SR XXIII: Careful With That Axe, Varg - Progressive Rock Music Forum

I will have to give that a listen soon.

Do so. Mmmm.

Limbs is slightly different to their usual tunes but the rest of the album is much more like The Mantle.

Oh, I forgot, I could also murder somebody.

While I'm gone, if you would like to procrastinate, please read this, everyone ignored me last time but it's incredibly funny.

if you own a sodastream i hate you

I'll drink most colas, btw.

Yeah getting away from the computer is nice, I'm realizing that this year.

James wrote:

But do you miss the Mountain Dew?

Being at a computer is not a requirement for drinking Mountain Dew. Wink

No but apparently you always have one close by.

A Person wrote:

I wish I had a reason to be away from the computer. LOL

I haven't left yet because I got distracted but OH. MY. GOD.

Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like Baby motionless upon a table;
Let us go, through disease ridden trails,
Where bowel control fails
With restless nights of wagon induced hells,
Susan deftly avoiding soldiers' shells:
Not to mention the heinous waffle incident,
Denied to us with much lament.
River leads to an overwhelming question...
Oh, do not ask, "Shall we caulk it?"
Let us go and make them ford it.

In the thread the goons come and post
Aiding Chewbot, our gracious host.

The feces stench that wafts its way up to the Oxen-reigns
The feces stench that rubs into the muzzle causing Oxen-pains
Licked its tongue into the corners of the wagon
Emanated from the pools of Baby's bowel drains.
He let drip upon the floor the sh*t that falls from dysenteries,
Slipped from the wagon, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft September night,
Baby perceived his family, and fell dead in a heap.

And indeed there will be time
For the families journey to be made complete,
As water engulfs the oxen-reigns;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a post with the glory of revenge meat;
There will be time to ford them to their fate,
And time for Waffles' explanations;
Think of the goons whose questions you will sate!
Time for you to ford with glee,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions
And for a hundred visions and revisions
As Susan drowns alongside her tea.

In the thread the goons come and post
Aiding Chewbot, our gracious host.

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, "Do I ford?" and, "Will I dare?"
Time to hold off and stay above air,
To let Susan f**k strangers without a care�
[They will say: "How his wife just lets them in!"]
My fur coat, my beard-collar reaching only to the chin,
My neckbeard rich and modest, but asserted without a grin�
[They will say: "But his neckbeard is far from thin!"]
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a post there is time
For decisions and revisions which a new post cannot reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all;
Have known caulkings take up whole afternoons,
I have written out my life to appease goons;
I know the voices of them dying will please all
Beneath the water without further gloom.
So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all�
The Indian eyes that fix you in an icy gaze,
And when I hire him for help, offering some gin,
When he is ginned and slumping along the wall,
Then how should I begin
To go sober for the rest of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all�
Arms that are held by soldiers with great care
[But, against Susan, do not so well fair!]
Is it stench from this mess
That makes me so digress?
Arms that want, dearly, for us to wait, or not cross at all.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?

The Love Song of Cyrus J. Neckebeard Part 2

. . . . .

Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through rugged trails
And watched the sh*t ooze from Baby's pipes,
And been a cuckold man, with neckbeard, in a wagon?...
I shall soon be with a pair of oxen
Scuttling across the floor of Snake River.
. . . . .

And waffles, and pig-Sarah, sleep now so peacefully!
Disease there still lingers,
Asleep . . . tired . . . or it malingers,
Spilled on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after sh*t but before the ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and sighed, wept and imbibed,
Though I have seen my neck (grown with hair) victim to vomit splatters,
I am no caulker�and here's where it matters;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen Matt the salesman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I will now ford!

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the snakes, dysentery, the tea,
Among the men she's lain, among talk of Susan and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the caulking into the gaps all
To float it toward some Oregonian destination,
To say: "I am Cyrus, fording the dead,
Come back to ford you all, I shall ford you all"
If Susan, denying him his own bed,
Should say, "Only a cuckold could have such gall.
Fording with fury consuming all."

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the waffles and revenge meat and the defiled trails,
After the spying, after the tea, after the soldiers gushing resplendent gore�
But still, she's a whore!�
If we ford it'll show that bitch just what I mean!
If we drown in the mighty river will we be washed of our sins?
Would it have been worth while
If Susan, with frigid river waters filling lungs all,
And drowning in the wagon, should say:
"You're more man than them all,
They lack such fortitude of ball."
. . . . .

No! I am not in Oregon, nor was meant to be;
Am a cuckold husband, one that will do
To swell the river an inch or two,
Drown the fam'ly; no doubt, awesome and cool,
Intoxicated, glad to give abuse,
Enraged, and with neckbeard truly splendorous;
Full of liquor, putting it to proper use;
At times, of drunkenness ridiculous�
Almost, at times, I drool.

I grow bold... I grow bold...
I shall feel the bottom of the river cold.

Shall I leave the caulk behind? Do I dare a lesson teach?
I shall drive the oxen forward, and wash up on the beach.
I have heard river trout singing, each to each.

I do not think they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding westward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.

We will have lingered before the river long,
With pig-girl, waffles, whore and baby sh*t brown,
Till goon voices drive us, and we drown.

if you own a sodastream i hate you

A Person wrote:

James wrote:

I've never tried it.

Stop listening to obscure music and listen to more obscure music called Gestalt et Jive.

What are you talking about?

A band.