The Prophet Obblonge - Hidden Bonus Messages

Hidden Bonus Messages
Whilst cleaning the phone, I stumbled across some good stuff I had forgotten I had written
Before switching to Truecaller, my phone's default dialer gave me options for quick responses
These were the four I wrote

There are stuffed animals with more personality than you
They are filled with the thread-spun remnants of an asbestos factory located in central Vietnam
Their cracked, staring, reproachful, bake-light eyes menace those who cross their path
You cannot leave a message

Voicemail in the blather it would spill forth I have deemed as unappealing as your mumbled opinions
Gorge yourself upon heaps of refuse
It is surely the appropriate usage for your ingestion port
Pretty good, huh

Short, to the point, timely
How about this one
Where does time go
William Shatner once asked this question, his voice preserved for generations to come

But you caller will nay prove so worthy of recordation
Voicemail in the audio sewage that erupts fetid and gurgling from it
Has not been given the opportunity to make its acrid
Microbe-infested home on my communication device

My ears will never hear, reflecting inward towards my neurons
The plaintive whine of your hot, malodorous breath stutter your disjointed syllables
Inhale steadily the fumes from a belching tailpipe
Wow, name-dropping in that last one

Oh, youth
A quick, quick response
I'll call you later, much later, in the unlit hours just before dawn
At your bedroom window, the silvery strands of your loosed saliva will

Sparkle as they often do in the red LED glow of your digital alarm clock
That one was sexy
And the last
Can't talk now

A Shriner is blocking my path on the sidewalk
Yelling at me in what I'm guessing is a Mongolian dialect
His largish, rotund visage matches his fez in color
Spittle and sweat are dotting my stupid smartphone screen

Did anyone tell you that Mongolia was an actual country
I had not been informed and slighted, I feel
Why was I chosen for this role
To not know that the remnants of Genghis Khan's empire still bore the moniker

I blame you for this
It is fitting that my voicemail is not set up
This fact sets well with you and your cohorts have not told me
Keep your secrets

Let them bore through your cortex as parasites do a doomed host
That was fun
I wonder if I ever actually sent those to anyone
No matter

Written by:
Michael Mackenzie

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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