It's Been a While

I tried to write.
I went to Starbucks.
I bought a venti iced chai.
I feel like a maximum douche saying/writing that, but that's how to order that drink.

I wrote two of the crappiest limericks. Obviously, I'm a bit rusty (I haven't really written anything in an even longer time than usual).
Nevertheless – to uphold the integrity of Rambling – I shall share them:

Consider the Princess of Rye:
She lives with the pigs in the stye.
Sincerely she reeks
Of potatoes and leeks,
But still she's a grace for the eye. 

I frequent the cheese on the moon.
A return trip is never too soon,
But the gas it does pass
From intestines to ass,
And it never starts later than noon.

I am disappointed with my own subjects, rhymes, word choice, and most everything. Still, I had to start again somewhere.

I made a bunch of other attempts. Thankfully, they didn't make it to full limerick status, so I can excuse excluding them.

Other than that, I rediscovered a marvelous word I created a long while ago:

hu•bblah |hə'blä|
exclamation
A combination of "huzzah" and "blah"; used to express excitement about something that is boring because it does or will replace something that is worse.

I don't know how I lost that gem, but I hope to find an opportunity to use it in the near future.

I don't mind the balmy weather. I'm very glad to have an air conditioner for when I sleep, but I don't quite mind the mugginess during the day. It feels more natural, perhaps nostalgic. It reminds me of forever ago when my family visited Italy. It was suuuuuüüper warm there. It was lovely.

I'm inclined to attempt another limerick or some poem, but I fear it may turn out as lame as my previous ones.

I'm feeling good. I'm feeling hopeful. Things may change, but God is good. This planet is still screwy, and I'm not especially fond of it, but God is good.

I need a water gun so that I can shoot the little tardies that blast crappy music outside my window. I should fill it with something besides water.

Also, for all you stinkers that take offense at any form of the word retard, retard means to "delay or hold back in terms of progress, development, or accomplishment." If there should be any offense, it should be directed toward the people who volitionally choose not to develop.
So stinker off and buy a dictionary.

…or just get an app.

I don't know if you've noticed, but it's super warm.

Bah, lemme try another poem.

Well…
Maybe…
Maybe not…

Vroom.

Woof.

Poop.

My heart needs to wake up more. Maybe. I dunno.

Ehhhhhhhh. I suppose crappy poems are better than no poems (in a personal setting). (Crappy poems do not belong in a book or a movie or in any sort of praised or monetized setting. Stop glutting the poor planet with pathetic poetry – please.)

PLEASE.

Please.

No. I feel too lame to write a poem.
I'll just share a good old one and be done with it:

Cupid
Consider, my friend, the Cupid
Who arrows the faint of heart,
Not ready to love with abandon,
Afraid to risk their part.
He strengthens the wills of the weak
With a dash of piercing fire,
Loos'd from a bow of love
And sunk in the seat of desire.
For eons he's been shooting thus,
A barb for every kiss,
But, with every shaft his aim's been true,
His tragedy is this:
Who will loose a flame for him
And set it in the heart
Of some fair maiden with an eye
For Cupid and his art?
Whose locks can ever he caress?
Whose lips can melt his soul?
Whose fair smile can turn his fears?
Whose kind voice can console?
He has no beaut to sway his thoughts
From ever-arching bows,
And, if such worries trouble him,
No disconcertion shows.
His furrowed brow betrays him not;
He works each gritty day,
But who will ever ask him
For how long his love delays?
So one day you may see his eyes,
Aflame with passions thronging,
But in the corner you may note
A tear of ageless longing.

– Nathan Mark Rudolph, 4/4/2008