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Pastimes : Calling all SI Poets -- Ignore unavailable to you. Want to Upgrade?

To: gypsy who wrote (1595)	6/21/1998 11:23:00 AM
From: Binder	Read Replies (1) \| Respond to of 2095

Gypsy, I have a second or third cousin who was a Greek Belly dancer. In her time, she was the absolute best, but over time, she sunk into a deep depression which led her to massive weight gain. (She weighed at least 400+) However, she continued to belly dance, and even won several competitions despite her massive size. (No lie, as children, my sister and I measured her while she was sleeping, and she was literally wider than she was tall.) So, I suppose some people do like larger women, and that is perfectly fine. There is someone for everyone. Good Luck to you :-) Binder

To: gypsy who wrote (1595)	6/27/1998 1:52:00 AM
From: Jim S	Read Replies (1) \| Respond to of 2095

Ode to a dead cat-- Ode is like odor, I know it so well She thought it important, for me her to smell. She wanted to caress me, in feline slime to spread to cover my pantsleg, with her tail up when fed. She was just fine in catching a household pest but lacked a lot for reason of doing her duty best. I fed her for many years, well, maybe one in truth, and what did she do for me? Gave me a packet of crap, kittens so uncouth. And then one day, some hamburger I went to thaw, and there she was, hiding with tooth and claw. She lept upon the meat, frozen and full of chill, and knocked it to the ground, to feed and fill her fill. To check upon my supper, outside I did go And there she was, supping on my dough. In anger, I whipped out my thirty eight, And popped off three rounds, her soul there to take. She split out northbound, tail mighty low, flipping sideways as hot lead came too close. Well, later, thinking all was done, I began to meditate On all that had been done; was I rash, or was it fate, That stinky cat became, a monument to human waste, A sad and singular pause, to humanity's special taste. Well, woe is me, she got the best, for all that happened, she won the test. The bitch crawled under the house, her life there to end My bullets having struck their mark, the body beyond mend. And so she died, under my house, in the insulation where I dare not feel, but still I cannot find, despite the flies and smell, the leftovers of that goddammed cat who condems my life to hell. Cheeze, it stinks! jim