The Tin Whistle Menagerie

You’re like the siren who leads men away,
Thou jest and plays with all their tangled heartstrings.
A face more brilliant then a summers day,
But a heart more black then all of hells six rings.
Enchanted is the fire within your heart,
Which slowly burns all of your lovers to bone;
A passion better wished to never start,
Courting you is worse then being alone.
To know the taste that lies upon your lips,
Is what every man has always dreamt,
To one day dance beside the devils hips,
Would sadly make all of man content.
I know my heart will always be in pain,
Its wrapped too tightly by the sirens chain.

Secret signals we’ll send to the one they call BRowe,

enlightened by proud purple parrots in tow.

For if your mind should escape the last ferry,

then we would all think that your nose is a berry.

Covered on top are the stars staring straight,

to make sure you leave all the gift giving great.

What sense could all of this possibly make?

I haven’t a clue, do you think there’ll be steak?

A message we’ll write to the one they call Barron,

he’ll save us from thought and all the lies we’ve been hearin’.

Ruby red rockets rip roar right round ridge runners road,

under pine pickled peppers we’ll find us a code!

Barron will keep all the strangely strung strings

up high in the attic of his mangled mind rings.

And on nights when the mercury makes the top of glass break

you’ll hear Mr. Barron delight us with cake.

An ode shell be written to the one they call Devers,

he inspires much awe with his many endeavors.

His topical top hat and beer batard bow,

are certainly a spectacle to even his foe.

The sun always greets him with a hardy hello,

and beautiful people cheer up from below.

Now if you don’t believe me then you’ll certainly know,

that MDevers puts inside every one of us, a hoe.

How many times did I tell you not to leave open the window? For that I’m going to make you sit outside in the snow.

How many times did you leave the bathroom light on all night? I think I’ll poke your eyes out and destroy your sight.

I’ll throw you against the wall/

Dislocate your shoulder and I’ll call/

On the support of the chair/

You’ll be gasping for air/

And if you want to fight me then I’ll raise up a glass. Use the blunt end on your forehead on the floor I’ll kick your ass.

Tomorrow I will know/

If I’ll stay or if I’ll go/

Your face will look/

Like the underside of my truck/

“Keep your eyes up and your assholes puckered!”. — from ‘Eraser’

How would one pucker their asshole? What could the benefit even be?

Alls I know, is I love natural dialog. Beautious.

I do hate announcements, but I have some news to share:

As some of our authors are already aware, in the coming weeks we will begin a massive overhaul of The Tin Whistle Menagerie. The new format will be a weekly art magazine that will share the talents of our contributors as well as news, reviews, and artist features. We will also unveil several new community features which will allow our readers to participate in the fun.

In more current news, you may have noticed the brandy new theme we’ve implemented. Unfortunately, we cannot take credit for this one, but it is pretty sweet. One cool new feature, and the primary reason I’m drawing attention to this theme, is the new photoblog section!

AUTHORS: When posting photos, you MUST MUST MUST tag your posts with the tag “photoblog” in order for your pictures to show up in this section.

This new section is really cool and a fun and easy way to scan though the amazing photographs we have on our site, all taken by our talented contributors.

That is all for this announcement.  Until next time, always wash your hands after you shit on them.

Oh she was a looker when she sat on his eye; became outwardly infused with the tenderness, but I mistook her for a soft impression.  Slight enough to save him from an awkward collapse.

But his designer’s a control freak. An Haute Couture of simple black swallows up them inside. With no invasion of the immitation monument, in light of this experiment I’m terrible at lies

She runs her hands along my cheeks and says, “I’m closer now.” Without aversion to the obstacles that stand in front of us and everything we ever stood for.  Now just a stain of purple lipstick on my collar.

But what is this that I have created?

Why do my experiments just end inside a hospital?

This isn’t fucking fair, no I just want to make you scream when I dig my nails so deep into your sides.

So what’s the size?