Correspondent:: Tartarus Sanctus Date: Wed, 26 Jan 2005 09:37:03 -0700
--------
Oh, the Slackful soul is a marshmallowey soul
As fluffy as the day is long
It floats in the air
And gets tangled in the hair
Like a bat in a gold sarong
But the Christian soul is as dark as the night
And as heavy as a dumpling in the quay
It drags on the ground
Like the ballsack of a hound
And its mustache is in disarray
Chorus:
Tartarus Sanctus, Tartarus Sanctus
Oh the weaves are calling you
Hot as the Nair
That defestered all your hair
And poetic as a concrete stew
Reprise:
Oh, the hoary old souls of the men of Chanterel
Dance a jig on the graves of the pink
But the Limeys in the well
By the surly gates of Hell
Make a scrimshaw while they pour another drink
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Tartarus
Correspondent:: HellPope Huey Date: Thu, 27 Jan 2005 01:28:19 GMT
--------
In article <41f7c6db$1@nntp.zianet.com>,
Tartarus Sanctus wrote:
> Oh, the Slackful soul is a marshmallowey soul
> As fluffy as the day is long
> It floats in the air
> And gets tangled in the hair
> Like a bat in a gold sarong
>
> But the Christian soul is as dark as the night
> And as heavy as a dumpling in the quay
> It drags on the ground
> Like the ballsack of a hound
> And its mustache is in disarray
>
> Chorus:
>
> Tartarus Sanctus, Tartarus Sanctus
> Oh the weaves are calling you
> Hot as the Nair
> That defestered all your hair
> And poetic as a concrete stew
>
> Reprise:
>
> Oh, the hoary old souls of the men of Chanterel
> Dance a jig on the graves of the pink
> But the Limeys in the well
> By the surly gates of Hell
> Make a scrimshaw while they pour another drink
You know what's really so good about this? I imagined Tom Waits singing
it. THAT'S how good it really is. I am so pleased.
--
HellPope Huey
When she brought out the chicken,
he knew it had become sexual
"When that climax lightning bolt
comes roaring down your loins,
there's only one thing on your mind:
Why in the hell is everybody else on this bus
starin' at me?"
- Dennis Miller, "I Rant, Therefore I Am"
"The fact that the portion of your brain
that governs your sexual drive
is being eaten away by spirochetes
is no basis upon which to begin a relationship."
- "House"
Correspondent:: König Prüß, GfbAEV Date: Thu, 27 Jan 2005 01:59:11 GMT
--------
HellPope Huey wrote:
>In article <41f7c6db$1@nntp.zianet.com>,
> Tartarus Sanctus wrote:
>
>> Oh, the Slackful soul is a marshmallowey soul
>> As fluffy as the day is long
>> It floats in the air
>> And gets tangled in the hair
>> Like a bat in a gold sarong
>>
>> But the Christian soul is as dark as the night
>> And as heavy as a dumpling in the quay
>> It drags on the ground
>> Like the ballsack of a hound
>> And its mustache is in disarray
>>
>> Chorus:
>>
>> Tartarus Sanctus, Tartarus Sanctus
>> Oh the weaves are calling you
>> Hot as the Nair
>> That defestered all your hair
>> And poetic as a concrete stew
>>
>> Reprise:
>>
>> Oh, the hoary old souls of the men of Chanterel
>> Dance a jig on the graves of the pink
>> But the Limeys in the well
>> By the surly gates of Hell
>> Make a scrimshaw while they pour another drink
>
> You know what's really so good about this? I imagined Tom Waits singing
>it. THAT'S how good it really is. I am so pleased.
>
Yeah, that crossed my alleged mind, too.
But also the sort of spooky aspect of some of the
Native Amerind Arborijinal songs--maybe that's
an element of Tom Waits that I've heretofor missed;
and I like the chanty part, anything with scrimshaw,
jigs, concertinae, drinking, and salty pirate stuff
like that there.
Correspondent:: HellPope Huey Date: Thu, 27 Jan 2005 05:31:53 GMT
--------
In article ,
König Prüß, GfbAEV wrote:
> Yeah, that crossed my alleged mind, too.
> But also the sort of spooky aspect of some of the
> Native Amerind Arborijinal songs--maybe that's
> an element of Tom Waits that I've heretofor missed;
> and I like the chanty part, anything with scrimshaw,
> jigs, concertinae, drinking, and salty pirate stuff
> like that there.
and the songs about waving your dork at nuns, don't forget those.
--
HellPope Huey
When she brought out the chicken,
he knew it had become sexual
"When that climax lightning bolt
comes roaring down your loins,
there's only one thing on your mind:
Why in the hell is everybody else on this bus
starin' at me?"
- Dennis Miller, "I Rant, Therefore I Am"
"The fact that the portion of your brain
that governs your sexual drive
is being eaten away by spirochetes
is no basis upon which to begin a relationship."
- "House"
Correspondent:: Tartarus Sanctus Date: Thu, 27 Jan 2005 20:08:08 -0700
--------
HellPope Huey wrote:
> In article ,
> König Prüß, GfbAEV wrote:
>
>
>> Yeah, that crossed my alleged mind, too.
>>But also the sort of spooky aspect of some of the
>>Native Amerind Arborijinal songs--maybe that's
>>an element of Tom Waits that I've heretofor missed;
>>and I like the chanty part, anything with scrimshaw,
>>jigs, concertinae, drinking, and salty pirate stuff
>>like that there.
>
>
> and the songs about waving your dork at nuns, don't forget those.
With a nice Irish lilt, boys, if you please...
And in the evening, after mass
When by our door the nunnes did pass
All starched and solemn, flavored by
The sweet and smoky censer
We'd slip the buttons from our cods
Communicate by winks and nods
And from the shadows burst together
Wagging, waving, misbehaving
Showing off the randy leather
If nothing else you do in life,
If ye canna' take a wife
Or kill for King and Country fair,
When nunnes go by, ye should not tarry
Unfasten now your Good Prince Harry
And bring him out, by Dobbs, to breathe
The good refreshing evening air
++++++++++++++++++++++++
Tartarus
Correspondent:: John Starrett Date: Thu, 27 Jan 2005 11:36:01 -0700
--------
Tartarus Sanctus wrote:
> Oh, the Slackful soul is a marshmallowey soul
> As fluffy as the day is long
> It floats in the air
> And gets tangled in the hair
> Like a bat in a gold sarong
>
> But the Christian soul is as dark as the night
> And as heavy as a dumpling in the quay
> It drags on the ground
> Like the ballsack of a hound
> And its mustache is in disarray
>
> Chorus:
>
> Tartarus Sanctus, Tartarus Sanctus
> Oh the weaves are calling you
> Hot as the Nair
> That defestered all your hair
> And poetic as a concrete stew
>
> Reprise:
>
> Oh, the hoary old souls of the men of Chanterel
> Dance a jig on the graves of the pink
> But the Limeys in the well
> By the surly gates of Hell
> Make a scrimshaw while they pour another drink
>
> ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
> Tartarus
Oh, your verse made Huey laugh, but it suffers from a gaffe
That a reader may not easily discern
The word you spelt as "quay"
Should really rhyme with "me"
You ignorant and useless little worm
And I mean that only in the nicest and most supportive way.
John Starrett
Correspondent:: U. M. Zaporets Date: Thu, 27 Jan 2005 16:38:30 -0700
--------
On Thu, 27 Jan 2005 11:36:01 -0700, John Starrett
wrote:
> And gets tangled in the hair
>> Like a bat in a gold sarong
I endorse this metaphor with the Giant Rubber Stamp of Approval.