Twitter, And The Poetry Of Arsepuke

Before I get into the Bum Vomit Poetry that inspired this post, here’s why Twitter is awesome. I dont know if anyone’s blogged about Twitter yet, or their feelings about it, so if this is too groundbreaking / pioneering, please take a few minutes to prepare yourself.
To best illustrate my changing relationship with Twitter, here is a conversation between 2009 me and 2008 me.
2008 Log: Twitter, I dont get it
2009 Log: That’s because youre a fucking dick
Two weeks later
2008 Log: No hang on, I’ve thought of a reason now, it’s a symptom of the pervasive whittling of thinks, the stupidification of humanity, the unstable egotism of anyone who can’t keep a fucking thought to themselves
2009 Log: Oh yeah, I noticed they weren’t making books any more, and every other communication channel has been legally limited to 140 characters, you fucking dick. And who’s the cunt who thought it was worth telling the world that a he shit on his own dad?
2008 Log: That wasnt me, it was him
2007 Log: Dont bring me into this, I’ve never even heard of Twitter
With Twitter, I have watched my friends casually interact with celebrities, with my mouth right-angle agape. Like a dog who’s watching some cats being naughty and wants to join in – but is too nervous about the possibility of human disapproval – I looked from the cats (my friends) to the humans (celebrities), and waited for the rolled-up newspapers to come out.
Then, when I saw the humans reach out and stroke (reply to) the playful kittens, I lost control and thundered in, sending ropes of drool flying up the walls. “IS ARDAL O’HANLON NICE, I BET HE’S A CUNT REALLY” I shrieked at Graham Linehan, in response to his link to a harrowing article about the Iranian Election. “WAS THAT MAN REALLY A PEEDO” I bellowed at Armando Iannuci, as he disclosed news of an arthritic toe.
So now, I’m fully in with the hip bunch, and it’s all thanks to Twitter. And now, to my point.
Following back anyone who seems like they’re a human, it’s also introduced me to the poetry of a man called Mike. On Twitter, he’s mikeisbrill, and when he used the phrase Carry On Wearing My Anus Like A Balaclava, I had to take ten minutes out of the day to imagine how the eyeholes in an anal balaclava would work.
Gouging out holes in the tract of a man wouldnt, obviously, help you see. Instead, it would allow the mans guts to press more directly against your eyes. If, gods spare us all, your eyes were open, the constricting pressure would prevent you closing them – your pupils swivelling helplessly against the liver of your host.
And then, theres the mouth-slot. A full anal balaclava, I’m fairly sure, would drive even a robust man to vomit. But that brought up its own set of logistical problems. Crafting a human anus into a gut balaclava, as desirable as that immediately sounds, is beginning to look like more trouble that its worth.
Sensing that there was unexplored beauty in this situation, I immediately demanded a poem – and that’s exactly what I got. So, basically this is the longest link to a poem youll ever read.

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