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The official Delicious Lyrics Challenge (the original DLC!) has come back to PLE for the first time in a decade! This is the ONLY topic officially sanctioned by Baby Satan himself, and is consistently the highest rated midsize forum thread of the last thousand years. The Delicious Lyrics Challenge is to poetry what sex is to wheelbarrows and quantum physics. This is the place where you can let out your postmodern existential angst, demonstrate your arcane mastery of craft in a word soup bravura extravaganza, or deliver a limerick about your dog's prolapsed bladder.
Here's how it works: people leave titles and other people write something (poems, lyrics etc) based on one of those titles. Here are a few to get started, please stop by and leave a title or two for me:
Corn Cob Pipe Bomb Champagne Shoes Away Laughing on a Fast Camel Traitor God Three-Legged Spider
Given that the rise of social media has all but destroyed the niche-interest message board, I expect I may have to do most of the heavy lifting in this topic. I will commit onanism and use some of my own titles.
If you were not all dead, I would write to wish you well. I'd spin silks of my ordeals were you not languishing in hell!
I've carted wheels with starfish mothers, swum with pregnant seahorse dads, my children eat their fleshy brothers and I'll soon be all I have,
I worked a brief stint as a seamstress, it cost an elbow and a knee, I learned to weave like spiders on a mucky jungle breeze,
in a trap of living silver I will pocket your remains, mascara runs as tarantulas through the cobweb of my veins,
like arachnid amputees, I've learned to navigate on threes, triptych limbs curl Dupuytren when life has taken leave.
Ungulates munching on milkweed and spines, merchants look on through needles for eyes, hamstringing camels: the sin they made famous, leave me to pasture at Allah's oasis,
I don't want to eat acacia, I want to eat its meaning, like an infidel pharaoh was buried believing, on a tamarisk breeze, I speak for the weeds, and the Djinn of All Deserts rides bactrian speed, no one beats it in a canter or a stultifying breath, either hump the familiar of travel and death,
en route to meet in punchayets, the pulp of desert succulents, a howling dervish took his turns, offers to idols, twin animal births,
once the Djinni blew his stack upon this dromedary's back, now he's laughing at the withers, and my toes begin to crack, I may idle rough at aquifers, heavy drafts won't pace me yet, I'm hauling ass and bloody hoof prints as I chase down minarets!
While wrestling with an albino eunuch imp at the bottom of a well, I went into an occult trance and sprouted a psychic brain tumor that gave me a vision of this very board returned to its full, bustling glory!