MASQUERADE

"Whip me!" he hissed.

And they did.

Over

and over

and over

again.

Lulled and drawn in by the

Pulse and the gaze

Of a mass of masqueraded meat,

I, in my "Captain Canada" costume

Bop with 'tude

Under the scaffold,

Oppressed by the random fondlings and thrusts.

Ouch!

She writhes in bondage, gesticulating and snarling.

A coy smile slickly slathered on her face.

Medusa with a giant cobra rising from her reptilian coiffe,

Fidgets with the diaper pin,

Trying to remove the Pampers from a bebe with bib: "I love Mommy."

Another jello-shot, another Wonder Woman fresh from Paradise Island.

hissssssssss from the boy with a whistle and the f-word on his face,

Boss Hog from "The Dukes of Hazzard" hark, I say, HARK said the owl;

C'est le fin de siecle et on sera mort,

Que sera sera, sang Doris Day.

But this poem is not pretentious enough

For the Adams House Masquerade.

Do you DISAGREE?

Obviously not one of us, they say,

Those denizens of the House that doth not speak its name.

Cries of decadence, of le vrai chic,

Of a monopoly on hipness,

Of an unplanned and undeserving mobisme

Randomization come claim it,

Shoot it as you would a noisy peacock.