Where The Evil Dwells

Another attempt at poetry, since I don't see much these days. I guess there aren't many things I can write about now, since most of you fucks can't seem to take a joke anymore. But that never stopped me. 

What I am trying to say is, I felt like writing, so I wrote. Before I begin, I shall put in a picture of something spooky to set the mood. Here you go.

WHERE THE EVIL DWELLS

Ghosts and ghouls and spirits galore

What goes on here by the washing well

Rotting and moaning the undead explore

In the graveyard, where the evil dwells

Murderers, rapists and molesters galore

All of them inside their sordid cells

Society’s scum which they openly abhor

In the prisons where the evil dwells

Killers, butchers and sadists galore

Murdering millions chiming war bells

Bathing in ecstasy of blood and gore

Genocide grounds where the evil dwells

Briefcases, ties and suits galore

Working to make paradise into hell

The minds of the masses do they implore

Politics, where the evil dwells

V for Veranda

So yeah, our country recently had a Victory Day.

The day when terrorists came to our land, spilled the blood of our brothers on our soil. We commemorate their sacrifice to our country on November 3rd of every year. Because their patriotism deserves remembrance.

Now this is what I have a problem with. All of the motherfuckers who think they are above this whole thing with the "remembering the sacrifices of the martyrs because they gave their lives to protect this country and thus protecting you" thing.

Here's the main points these dick eating muppets take against Victory Day.

1. Maumoon was the president back then and they won't support anything Mau was a part of.

2. We were only saved because the Indian Army came and helped us.

Okay...

Number one; I don't fucking care about Maumoon. Maumoon didn't go out and die that day. I don't care about Anni, Gasim or Yaamin either. All of them can have sex with each other for all I care. We aren't celebrating the bravery of The Mau on November 3rd. Get your facts straight. Have some fucking respect for those who were brave enough to fight for you, you little ingrate.

Number two; (snicker) I am well aware that the Indian Army came and saved our asses. I am forever grateful to the India for it. That doesn't change the fact the people died for you.

You know what, fuck you all.

And this is not the cherry on top. Most of these vomit coated tutu wearing nipple twisters 'celebrate' the 5th of November. Because, you know, V for Vendetta. They post the little poem thingie from the movie like a mantra. For those of you know didn't know, here it is:

Remember, remember the 5th of November
The gunpowder treason and plot
I know of no reason the gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot

These people seriously think they know something about anarchy because they watched a movie. You think the Guy Fawkes masks you are so keen on wearing are made from anti establishment anarchists hell bent on helping you "fight the power"? They are made from sweat shop workers, working their fingers to the bone for pocket change. You're as much part of the established order as the people running it, assholes.

Here's an alternate poem for you;

Remember remember the 3rd of November
When Maldivian patriots were shot
All of you people who claim to be patriots
Are just bile covered rectum maggots

 

And have a good dose of fuck you.

The sad song of whateverrrr

I’ve been listening to a song of late. This song, I find, heard too many times is kind of annoying. Okay I fib. It is, in fact, very annoying. This is not a song with music attached to it, not sung in a melodic way in which to please our sound receptors. This song is more of a whining. A whining of a certain group of people.

People who keep telling me that this here Male’ is a boring place. The song in question is the repetitive complaints they spew out.

"What-EVRRR! This place sucks! How can I enjoy anything without a Starbucks?"

"I'm like, SO bored! Let's go like, hang at the mall... oh wait... you don't have one. what-everrrr!"

and I'm like, "I don't know whats sadder, your complete disregard for your country or your fucking face."

I think words in the form of a rant just seems inadequate here. Let us try something else here. By us, I mean of course, me. Here is my response to you guys in the form of a little poem.

This place is dark, dreary and glum

This place is somewhat a giant slum

Fret do the naysayers and look down their noses

Expecting assorted pleasures on a bed of roses

While one agrees that here, pickings are slim

One must point out that all is not so grim

We don’t have McDonald’s, Pizza Huts or Starbucks

I find it hard to give a shit, a damn or two fucks

While we don’t hang around all day at huge malls

To enjoy life in this part of the world takes huge balls

I may not know the experience of a club or rave

I find such shallow endeavors is not something I really crave

While you may claim that we only have coffee after coffee

I just think that’s what you do, being so idle and time so free

I might not have the fancy life you do, but know this for sure

People here who have purpose, and convictions pure,

Have no trouble filling their lives with meaning and substance

You wander around in its complete absence

When you all come back from that three year clusterfuck

I shall still pat your back and wish you good luck.

 Schooled, bitches.

Who needs Shakespeare?

The blogosphere is full of poetry. some are good, while most of it is god-awful. I mean really lame and fucked up. Tonight, I wrote my own version of poetry.


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How does a hypocrite get clothed and geared?

Maybe a turban and some kind of gross beard.

So much turned off is he by modern times,

He has no choice but to take underage concubines.

What is he to do when he is loathed and hated?

Except maybe get women demeaned and berated?

Why should he believe in hygiene or sanitary pads

When the world has much disease to be had?

One can but wonder how stupid he really is

Or his strong beliefs are really his

The barrages of self righteous teachings seem constant

Though preaching peace through violence seems redundant

He still persists, on and on, demeaning and defiling

Because free will and free speech to him, is most reviling

Maybe we should all get his kind a nice island somewhere

And maybe bury a few thousand claymore mines there

So that without him, the world will finally enjoy peace,

And let those who choose it, get on with their anal grease

Let the world be free of their pedophilia and lies

For they themselves, slowly march towards their demise.