Envision yourself in a bath, in West
Philadelphia, high as a kite (pot, more),
& you may have a vision of her as pure,
like the America we dream of, like Doris
Day. She may only appear that way once.
Even in the course of the bath, where,
as you wouldn't guess, heaven and hell
loom right around the corner, not
the solar but the lunar way, & it seems
like eternal life, until she tightens her grasp,
you feel around for an exit, no dice,
& her eyes tell you You're gonna die... yes, you're gonna die, right now. Doris turns
Diana— you saw her nude, didn't you?
Yes, Steff. I fucking do. A weekly interactive event cud be made of it. And
is being made of it. Please, Steff, i thought better of you. My bad. I
don't even wanna tawk ti ye right now laaargh, you have deeply upset me.
I was trying to limit my eructions here and get off Kim's page so as
to let the vibe evolve without any oppressive asshole here like meself
making unpleasant scenes, but you just forced me into a very fucking
theatrical bit of drama kween shite now. Hope you are proud of yerself,
Steff, for making me lose it and shout obscenities at ye.
But that's just me. I am so fucking caring. I always do it, get taken advantage of by people I think better of than this.
has ruined my early evening this has. Why me? All the fucking time.
All i will say is that if you continue to read Waterford Whispers please defriend me
now. Go on, do it, de fucking friend me, like the last of the armchair
dudemanbrosistaz i do not cannot and will not have anything whatsoever
to do with at all in any capacity because shit happens when you have ten
thousand social media friends that are sent to try us and make us
better people. Anyone that reads or worse, enjoys reading the excrement
from these hateful people in Waterford that helped Putin get clown-face
into office ... nah, nah, sorry, you are either with us in the
Resistance or you are against the good people of the mega Resistance.
are not real satirists, them jealous bastards in Waterford, not like
me, who spent sixteen years studying the ancient texts before being able
to understand and name the poetic precepts found in the definitive
texts. One of which is the authoritative satire text on the matter in
the Book of Ballymote, that begins with a question obviously meant to be
asked out loud, and then answered, out loud, crooning: Cis lir fodla
aíre? ‘How many types of satire are there?'
Ní hansa. A trí .i. aisnés ocus ail ocus aircetal.
Not difficult, three i.e. declaration, insult, incantation’.
'Aisnés: declaration; a declaration in prose, reproach without rhyme.
Ail: Insult; verbal injury or derrogatory nickname which sticks, rhymed or not.
Aircetal: Incantation/verse. Divided into 10 varieties with several sub-varieties.
1. Mac Bronn; son of the womb, son of sorrow. This satire is told to only one person. (gossip)
dallbach: (blindness) An Inuendo. In this satire, the victim remains
anonymous while the deeds done or not done are explained in detail.
Further subdivided into three subtypes:
a: firmly established. Done when there is sufficient evidence for the poet to be able to prove the contention.
Focal i frithshuidiu: word in opposition. "A quatrain of praise and
therein is found a word on the verge of satire" That which looks like
praise but is actually derrogatory.
4. tar n-aire: outrage of satire. A reproach made through negative comparisons about the subject.
tar molta: outrage of praise.' Praise soooo overblown as it is
ridiculous or ironic. The praising of qualities that the subject
6.tamall aire: touch of praise.' Similar to tar n-aire but not as flamboyant.
7 tamal molta: Satire which praises the subject faintly. Merecer states
that this could be a praise poem that praises the subject about the
shine of his shoes.
8. Lanair. full satire. The name, family and residence of the victim are detailed in a very public way.
9. ainmedh: full blown sarcasm.
glam dicind: a religio magical ritual using public satire and
incantation against an unjust king.' It involved 30 clergy, 30 poets and
30 warriors and the spell being spoken just before dawn, by all seven
grades of bard, circling a thorn-bush on top of a hill that divided
territories, facing north, speaking their part of the satire into their
left hand, in which was held a rock and thorn, keeping the legs straight
and bending their back perpendicular up and down. Honest. Search online
and discover the truth of it.
assholes in Waterford haven't even read it and do not know it exists
and yet they claim to write satire, Steff? Really, Steff?
didn't quit my job in teaching Geography to underprivileged kids in the
Hamptons to go read the Waterford fucking Whispers, Steff.
did I stop working at Cantor FitzGerald two days a week advising hedge
fund managers, to become friends with or have anything to do with anyone
at all on the planet that does read this fake news that is just a lot
of self-indulgent overlong wanky trash masquerading as satire when it is
most definitely - you have my word as the foremost expert on it - not.
the qualified Satirist can judge. If I want to know about how to steal
and write meaningless and incredibly shit poetry under the banner of
conceptual performance art I'd go ask Kenny G. If I wanted to know about
occult practices that summon dangerous evil spirits I'd call Nance and
Hitlary. If i wanted the opinion of a trusted social-media friend I
would go to my private account and ask one of my family. And if I wanted
to know how to write fake news I wud go to WW and their boss Vladimir
Not just anyone can decide what Satire is
and isn't. Waterford Whispers is not, in my authoritative opinion as Eireland's most
beloved and professionally qualified English language fucking satirist
slash praise luvvie slash fucking slash fucking slash fucking fill in
the fucking blanks, Steff, and jus do az ye aaargh fucking told
Or that's it. There's no more 'we', no
more 'us', no more kewl beloved fucking warm kind understanding Mwoh the
cleverest most boastful most arrogant and most unpopular of Kim's
social-media friends, that came first in my Satire class, Steff, first in
my praise Class, Steff, first in my Love Language class and first in
every fucking thing at the online university whilst training for this
very important role of being here for you lot. Teaching all you lot, Steff, just what is and what is fucking not Satire.
are one fucking evil Dark Shadow-loving bad vibes vampire with terrible
taste in literature. Whatever the fuck are you reading WW for? I
thought better of you. You are skating on very thin fucking ice here
Post a selfie of you holding a card saying
'Very Sorry, I Am Not Worthy', please, Steff. Thank you. And with a
suitably contrite expression.
Don't care if you
have to fake it, Steff, but obviously prefer it if you are genuinely
sorry because that means you are starting to learn, understand what you
have done wrong and are beginning to recognize just what's at stake in
the coming months and how important it is we in the Resistance refute
with every breath in our bodies them horribly untalented bastards in
Waterford publishing this evil W.W. fake news that is totally out of
control and you and everyone else in the US just need to know that we do
have to stop them and Putin, Steff, we have to because there is no alternative to
stopping this fucking oppressive tyrant and his evil fake news minions doing the work of a divisive
ugly scary fearful world-ending dark side undermining US democracy.
are the world's last best hope, and as a lover of language and caring
individual I just need people like you and all the rest on the list here
to do exactly as you are told without any fucking dramas or any fucking
theatrics and certainly, no disloyalty whatsoever to the Resistance.
Or, as I used to tell the Hampton crowd, ye can just fuck right off. Gottit?
get out of my site and do as I say because we need to stop this
tyrant, and we need every hand on deck, every mind with mine, or the
world ends on 5th April 2020.
Do you want the world to end, Steff? Do you want little whatever the fuck wotsisname is to have no future, no life, fuck all, just because you were too fucking lazy and stupid to do as ye aargh fucking told?
Awh, WW Fake news.
The ice caps are melting and the world is going to end on 5th April
2020. That I know because I played with the tatwas in the House of the
Dead on Ushers fucking Quay, and burned some rose petals at a Spirit Dreaming
event in Washington fucking DC, and I asked the Great Yétaz, aka Yétaz the
Mighty, when was the end date of the End Time and this is the fucking answer I
To prepare for it I am starting a cult, with
very reasonable joining fees and annual rates for a daily update about
the end of the world.
Yétaz the Mighty also told me
directly by telepathy that we may be able to shift this date years down
the road, if I get enough gold and platinum star membership packages
sold in the first year of opening this sacred opportunity to join the
cult and sect of the favored ones that will be spared and ascend in the
VIP package Orb of Light Salvation Vehicle, shud Yétaz not change His
mind and decide that the only human beings being spared are me, someone
else, our mates, and paying members with the intelligence to purchase a
gold star plus or platinum package, with a special opening one time
offer of 20% off if you can answer this question correctly. What is
Yétaz the Mighty's favorite color?
What is Yétaz
the Mighty's favorite fucking color, Steff, hey, hey, c'mon, why don't ye
ask ye new mates at WW see if they can fucking tell ye all this shit
when they are not tossing theselvs off just so a deluded few hundred
thousand can laff at their sick jokes done in service of a Russian
dictator. Proud of yerself now are ye, hey, now you are a dictator
loving tool of Vladimir Putin?