One day, after ten cans of beer
PrinceDeath logged onto Deja News
and posted jibes to lord_of_fear
accusing him of self-abuse.

Lord_of_fear was sore dismayed
that PrinceDeath told tales so tall
retorting that he never played
trouser billiards at all

And who was vile PrinceDeath to know
that strangers, with themselves, might play?
and what was more, PrinceDeath could go,
copulating, far away.

PrinceDeath struck his balding head
letting out a strangled shriek
an ashtray tumbled from his bed
as he typed, in a fit of pique,

all the objects that lord_of_fear
could, with his blessing, insert
and exactly where (my dear,
don't you think that this might hurt?)

Undeterred, the written word,
zapped back and forth with equal force
because of one jibe - quite absurd -
over dabbling in drawers

Till lord_of_fear's wife banged the door
and yelled "When will you come to bed?
You on a chat page with some whore?
Why not talk to me instead?"

So PrinceDeath had the last retort
and further answers never came
So he fell asleep with the Sunday Sport
and dreamed of worlds that feared his name.

by ~The Potato of Terror~ 6/4/99