You make the art here.
Get your head out of your ass.
Fear God. Then create.

Here there is no art.
I think I've said that before.
No one believes me.

I do not

Give that girl some mustard!

The penis is a hot dog.

The Grinch has dog penis.

The dog has grinch feet

Even though I

With each somersault
I release diarrhea
Look, I made a trail

Doc. Darth Figpucker
His Haiku can cure the sick
Stop Diarrhea

Do midgets have big dicks?
Or do they just look bigger
On midget body

YOU give her cunnilingus.

It only lets me write one line of haiku

Give your wife cunnilingus

I have diarrhea

Are midgets

Are midgets

Wanted to goose you
Make your neck hairs stand on end
Maybe something else

Just want a smidgen
I guess I need new sandals
You hear me creepin

I can smell Jesus
Like a hot musky tiger
Prowling for my soul

I rigged all the votes.
President Figpucker has
a nice ring to it.

Starkitten, you'd just
need a small strap on green bean.
She would never know.

I'm so excited
about vote-rigging and fraud
Bring it on, twinkies

Sorry. HIS fat wife...
Or should I say "Rubenesque".
No penis. Got it.

I can't fuck your wife
I'm a woman. Have no penis.
She'd know the difference

Your fat horny wife
Waits in vain for your Haiku.
(Your well-placed Haiku . . .)

My fat horny wife is waiting for me to come to be and I'm not in the mood to hump a sack of lard right now so I'm staying up pretending to work but instead really just writing shit on here so I don't have to pound the pig tonight and smell that fat woman sweat and I wish she would get really drunk so I'd just pay someone else to fuck her and she'd think it was me. Starkitten, you want some extra cash? I'd ask Cuntfart Cunt, but Jesus, diseases, you know.

I'd be shit-faced drunk,
Lying in my own vomit.
But no, calculus.

And sadly, of course,
if you read my haiku, then
you can smell my corpse.

What's amazing is
that when I read your haiku,
I can see your corpse.

It is nothing new.
When I look in the mirror
I see my own corpse.

One, two, three, four, five.
Count them! Five. Five Syllables!
MWAH HAH HAH HA HAAAH!

*Boom crackle crash*

Severed limbs still twitch;
Wet blood sprayed on walls,clotting . . .
You see your own corpse

We love Haiku more
than life itself. Look within:
Empty eye sockets

Drink from filthy skull!
Drink fresh blood of bad haiku.
Golden hordes rampant.

I alone remain
Surveying Haiku corpse-mound:
stench of foul verses

Quiet on the front.
Time to reload Haiku guns.
Bad verse: shoot to kill

Stop writing Haiku?
Pry phone from my cold dead hands.
I'll write from the grave.

Did I mention TRUMP?
The greatest statesman ever:
The Orange green light!

Nationalism:
It's the new globalism
So suck it, Lemon

Orange Donald juice
With a big bag of Cheetos:
crunch crunch crunch crunch YES!

Will kill for Orange.
Worse yet: will write bad haiku.
Fear the coming storm!

Orange! Orange or
Plunge into globalist hell...
More Orange please, sir.

Your/my only hope:
Cheeto administration.
Bow to Orange Man!

The syllables count.
That Oriental craftsmanship.
Haiku is SO dull.

You're wrong, vhs.
Since when did anything work?
Entropy is Lord.

Haiku go kaka

I

I

I