Might mean something to you...

The Writers' Guild

I used to hate mimes, until I met Biffer on these boards. I wrote the following pre-Biffer, and called it This Mime Is Mine:

Last night, it seems so long ago,
lovely Laura trashed my ego

Basking in her face across the table
more elegant even than Ferarri's grand desserts
amidst our usual persiflage, her designer eyes
suddenly, ominously
began to dodge mine

She was dumping me

No scenes for Laura
not her style
up, off her chair
face frozen into rigid smile
she's out the door and out of my life

Two dozen eyes turned on me
rising up and blurting "Please"
my crumpled napkin upon the floor
glances and whispers in her wake

And me, well past the edge
wildly pulsing, sweat bursting
mind as soused as shirt
He chose this moment,
the damned, double-damned mime

He must have thought the time's for art
I swear these mimes, they are not smart
Up to my table so gracefully
stooped to fetch my napkin upon his knee

His bone white face rendered sad
by garish mouth, eyes with painted tears
he most affectedly
played as if to comfort me

My shock was penetrated before too long
by titters from the jaded throng
Me, his butt? this will not stand
To him, dim ass, his scene was grand

He never really quite did sense
my hands had lost their listlessness
Thin neck too weak for surging rage
our mime had seen his last of days

His face all done in black and white
in death his eyes bright red did light
Tears painted on so poignantly
those blank red eyes stare up at me

and so, dear Laura, what have I done?
You were quite right
to cut and run

JudgementDay Reputation: 97 Level: Superstar Since: Jun 23, 2007	Posted on: June 22, 2008 3:35 pm Score: 95 The Writers' Guild I used to hate mimes, until I met Biffer on these boards. I wrote the following pre-Biffer, and called it This Mime Is Mine: Last night, it seems so long ago, lovely Laura trashed my ego Basking in her face across the table more elegant even than Ferarri's grand desserts amidst our usual persiflage, her designer eyes suddenly, ominously began to dodge mine She was dumping me No scenes for Laura not her style up, off her chair face frozen into rigid smile she's out the door and out of my life Two dozen eyes turned on me rising up and blurting "Please" my crumpled napkin upon the floor glances and whispers in her wake And me, well past the edge wildly pulsing, sweat bursting mind as soused as shirt He chose this moment, the damned, double-damned mime He must have thought the time's for art I swear these mimes, they are not smart Up to my table so gracefully stooped to fetch my napkin upon his knee His bone white face rendered sad by garish mouth, eyes with painted tears he most affectedly played as if to comfort me My shock was penetrated before too long by titters from the jaded throng Me, his butt? this will not stand To him, dim ass, his scene was grand He never really quite did sense my hands had lost their listlessness Thin neck too weak for surging rage our mime had seen his last of days His face all done in black and white in death his eyes bright red did light Tears painted on so poignantly those blank red eyes stare up at me and so, dear Laura, what have I done? You were quite right to cut and run [ Reply to Comment ]
poetz Reputation: 99 Level: Superstar Since: Feb 25, 2007	Posted on: June 23, 2008 9:12 am Score: 96 The Writers' Guild Definition of Philanthropy -the giving back, to the public, a small fraction of what once was stolen from the public [ Reply to Comment ]

JudgementDay

The Writers' Guild

The Writers' Guild

The Writers' Guild