Another installment...

...of random quotes I've heard recently in my little space at work (none of them spoken by me, I assure you):

"If I ever become a hooker, I’m not a person--egg me."

"I’ve lost so much respect for you for egging a hooker."

"If that hooker met you in an alley she’d stab you for the 15 cents in your pocket."

"We’re not soulmates any more--deep down inside you’re a hooker egger, and I’m not."

"Asian Mike is good at customer service and that is going to be your downfall"

"I’m going to go donate blood to starving African vampire children"

"I don’t have any grandpas--I deserve a death."

"They’re definitely not rapist glasses; they’re pedo glasses."

"C’mon, throw me a F--in bone, Miniputt."

Not really a post

...but rather just informing that I've updated "Dythandra's" poetry page--much overdue. It's gone from 24 to 38 (if I counted right) entries. You can find the first page here:
http://members.shaw.ca/jpurple01/dythandra.html

The layout of the index still needs a bit of work, but I've made it chronological--you see the newest at the top, rather than the reverse.

Going to see another school's Anything Goes tomorrow--they're doing a slightly different version so it should be interesting to watch after doing it ourselves.

Poetry by Dythandra

Waterloo Averted - A Ballad

My ‘net radio was scant weeks old
When their lawyers found it
"Intellectual property"
They’re chomping at the bit.

To “Dythandra” came the letter
Thanks to my ISP
My mother shook her head and sighed
And passed it on to me

A record label I had wronged
“Dovebludgeon”, the band’s name
They pretend to be all gothic,
But play the corporate game.

Some other bands were also named
The label’s ages old
Their lawyers want to meet with me
If they could be so bold.

Well, it’s just one lawyer, really
Paul Blentwick, LLB
He’ll be here in town next Wednesday
And plans to visit me.

There is one good thing in all this,
I try to keep my cool
They made their case before I moved
The server to my school.

Had that not been the case I fear,
The school board lawyer types
Would play this in the media
And there’d be lots of hype

But this ‘twere best done quietly
And I begin my plan
No school this week, I must prepare
To thwart this lawyer man.

The law library is step one,
Some case law I must check
Information is one thing
That might help save my neck

Then my old albums I peruse,
And find the one I seek
The line “Kill hated siblings all”
Might influence the weak.

From one more of this label’s bands,
When I was only ten
Sold at a concert I’d snuck in
“ ’01 Gothagedden”

Their booth tried to look so hardcore
Albums on a table
Conformity was not for them,
And no Advisory labels.

With case law and cd in hand,
There’s one thing more I seek,
Of all my plans and strategy
This part is the most weak

I’m glad when underneath my bed,
The weathered case I find
The evidence of when they thought
I’d truly lost my mind.

My parents moved me from our home,
A town I thought I loved
Suburban, bland conformity
Was where my soul was shoved

Back then I was in middle school
Precocious they all said
I made a little fairy tale
A brother who was dead.

I photoshopped some photographs
Faked a few news stories
Wrote one for Wikipedia
So sad and oh, so gory.

And then on show and tell one day
My classmates got to hear
I took a knife to brother’s room
And stabbed him in the ear

I held a picture up right then
Some kids began to weep
I said the psych ward for two years,
Was where I got to sleep.

And then they said that I was cured
“We’re starting fresh right here”
I looked, and all around the room,
Kids’ eyes were filled with fear

That was the first of many times
My mom and dad were told
I was a budding psychopath
It really does get old.

And now I’m glad I’ve kept these things,
And also glad to see
That Wikipedia hasn’t cut
The lies made up by me.

In fact, a Google search reveals,
There’s something slightly more
Than seventy assorted links
To my fictitious lore

I add a few facts here and there
To add meat to the tale
Use different ID’s to proclaim
What pushed me past the pale.

‘Twas gothic music dark and bad
That made this child go wrong
She cut up her little brother
Advised by a sick song.

When Wednesday comes, I’m fully clothed,
In scary, leather gear
I smile and introduce him to
The voices that I hear.

I arranged to have this meeting,
A little after lunch
Dad’s still at work; mom drinks upstairs
Her favorite “homemade punch”.

I ask Paul Blentwick, LLB
If there is any way
To meet the band whose instructions
I followed on that day.

I show him the collection of
The things I have prepared,
His voice no longer arrogant,
Starts shaking; he is scared.

He asks if he can step outside,
I nod, his wish is granted
And on his laptop, in his car
Finds evidence I planted.

I see him talking on his phone
A frantic call or two
Then back inside my living room,
Says “Here’s what we can do”.

The settlement was fine with me
Took what they had to give
I’m free to use their music for
As long as I shall live.

That night I tell my listeners
About my little scare
But have no fear; it’s over now
Dythandra’s on the air.

Poetry by Dythandra

Positions Wanted

Internet radio means late nights
And I, already so slow to rise,
Now wearied further
By late night verbal ministrations to my loyal audience.

Public school's near an end
For one such as myself
Yet here are hoops to jump through
And my apathy
Makes such gymnastics difficult.

The counselor looks up warily,
As I saunter in, sit indifferently, pop my gum
And meet her tense smile
With narrowed eyes.

So, (here she speaks my hated name)
It seems we have a problem with your... credits.
You're not in a position to graduate.
I glance at the computer screen she swivels my way.

Of course, if you pass your math class...
She and I both know that math,
Bane of my school life,
And oh so early in the morning
Is an insurmountable obstacle.

So, (she seems a little hesitant)
We need to see what we can do
To put you in a position to graduate.
She keeps repeating that phrase.

I murmur something about positions, too
Alluding to something more... tantric.
The color in her cheeks
Tells me she heard, but chooses to pretend.

She decides my last best hope
Is to saddle some poor teacher
With a less than enthusiastic assistant
It will provide the credit hours
That will free me from this place.

She runs down the options quickly,
Shakes her head at some,
Giggles at another--
I sigh and slump back in my chair.

Then a pause.
What do you know about computers?
Seems the nearly-retired computer teacher
So behind the technological times
Has lost his most able helper.

'Twas actually a North Korean,
And the passport was off a bit
In age as well.
The Homeland Security folks
Took our young foreign student away
When he tried to access missile command
From the school's computer network.

I grab the proffered life preserver
And head down to the tech lab
To get the papers signed.

Serendipity, it seems
When I arrive home that day
To discover our internet provider
Has warned we've reached our bandwith limit
My radio success has overwhelmed our allotment.

Now the school server
Will broadcast my wisdom
To my faithful fans

If only I trusted them enough
To share this delicious irony.

I could have coasted thus, content
To the end and then, escape.

But only three weeks later,
I'm called to account.
Seems one of my most loved record labels
Has tracked me down
And copyright lawyers are coming to visit.

My best battle is yet to come.