Gabriel Gudding

Dear Saccus Stercorum
[which, as you know, means Dear Sack of Shit -ed.]

       for Charles

For: On the final day, after you have exhausted all the excuses of your
ignorance, and the charge has abandoned your last attempts at lies,
falsity, and self-deception, then God might clap you in the head -- as a
farmer will strike a pig with a shovel -- and understanding then coming
over you, you will at last comprehend what a long torpor has inflicted
your brian [sic], and how without it you might have written several
excellent books. 

For: There was an Bee, who, flinging himself against his shadow in a
Brooke, did drown, and so washed of his own Enmity, he did sail like a
dark and brittle Bubble, to the general amphitheater of the Sea, where he
was drowned a second time.  Thus first he was sunk from life and second
sunk from the Known;  and now lies twice dead.  Like this Bee, you will
die from the world and drop into oblivion.

For: LIKE YOU, There was a small shameful dog who did tow behind him a
chamberpot stuffed with hollow cans that clanged with each step of a leg
in his quartet of legs -- and yet when he did squat to defecate, he did
fail to use his pot, being without the knowledge how. 

One: That the devil is a lawyer and a police OFFICER. TWO: That a brick
might fit in your butt and an arrow vacation peacefully in your eye. THREE
that you have not remained quiet despite the general impairment of your
mind and the consequent opacity of your intellect which has caused the
village to pity and hate you.  FOUR I have seen you oddly scrutinize the
genitals of Cats, Lizards, and Beetles. For FIVE from your nose pends a
yellow wet bean. For SIX I find once again that I am being mildly
brilliant, which I say out of honestie and perspicacity.  For SEVEN in his
chest a crew of mad babboons singing in protest against the wind, in his
butt 12 donkeys discussing abstrucities, in the violet chamber of his
pee-pee a Fruitless Clam trying to compose a whalesong.  For SEVEN the
testicles of the Beaver are very puffy. For EIGHT I would more expect a
Pigeon to tote a rifle than a wise syllable issue from your cheesepipe. 
For NINE as your nose is packed with error I advise you to pick it often.
For TEN just as all things in the sea are mute, excepting the whale and
the dolphin, both of whom are stupid and deranged, so also are you a very
ugly ungulate.  For TWELVE the lake trout is not a furious animal, for
which I APOLOGIZE that you have the mental capacity of the Anchovy. 
For TEN yes the greatest of your sisters facial pimples did outweigh a
Turkey.  For SIXTEEN you are a buttock. Indeed you are the balls of the
bullock and the calls of the peacock; SEVENTEEN you are the horsey in the
paddock near the bullock and the peacock; you are the futtock on the keel
and the fetlock (or the heel) of the horsey in the paddock: indeed EIGHTEEN
you are the burdock on the fetlock and the beetle on the burdock and the
mite on the beetle on the burdock on the fetlock of the horsey in the
paddock and the padlock of the gate of the paddock of the bullock and the
peacock.  Thus NINETEEN with you I am fed-up, O buttock. TWENTY You are
Prufrock. And I am Wild Bill Hickock at a roadblock with the wind in my
forelock and a bullet in my flintlock. You are Watson I am Sherlock.
TWENTY-ONE You are the hillock I am the hill I am Hitchcock, O Buttock. You
are Cecil B.  DeMille.  For TEN I forgot HADDOCK. Yes he hath thrown a
squirrel at me which came flapping through the air like a disjointed
hairbrush. For TWENTY-TWO I will clean his nose with a bundle of flaming
spikenard. And TWENTY-THREE I remember that in my left hand is a hefty
badger. I shout "Caw!" and lob the writhing claw-box at him. Pull out of
thy head a judge to convict me, and from thy butt a prince to chase me
with virile dogs. If you must. For TWENTY-TWO I was eating Vulture Beast
Cream, I was eating Lippy Dung Corn and I said "Your ugly dog is very
ugly." (For he is). For TWENTY-NINE and that is when I turned and a
snowflake banged into my eye like a rusty barge and I killed your gloomy
dog with a mitten.  For I have bombed your cat and stabbed it. FOUR I am
the ambassador of this wheelbarrow and you are the janitor of a dandelion.
Indeed, you are a teacher of great chickens, for you are from the town of
Fat Blastoroma, O tawdry realtor. Furtle putt-loo. For THIRTY, yes THIRTY
You have an achey knee which is where I clubbed your achey and pompous
knee. I shoot your buffalo, may you be hanged by the upper lip and somehow
burned in a canoe.

For you are the jape the fool 
                        the jerk the dip,
                                        the dope the dunce
                        the shit the fuck
                                        the turd the tard
                        the dip the dope the dunce the putz
                the dick the fart the cunt the tit

And so I wash my hands of it that your skull is Abomination's peanut,
and that your brain is the Dingleberry of Reason.

                All best, Guttapercha Bunsen