The love story of Crime: a poem.“What great mystery must I solve now?” said the great and proud city detective.The love story of Crime: a poem. by WAFB
“A murder case? Arson? Robbery? Conspiracy? Be what it is and what it wants to be, and I shall do.”
The city was dark, brutish and stone cold. On every corner on every street lied a new potential offence against this grand plane in turmoil.
Every minute of every single day, crime poked its dreadful head out of the stinking, rat infested sewers. Be it pick pocketing or homicide; small bush fires to grand arson; joy ridding to bank robbery.
All of this had one and only one source, Crime; the greedy, egocentric, sadistic maniac. No one liked Crime and Crime loved everyone.
Everyone wanted rid of Crime, but crime can’t be destroyed, it can only be held back and calmed, like a teen in his tantrum.
When all hope was lost, and it seemed as if Crime had won for the day, He came to the rescue.
Using his advanced skill of deduction and logic, with an expertise in forensics and a g
Axiomatic principle of satire: clause IIIAs one writes on the subject of art; the creativity, the ultimate subject of art becomes the art, and thus, the writer is united with that of which he had written and/or visualized. This includes the art of music, depending on one’s taste, of course.Axiomatic principle of satire: clause III by WAFB
said the [unnamed] aesthetics professor in one of his lectures; sardonically of course, to mock his academic opponents.
As one of his rivals was secretively attending his lecture, the Mathematician, stood up in protest, proclaiming the following with great disgust.
All the points you make, while somewhat truthful, solves no actual scientific problems. You might as well be lecturing in the ‘you-know-who-section’. Just hand your students over to me and allow me to enlighten them in the majesty that is science.
To which the aesthetics professor replied.
Oh yeah, well you’d better start by enlightening me with actual, applicable facts on your subject of thought.
And so, the two professors, both of whom have PhD
axiomatic satire: Clause IIA word, even with a meaning, has neither juice nor sensationalism.axiomatic satire: Clause II by WAFB
William's axiomatic principles of satire: clause IIt was midnight; a man had just finished writing his letter to his loved one, Juan Lopez III. The letter read: “Dearly beloved” contained the sentence “Oh I lust for your tender, warm, touch”, and ended with “with you at the side of my heart and soul”.William's axiomatic principles of satire: clause I by WAFB
Juan Lopez had received this letter only but a month later; thrills ensued soon after. Juan Lopez soon replied to his gay lover with a letter of great passion, of course, not mentioning his or his lover’s name.
Not soon after Juan Lopez sent his letter to his lover; another man had also sent a letter, to his lover, Sophia.
The letter contained the sentences: “my beautiful rose” to “the core to my supernova”; ending with “it was love to connect us.” Sophia had received this letter of our second stud. She, just like the latter mentioned Juan Lopez, received the thrills to come along with it and likewise, wrote a passion filled letter for her lover.
In comes our a
Oops, I burnt your mum, Page 1, short story.Another soggy day loomed in the doldrums. As I slammed my sad excuse of a text book down on my desk, I contemplated how wonderful today could have been, if I had not slipped on a mathematics book and tumbled straight into a puddle. How did I know it was a maths book? I went back to throw a tantrum at the cursed object that had caused my accident. Why do we study this subject again? Maths? What sort of baboon came up with that… thing? Blerh. I am practically soaked through and it's with no thanks to that book. I have picked it up to exact vengeance on its mortal paperback soul later. But I suppose before I get a chance to do that I ought to drag my sorrowful carcass through another six and a bit hours of supposed learning in this attempted educational facility. Stupid really. More like an assorted jail for good- for- nothing youngsters like me. Waste of my bloody time, energy and… someone's touching me…Oops, I burnt your mum, Page 1, short story. by Kerberos-668
"G'd mornin', Corky! Hey, did you finish your math-"
"Garh! Don't touc