Frequent commenter (and BDSM freak) alexthechick asks - I have an Ask A Moron question - just when the hell am I going to get my unicorn farm?

Short answer, you have to vote for the Messiah, duh.  Unicorn farms spring forth wherever he steps.

Long answer, well, the epic tale of alexthechick and her unicorn farm was told in the poem Quest for Moronia of which I provide a condensed version below*:

In order to keep Ask A Moron a regular feature I need questions from you, the readers. Please put your questions, any question at all, in the comments or e-mail them to me at chaos -dot- overlord -at- gmail -dot- com.

Lo, praise the prowess of people queens,
of whip armed dames with hot boys' names,
they quick of wit quick with ample brains,
famed alex dreamt of unicorns,
set forth from home to gain the means,
to combine in life riding and horns.

Onward, to Moronia where the unicorns play,
guided by forces much greater than luck,
Val-U-Rite vodka and the word fuck,
alex set forth her challenge inspiring,
whip in hand her safety word pray,
walking in thighhigh boots was tiring.

In transit encountered a hippie most foul
his countenance shabby his behavior unruly
from even great distance the smell of patchouli
With expertise daunting she whipped him bare
sprayed him with soap and handed a towel
Crying and ass-chapped she left him there.

While crossing a bridge a truther she found
ranting and raving he posited questions
no matter what logic he rejected suggestions
that perhaps it was saner to blame the fanatics
fed up with his crazy his balls she did pound
much skill involved with high heel acrobatics.

In forest her path was blocked by an Obamite
standing legs akimbo giving the sign of the goatse
"Hopey changey change hope, you'll see!"
Fighting back nausea she struck deep and true
With a dose or reality his delusions she did smite
She stepped over his fetal and bid him adieu.

Nearing Moronia she encountered a spider.
She fucking ran away.

After three days backtracking she came to a clearing
from which she could see her holy destination
where drinkers and shutins had created a nation
to see her run quickly in heels was a sight
the embrace of fellow morons she knew she was nearing
her mug was soon to be filled with Val-U-Rite

Onward, to Moronia where the unicorns play,
guided by forces much greater than luck,
Val-U-Rite vodka and the word fuck,
alex set forth her challenge inspiring,
whip in hand her safety word pray,
walking in thighhigh boots had been tiring.

* - Two things.  Man, are these ABBCAC rhyming schemes a fucking bitch.  Second, have I officially become the Jack M. of DPUD?  If so, where's my tutu and restraining order?

Posted by: Moron Pundit at 09:33 AM | Comments (15) | Add Comment
Post contains 478 words, total size 3 kb.