O Thirteenth Demon of Mt. Azkey, designated delimiter of knowledge, he whom we seek for the swift and safe return of all carriages, I humbly call upon thee. Hear this humble encantation made by your data-parsing servant. Bring swift justice to those who deliberately hit the enter key within a data table and thus insert carriage returns where there should be none. Punish them for favoring aesthetics over structure. Slice off their fingers one at a time until they can no longer hit the “Enter” key accurately with their bloody palms. Then slice their hands off at the wrist and force them to look at the disgusting stumps where hands once were. May they realize through the broken and scattered pieces of their hands and fingers before them the tragedy of the broken and scattered pieces of data they have chosen to create. Let them know that The Thirteenth Demon of Mt. Azkey’s symbol should not be used in vain.
We have War and Famine on speed dial
and occasionally exchange “wish you were here” e-mails
like old friends rarely gathered in one place these days.
We catch up with each other by watching Anderson Cooper
visit a town shortly after one or two of us have arrived.
This week, we’re stuck at home, quarantined
with some tamiflu and well-wishes by wire
far far far away from being who we are –
Plague and Pestilence should have been out
dancing the night away, doing our best impression
of politicians by shaking hands and kissing babies,
sharing God’s creation with the rest of God’s creation –
so what if this creation is named H1N1?
Let him cast this demonic possession back to the swine
’cause we’re getting better, we’re feeling fine
and life will go on until we are forgotten once more
and we’re in somebody else’s documentary special.
For now it’s Plague, Pestilence, and their cats
staring out the window at a fearful world –
the scythe too heavy to lift,
the weather too warm to bear,
and just considerate enough not to be ourselves.
This very weak mage
begrudgingly succumbs to
bullshit ninjitsu
This is my blood stain
three steps from where a note read
“Beware of ambush”
Quickly forgotten –
that arrow through your forehead
thanks to my Thief’s Ring
When this lady says
“touch the demon inside me,”
I suggest you do.
The sticky white stuff
is not what you think it is,
you filthy bastard!
A small oversight –
Gecko hides behind vendor
no stabby stabby!
In this distant land,
there are stingrays in the air.
I miss Steve Irwin
After many deaths
there is no ounce of remorse
sniping Flame Lurker
Eighteen thousand souls
taken by a skeleton
around the corner
Thirty thousand souls
lost by rolling off a cliff
Meh, I’ll farm it back
Renewed confidence –
Three arrows and a reaper:
I can has more souls?
Fred, my pet piranha, hates you –
He’s making grumpy faces every time you walk by
and it’s too bad because I think you’ve been a pretty good friend
and I don’t want you to die.
You’d think he’s mostly harmless being stuck in that tank
but you would be wrong
’cause Fred’s been taking classes and he’s very convincing
and you’ll dip your head in the water before long.
He’ll ask you to come over, even bribe you with cookies
and you won’t have a choice but to go
His mom was in marketing, his dad practiced law
and he won best-of-breed at a dog show.
Fred, my pet piranha, hates you –
and very much would like to eat you alive
so I guess it’s best that we just say goodbye
’cause Fred and I are going swimming at five.