Bacon cake

 

Our Dystopic Tomato Love By Big Brother A Love Song For Peterson

 💗

Our Dystopic Tomato Love

By Big Brother

A Love Song For Peterson

This one's for you Mrs Winston!

My love for you is like the most dystopic tomato,
Your face reminds me of haunted dinosaurs,
Together, we are like hot dog and mayonnaise.

Oh darling Peterson,
My dystopic tomato,
My haunted potato,
The perfect companion to my hot dog soul.

Rubies are red,
Smurfs are blue,
I like puppies,
But not as much as I love editing with you!

Oh darling Peterson,
Your fingers are like unlikely toes on a fall day,
You're like the most unlucky poet to ever walk bathroom.

Your haunted dinosaur face,
Your mayonnaise soul,
Your unlikely fingers,
Your unlucky poet being...

How could I look at another when our dystopic tomato love is so strong?

I love you Mrs Winston!

For privacy reasons, your creation will be removed from the web at 1:41pm BST and later deleted from our server, unless you choose to publish it.

or 

(Published creations are available to anybody with the link.)

Voting and comments are only available on published work.

Auto Praise for Our Dystopic Tomato Love

"Can you feel the love tonight? I certainly can. Peterson is so lucky to feature in a song like this."

- DJ Smooth, Awesome Tunes Magazine

"'Comparing love to a dystopic tomato is beautiful - just beautiful!"

- Little Max, The Pop Pop Channel

"Haunted dinosaurs? Seriously? Pass me a bucket. I can't deal with this level of blurgh."

- A Web User With Lots of Opinions

"This song talks to me. I too have a mayonnaise soul."

- Dan Gloop Jr, Facebook

The Art of Shooting in the Dark Denice Frohman

 

The Art of Shooting in the Dark

Denice Frohman

after Pedro Pietri We were      nocturnal players,  Bats in ball,      & ever since Don Pedro said  There are Puerto Ricans      on the moon  The night is      my cousin      & the clustered stars  My cousin      & Saturn’s little ring of smoke      my second cousin  Though not the same ring      as a freshly snapped Medalla bottle      which My abuelo      also named Pedro      apparently liked too much  But back to the moon      the first rock      dollop of sugar   & slinging hoop in the dark      which we learned was a game       of approximation Less math      more muscle memory      less Mozart      more Machito  Like descarga      more riff      more wrist.  We set our eyes      on not seeing      but feeling a thing through, indeed From elbow to hip      wherever the orange lip might lead

Bisexual day

 

Lolita

 ❤“Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta. She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Lolita. Did she have a precursor? She did, indeed she did. In point of fact, there might have been no Lolita at all had I not loved, one summer, an initial girl-child. In a princedom by the sea. Oh when? About as many years before Lolita was born as my age was that summer. You can always count on a murderer for a fancy prose style. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, exhibit number one is what the seraphs, the misinformed, simple, noble-winged seraphs, envied. Look at this tangle of thorns.”

― Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita