honor to burn or with their foul talking to tarnish her name but that was their boring, too-often-played game. So duly they gathered to spittle and heave and repeat the lies that they'd come to believe and question her virtue and puff themselves up and call her tramp hooker whore harlot and slut. They were a rank stupid and venomous bunch and on some cold hatred they'd happily lunch then take it back home and then vent it on they who in darkened pantries would hide everyday. One morning they gathered to hash out and spit all of their new stories and much old bullshit but then the young maiden whom they did despise came walking right to them and stared in their eyes. 'I love you all dearly,' she said with due calm to which they reacted with fear and alarm but she did continue with words soft and true and merely just stand there was all they could do. 'I've heard all the rumors you've spread about me and that you think I should just pick up and leave but I will not do that for I've not done wrong despite what you say to all who come along. I love you regardless and thank you for talking and will now keep going on my morning's walking and hope you will keep spinning your hateful tales of my fleshy weakness and my moral ails.' With that the young lady did venture away and done were the lies if only for that day – for hatred needs more than a few loving words for it to be flushed out with the other turds.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

local addict hooked on O2

Despite years of effort dedicated to breaking a lifelong addiction, unemployable local fiend Eroll T. Whitscomb remains hooked on oxygen. “I like inhaling it out here, in the open,” said the subject while standing and breathing deeply in a meadow not far from his home. “To me, it doesn't matter who or how many people tell me I need to quit – by now, my body really and truly needs it. God, once it hits your lungs, it's so good.” Mr. Whitscomb by no means struggles alone, said Dr. Alice R. Ushanginahi, head of addiction studies at the University of Southern Washington, U.S.A. “Every human being alive today is in some form or another addicted to oxygen. In fact, unless a person receives a dose of this chemical every two or three minutes, he or she will experience brain-death, and die.” Compared to food, or water, oxygen is apparently indispensable to a long and healthy life, and inhaling too little of it – due largely to bad posture – quickly causes the oxygen addict to become angry, impatient, and downright boorish. “We've studied countless cases in which individuals ruined social engagements and damaged interpersonal relationships just because their bodies weren't getting enough of the chemical upon which they'd allowed themselves to get hooked,” said Dr. Ushanginahi, who is herself addicted to the chemical. On the street, this drug is known as oh-too. “The most readily available and cheapest way to cure this addiction is, to my knowledge, suicide.” For more information about the addictive nature of oxygen – a free radical that damages the human body and speeds its decay by causing the iron molecules present in the bloodstream to rust – please visit www.urshitoutofluck.com or www.ifurbreathingurbelieving.com

© americanifesto / 場黑麥