I usually keep track of inventory,
stocking up on the essentials
such as sugar and caffeine
and much needed pantry items
like rest, patience, and nice.

Well, an abrasive gentleman before me
missed a num lock cue and concluded
that the keyboard was busted.
Deep within my soul, I searched –
Do you have any Nice?

Fresh out, my friend.
You used it all two hours ago
and you forgot to get some more.
Low on rest and patience, too –
I suggest you find a bunker.

Impossible, I thought,
but memory betrayed me,
sneaking bitterness in my grocery bag
when I had procured some Nice.
That vengeful bastard.

Can you make some Nice instead?
Brilliant, Fukui San
but the secret ingredient is trout –
I suggest you slap him with it.
Memory has been reading IRC logs again.

Hell-o! I said your keyboard is BUSTED.
Are you deaf or just retarded?
Calm blue ocean shark infested
hiding sunken ships and bodies –
scumbag pirates. Calm, peaceful ocean.

Hey! Your keyboard is busted!
And your machines are damn slow
I am wasting my time here
and you are no help –
Sticking to his talking points.

Peaceful meadow, quiet breeze
with soft sunlight on my face
and pollen triggering allergies
with sneezing and discomfort.
Face it, kiddo — out of Nice.

Sir, I suggest knowing number lock
lest you find me busting that keyboard
by typing qwerty on the back
of your thick skull. I asked my soul
and he said I was out of Nice.

Definition of indignant stupidity.
Yes, the machines are slow
Yes, you are one ugly moron
and it seems neither of us
can remedy either situation.

Instead I walked over, pressed a key
enabling numlock and quietly stepped away,
scraping on the pantry shelf for
a grain or two — the only thing to do
when your soul runs out of Nice.

I am no life of the party,
my humor cold and dry
nobody ever seems to laugh
since my pranks go awry
I find it very difficult
to try and make amends
but as a necromancer,
I am always making friends.

I make for awkward conversation –
my interests arcane
and some folks wonder loudly
if I am legally insane.
I’m sure it wasn’t personal
when one rogue called me a witch
so I summoned forth his mother’s bones
and pimped her as my bottom bitch.

Others are more violent –
with my death in their plans
which I render as amusing
by causing them to dance
then we see who’s a pariah
for when this story ends
I’d have cast a strong enchantment
that suggests he kill his friends.

He loves Hawaiian bread
He drowned Estoceans dead,
He tweets his words to a flock of birds
And he cordially answers to “Fred”

His pet piranha shares the name
And his desire to kill and maim
They talk with pride of genocide
As the path to glorious fame

He had assumed none would survive
yet one Estocean is left alive
Task incomplete, back on his feet
“A quick hit job, I’ll be home by five.”

No, this was my space –
a place for the unpopular, uncool, outcasts.
This was a sacred place of solitude,
a space of information
interesting to myself and a few others.

We were shunned as geeks, called nerds,
picked on for playing video games,
mocked for spending our free time
in front of a computer.
You were so proud that you had lives.

Now look at you with your Halo and Madden
All cool and popular with your iPods
and that teeny tiny knowledge you proudly
call computer literacy.
No, this was my space.

Instead of being with all of you,
I chose this space. I belonged.
I expressed myself to peers who understood
because they too wanted nothing to do with you
and none of you were here.

Now here you are, shallow as ever,
invading my space with your social life,
crying about how nobody understands you
while still picking on the geeks and nerds.
You can go to hell.

Here you are with your OMGs and LOLs,
all-caps and your AOL. You talk hardware
’cause you’re a gamer, which is suddenly acceptable.
You double click on something and call it hacking.
You bastardize my space and call it your own.

Yes, I am bitter and I can’t expect you to understand –
you’re much too dense for something like this
but if you’re so damn cool, so damn popular
then why do you still feel so empty?
What are you doing in my space?

I am dust and I can’t help but feel a little dusty
Pounded down on the ground after a Chuck Norris Roundhouse
Kick to the face and there you were again with the watching
and the hands-off mentality.  Here I was getting my spine
ripped off like some Mortal Kombat Fatality and I’m
supposed to kneel down and tell you “thanks for having me?”
I think we’ve got this backwards and to paraphrase Trent –
Somebody owes someone a great big apology and I’m not so sure
If I’m the one who should say sorry.  Sure, I bought into the lie –
How you’re more awesome than Superman…and Superman can fly!
They threw words around like omnipotent and omnipresent
So you must have watched them fight against The Star and Crescent,
Watched people suffer and die throughout the centuries, so for someone
with all that power, I’m not impressed and I can’t understand
why you can’t lend a bigger hand.  “To whom much has been given,
much will be required” wrote Luke, divinely inspired — but you’ve
got everything, Jack, and nobody holds you accountable
even though your inaction is quite palpable.
Today, you remind people that they are dust –
some sort of reality check to keep your sheep in check.
To that I say “You are pixie dust”
and I’ve got news for you, Tinker Bell –
I’m not Peter Pan.

There is a winter happiness, a celebration known –
an air of joy and gladness that chills me to the bone.
A little boy would grow up to say “they know not what they do”
On the day they said “Tang Na” he thought it was me and you.

“Tang Na Mo! Tang Na Mo!” They watched him suffer then
and so in turn, he watches over the suffering of men.
“Tang Na Mo! Tang Na Mo!” Haven’t we suffered long enough?
Two thousand years of sorrow just seems a little rough.

Do you really sit there watching everyone you know die
or are they all believers in a poorly fabricated lie?
I’m hell-bound for the acts I failed to do and things I cannot know.
Get off your ass and help us out. Until then, Tang Na Mo.

[note: this parody was written in the early 90's]

There’s a place by the seas
where the people dream of peace
rather than one whole world that kills each other.
Take a knife, go outside
there’s no place that they can hide,
kill them all and forget that they’re your brothers.
There are people dying;
If you care enough, kill the living.
Save a lot of space…kill the human race.

Kill the world — make it a better place
for you and for me and the anti-human race.
There are people dying;
If you care enough, kill the living.
Make a better place for you and for me.

Need a change of the pace?
Send a killer to this place.
Bring them all, we’ll have fun in here together.
Kill for love, kill for hate,
we shall blame their deaths on fate.
Kill the world with a soul light as a feather.
Now the world is crying;
If you care enough, kill the living.
Make a better place…kill the human race.

Kill my friend, I’ll kill yours.
Kill them all with brutal force.
Destroy all who oppose the main objective.
Take a knife, bring a gun,
then together we’ll have fun.
Kill for death, claim destruction as your motive.
We’ve had people frying,
you can go ahead burn the living.
‘Til there’s not a trace…
kill the human race.

We used to go out to the movies
then for a while we didn’t talk
because you said I killed your sister
when I delivered a fancy clock.

The explosion gave me powers –
now I can glow electric red
but half the city hates me, dear,
and the other half is dead.

I tried to save you from that rooftop –
I heard you screaming as you fell.
If only you had yelled for me sooner…
And YOU’RE pissed off? Man, what the hell?

The remnants of my heart were shattered
As you condemned me with your dying breath,
though what is one more victim slain
by one who caused so much death?

I am confused by all of this –
Having chosen to be evil, killed a lot –
Forced to help ungrateful people
just to advance the story’s plot.

I spent four hours killing reapers
and beating Sasha in a fight
only to later do her bidding for evil karma
something about that just doesn’t seem quite right.

Here’s something you must comprehend –
I have CHOSEN TO BE EVIL, not merely misunderstood.
The only way this game makes any sense
Is if I played Cole McGrath as “Good.”

I can tell from that frown that the world has got you down –
all this anxiety and stress has got you all depressed
but my friend, it’s not too late — soon you will be feeling great

if only you had faith like Bill and put your trust in God
’cause it’s your own free will that makes this whole thing odd
You know he’s the boss but that’s a line he will not cross
though if you just ask him for a hand, I’m sure he’d understand
if only you had faith like Bill and chose to follow God.

There are some things you can’t avoid like finding yourself unemployed
and though the kids don’t get enough to eat, you shouldn’t sit there in defeat
’cause my friend, it’s not too late — soon you will be feeling great

You’ve found you can no longer hide from famine, rape, and genocide
It’s your fault you have it rough ’cause you don’t worship hard enough
but my friend, it’s not too late — soon you could be feeling great

Your heart must have sunk when you heard your child was run over by a drunk
and God could have kept him from harm — that dead child in your arms
but my friend, it is too late — life would have been just great

Another year for the immortals
With celebrations to conduct
And future members to annoint –
To triumphantly instruct

In our secret cult of cults
That raise unwilling men
From their decaying slumber –
Snatched from the Lion’s den.

The horrors from their faces still
Echoing in darkness of a past century
These actors in ancient entertainment
Bring us all our revelry.

So pour the wine, my dear,
And watch the disemboweled writhe in pain
For dying is an immortal’s pleasure
And the beauty of the insane.