I noticed this fully faceted poetic gem by "rhymin shimon" twinkling in the "fuck frumkeit " comment thread and decided to post it in its own little place.
Please note, i've confirmed that some of the facts of life and modes of transportation and parts of the metaphor have been changed to protect the privacy of the prick in the poem and entertain those that have not fallen so deep, that they have lost the ability to laugh hard.
And "rhymin shimon" who apparently has acquired himself a whole religious sounding name is very considerate of others, prick or otherwise.
And I do think "rhymin shimon" his religious name nothwithstanding, deserves a standing ovation and lots of wholehearted accolading/ halo serenading and thank you ing for this poetic piece of iridescent erudition.
I guess the lesson of the evening is, no matter how hard you get fucked in life its best not to fuck back even if that feels better . I'm not sure if praying to G-d to make sure those that have wronged you are fucked for life is ok either.
"Not that there is anything wrong with that"
To the tall frum prick of last thursday yeah you know who the fuck you are oh and the frum rabbi who thinks a little too highly of his dim selfish self -
Fuck You both - May the fake foothold of frumkeit you guys wear so self assuredly fuck you over in unexpected ways.
And as for you tall prick, may your tall tales shorten the shelf life of the respect, you suprisingly command of others.
This goes for the respect you attract for no special reason too.
And may all the tall tales you fabricate and false facts/impressions & images you wish to perpetuate wither like plucked weeds in a hardcore caring flower garden.
I'm just a little sick and tired of sneaky frum pricks and screwballs.
And withou further fuckado here is "Rhymin Shimon's" poetic piece
A man once wore a charcoal suit;
A hat of darkest black.
Yet it pricked his conscience not to
Throw bright crystals off the track.
He would weave her and deceive her
Gaily friendly -- then withdraw
Not fargining jaded loopholes
That the girl collecter saw.
And then this phony faker,
This ebony-clad fraud
Waited for a sneaky chance --
The tzaddik was abroad!
So he threw the crystals out
Stamped them into shards and dust!
And he laughed and stuck his hat on
And took home the frummy bus.
But as he walked from shul to home
That fateful fickle night
Some sparkling challah flour flew
Out from a window, flakey white!
It cascaded 'cross the city
Covered Broadway, east to Park
Then it floated on to Jersey
Like a dusty yoshon spark.
And it landed on a thousand dented Borsalino lids
And some Stetsons and a Roche On some beaver-covered Yids --
And in Boro Park and Flatbush And in Lakewood;
Monsey too Out in crusty old Passaic
And the Five Town through and through
All those up-hats, and the down-hats
All that inky-black-dark felt --
All were coated with that flour Brushes couldn't get it out.
All the broken-hearted black hats
Now were sprinkled flour'y white
But of all the hats in all the towns
Not a one could match the sight
Of that sneaky, sniveling, long-limbed creep
Who had trod that jaded jewel,
Who had worked so hard to make her seem
A vapid silly fool.
But when Jaded tossed the challah dough
Like the ash that Moses threw,
No black head had turned quite so white
As on this phony heartless Jew,
Who went home and brushed and scraped and rinsed
But could not get out that white
Like a plague from ancient times that fell
On one who won't do right.
And 'twas Jaded who baked up that spell
And cursed his dark chapeau
And now she sits and sips a drink
And forgets her curs-ed foe.
Rhymed/Typed and Reasoned by "Rhymin Shimon"
Jaded Topaz disclaimer : any resemblance your tryin to read from this and or connect to any real life pricks is probally purely coincidental.