Alderach gave me a few details and, well, I just added a few. Apparently, some of this is true!
The Chemistry of Alderach
The school was filled with flexing minds,
Burgeoning with self-worth,
Stoked by the very latest technologies,
And the finest instructors on this earth.
But the jewel in the academic crown,
Plain for all to see,
Was the laboratory devoted to science,
More specifically chemistry.
Eager young students assembled expectantly,
Chemical prepped and measured,
The equipment the best available,
For this endeavour was highly treasured.
But Alderach had other ideas,
Roaming through his head,
He thought he’d turn the tables,
Having the instructor blow stuff up instead.
With artful cunning he manipulated,
Cajoled and for a while,
He used his wiles to cunningly convince,
He used his words to beguile.
His instructor was totally mesmerised,
Mixing substances with aplomb,
All the time oblivious,
To his gradually constructed bomb.
Alderach slid silently down,
Underneath his bench,
As the last chemical joined it’s peers,
And released the awful stench.
It rocketed around the room,
Outside it killed the roses,
It stained green all the students,
And burnt the hair from their noses.
It clung to every fabric and surface,
Leaping like a creature feral,
It blinded everyone still conscious,
And rendered every student sterile.
The teacher was faring little better,
Spontaneously triggering mutation,
His third eye and functioning breasts,
Became objects of his fascination.
The alarms were then activated,
The building to be evacuated,
If you were standing near the door,
It seemed students were … never mind.
They tumbled from the door explosively,
Moaning their tortured despair,
Leaving behind treasured possessions,
Their books, their toes, their hair.
But inside the brew bubbled still,
Activated by it’s next phase,
The acid was sentient now,
Unaware of the recent melees.
It seeped over the beaker’s rim,
It’s hunger maniacally unstable,
It devoured the instructor’s notes,
Then dined upon his table.
It ran over the concrete floor,
Absorbing what it could,
It ran over the walls and roof,
Absorbing all the wood.
It ran over the ceiling lights,
It’s size remarkably grown,
It consumed the building’s current,
And eyebrows where they were blown.
It seemed that the globe was doomed,
This creature was so strong,
What had started as just a joke,
Had gone so horribly wrong.
But Alderach was still in control,
The solution he quickly spied,
He gave the creature an Ymir poem,
And the beast choked, then died.

Cheers

 have been philosophising greatly,
As champagne often makes me do,
Preparing to herald in the new year,
I'm determined to see it through.
But I got to thinking about Y2K,
And its effect on society,
The whole thing was an Unwashed plot,
It is so clear to me.
For the power stations would not work,,
Electricity would be past,
So, people could not get water,
And they'd be left aghast,
For they could not bathe at all,
Let alone use s.o.a.p.,
They would be forever the Unwashed,
From the paupers to the Pope.
Thus, membership would rocket,
Poor Rosh would be in a spin,
People wouyld flock to us in their billions,
Begging to be let in.
Alas, the bug was caught in time,
The billions will not come,
But what a way to unite the world -
Unwashed - that's everyone!

Cheers from the Land of Oz

It is with trepidation I enter here,
To this group I am new,
But this board is one of great merit,
Something that's long overdue.
But there's one thing that worries me,
For I have travelled far,
But nowhere do I see my oasis,
Is there a Bastard Bar?
In my truck I have many supplies,
Spirits and ale on tap,
So, can I have a corner to set up,
Or, is that idea merely cr -er - erroneous?

;)

Cheers

Night Owl leered at the frightened class,
And took off his battered coat,
He surveyed them with hawkish intent,
Then ludly cleered his throat,
" Now class, sit right down,
And all you listen here,
Today I will be instructing you,
In the Art of Drinkin' Beer.
Firmly grasp the frosty glass,
Tip it on an angle,
Firmly pour the ale inside,
Do not let a drop dangle,
Gently clasp the glass's handle,
Stee your mind as well,
Tip the contents down your throat,
Then let out a mighty yell.
Leer lewdly across the room,
Pull out the verse of bards,
Inquire how you're going up to this,
And if a er ......
And if romance is on the cards.
That's how you consume your ale,
Now it's off to the bar,
For practice is what makes perfect,
And buying my drinks will get you far."
Down in the murky depths they plunged,
Inebriation looming near,
"Holy shit! Run away!
The principal;s found us here!"
"Relax, oh, you uninformed,
And grab us all a beer,
That Bastard may be the principal,
But right now he's just Ymir."
I appreciate your state of mind,
This point in your eventful life,
I can only imagine your pains,
Your anguish and your strife.
But piercing your flippin' tongue?
If it's what you wish to do,
You must be guided by your heart,
And also logic that is true.
You know the pain and side effects,
The health risks are also there,
But these seem to be a minority,
So about them you may not care.
I'm too conservative to call this one,
Other than ear-rings turn me green,
Let alone tongue or even eyebrow,
or through parts that can't be seen.
But as for me I'm in the negative,
Too boring and staid by far-
It's not what we see that describes us,
It's our actions that define who we are.

The Bastards had a fierce hankering,
Bringing them to their knees,
For something of an oriental nature,
How 'bout some REAL Chinese?
So, they loaded up the '57,
That would be a Chevy of course,
And headed out to find some food,
Screaming poetry 'till they were hoarse.
They found a little place in Chinatown,
"Authentic Rural Dishes",
With beers both foreign and domestic,
It seemed to meet their wishes.
The menu was a study in heiroglyphics,
B.C. left his glasses at home,
No-one could read the menu anyway,
So they let their senses roam,
And trusted the power of the Force,
The one that Bastards use,
It seems to stand them in good stead,
But others it would confuse.
Between mutterings and some pointing,
Swilling beer and the odd water (some Bastards are minors),
The Bastards managed between all this,
To place a truly impressive order.
Then, talk turned to things poetic,
Debate getting rather heated,
About why haikus are just rubbish,
The words cannot be repeated.
The ale flowed like a waterfall,
The Bastards loving every minute,
The ambience was all powerful,
They were absorbed in it.
The food arrived to much rejoicing,
The Bastards diving in,
The waiter gave a subtle smile,
An almost demonic grin.
Night Owl gave the first indication,
That something may be wrong,
For in his dish of questionable origin,
He found a piece of thong.
Lerk, being the cultured one,
Ordered some rare snails,
Only to find in his garnish,
Were some finger nails.
SIE was soon perturbed,
Letting out a startled holler,
For he had discovered an intact,
Red coloured dog collar.
Alderach frowned and then turned green,
Set to instantly hurl,
For in his he found a hair,
That possessed a curl ......
But BC had the most concern,
Following other's frightened calls,
His dish was one of beef,
And in the shape of balls .....
The waiter came forth to explain,
With some florrid haste,
That this was a provincial restaurant,
Where nothing goes to waste.
All parts were used in cooking,
Be them human or be they beast,
So, the Bastards contained their anger -
They had good ale, at least.
So, beware the provincial establishments,
And if you cannot pass,
Go inside, by all means,
But take a magnifying glass.

I'm new to this scholarly place,
Everyone's be here longer,
My impression that divided we would fall,
United we shall conquer,
Seems to be a silly thing,
To some members of the staff,
Their nit picking types of analysis,
Make me want to barf.
The place was in a bit of a state,
The grounds were quite a mess,
I could not let them remain that way,
So, here I must confess,
That I trusted a few members,
That tend to the school grounds,
But it seems there was an established committee,
Boy! Did I let loose the hounds!
"How could you make the changes?
Why were we not consulted?
You have gone and made decisions,
We are quite revulted!"
"Sorry? What committee was that?
It's mention must have been fleeting?"
"Oh, you wouldn't know about it,
This year there's been no meeting."
...............
"I slowly simmered down from boil,
How the fruck would I know,
About a committe that has not met,
Since 18 months ago?
And why did the grounds staff not mention,
This hallowed form of power?
I saw fit to strangle these people,
So I calmed down for an hour.
Really, some people make me mad,
They like to trip me up,
But there's more than one trick to,
This innocent looking pup.
I can take this little insult,
For that is my noble way,
Assured in the knowledge that,
Every dog will have his day.

Cheers from the Land of Oz
grrrrrrr

Think of an intense collection of silliness,
Housed in people strange,
People wandering around without direction,
Some would say deranged.
Posts dripping with good humour,
Views expressed so free,
The odd selection of excellent prose,
And a smattering of poetry.
A few tales of woe are aired,
As well as calls for advice,
You'll find everyone to be very supportive,
Even the Bastards can be nice. (except for Night Owl :) )
The group is quite restrained though,
We've been spammed much in the past,
But the community has morality,
The losers never last.
So, welcome to our humble home,
May your stay here be pleasant,
You'll find that we can become quite addictive,
Well that's what happened to this peasant.

Cheers from the Land of Oz

I'm thinking of laying a vengeful trap,
For the Noodle Napper,
Something to make their stomach turn,
And send them to the crapper.
Like the scene in "American Pie",
The white stuff in the beer, (you know ....)
Something to send them heaving,
From both mouth and their rear.
Perhaps dry up some garden worms,
And put them in the pack,
Or add some chili powder,
They'll choke until they're black.
Or get quite nasty now,
Get back in a snap,
Carefully put the packet away,
Including a mouse trap.

Cheers from the land of Oz

The Unwashed gathered for a party,
It was that time of year,
But all had to vomit when,
Ymir's butt was on the beer.
It was his ploy to keep it,
For his greedy self,
The party was dying because,
There were no spirits on the shelf.
But the funk was short lived,
Toe's used her pretty head,
They left the ale to Ymir,
And hit the wine instead.

Cheers from the land of OzI

I am a shuffling oldie,
Long on this board,
It seems forever that I,
Have been with this grubby horde.
And though I'm old and hoary,
There's one thing that I need,
It's the injection of new talent,
A refreshing of the breed.
Newbies are more than welcome,
We treat them with some care,
So join me in the Bastard Bar,
Here, have this chair.
Like any group we have rules,
That's what a group's about,
Abide by the rules and prosper,
If not get the hell out.
So, bring forth your wisdom,
Pull your humour off the shelf,
But most the most thing of all,
Relax and be yourself.

Cheers from the Land of Oz

With the Olympics soon in Sydeny,
I have decided to rebel,
I'm convening the Fat Bastard Games,
Those fit people can go to Hell.
Events will not be necessary,
We'll decide them on the day,
Let's not get hung up on excercise,
Let the Fat Bastards have their way.
But medals will be plentiful,
Given out now and then,
Bugger the gold, silver, bronze,
Let's award down to ten.
Tenth will be the colour grey,
But not signifying last,
It is to signify athlete proportions,
And the shadows that they cast.
Ninth is signified by red,
A colour you can't disguise,
It pays homage to late night footy,
And the colour it makes your eyes
Eight is recognised with yellow,
A colour sure to please,
It reminds us of last nights pizza,
Covered in mozzarella cheese.
Seventh is a hue of green,
Taking pride of place,
It displays the six packs of last night,
And the current colour of your face.
Sixth is the purest kind of white,
The athlete's in good stead,
It recognises the effect of aspirin,
On a hung-over head.
Fifth is a beautiful beige,
Sure to make you smile,
The colour of the athlete's cushions,
When they are Unwashed for a while.
Fourth is shimmering brown cordouroy (?),
Making all feel fine,
To recognise the colour of the lounge,
Upon which most athletes recline.
Third is a wonderous tattered black,
The recipient can justly prance,
To symbolise the athlete's attire,
Of raggedy Nike track pants.
Second is holy lettered black,
To the winners circle to float,
It mirrors the holy athlete's baton,
Of the cable TV remote.
First is the most excellent amber,
It's allure shall never fail,
The colour is to remind us all,
Of our favourite ale.
Now the prizes are all organised,
I let out a stifled groan,
Fat Bastards will not compete -
We rarely leave our home.

Now THERE'S a sight for sore eyes!
Owl is in the bar,
Together we were to change the world,
Our rhymes to take us far.
But, yes, life does intervene,
It tends to get so hilly,
But still, it's nice to find the time,
To come here and be silly.
I have seeen BC around,
Other OFs are here too,
But the one thing that remains constant,
Is the odd poem about poo.

I read the cookie with different eyes,
Ones that can hardly see,
I thought he meant "Poetry Bastard",
When he put "PB".
I'm so used to seeing it in that context,
PBs wwere my life,
Now I am regularly demanded upon,
By my daughter and my wife.
So, a PBY2K,
Does this imply compliance?
Every PB that I have met,
Is characterised by defiance.
Or does it mean "PB2000",
I'm really not quite sure,
Perhaps there's a new clan being formed,
Compared to the original it will be poor.
My point in this ramble is quite simple,
Listen to my directive,
What we see depends upon what we are,
Reality is a construct of perspective.

We have only just seen your latest toon,
The shock of my simple life,
For the toon was one based upon,
My dear and lovely wife!
I thank you from my deepest recesses,
For your most excellent work,
It is again a thing of beauty,
But then again, it's done by Lerk!
I know you tend to blow this off,
But you are a talented one,
Your work gives us all such joy,
You make our lives more fun.
So, we thank you for your time,
Anf for your humour too,
We thank you for your honour,
But mostly for being you.

Cheers from the Land of Oz

Hmmmmmm......

What do you get for the man,
Who has everything?
Perhaps an electric toilet seat opener,
Or a beer can opening ring?
But, I think of EO's presence,
And on this I must sit,
I'll give you a personalised,
One use enema kit .....

:)

I must say this has caught me quiet,
This full frontal type attack,
My post was quite ignored by all,
The response was kinda slack.
But, Doom, your gem of art rules all,
Posted for all UV to see,
You have encapsulated my day at work,
Or summarised the essence of me.
But let me return to my post,
That humble sort of one,
About "Twinkle, Twinkle/ABC",
You know the silly one.
Charlie and I were lounging in bed,
"IQ" was on the tube,
Einstein was playing the violin,
Now stop those thoughts so rude.
I was lubed up on that bourbon thing,
That's not so vary rare,
When the tuneualar comparison struck,
It's something not quite so rare.
For as Einstein played the violin,
I sang both songs in my head,
My mind is a whirlpool of such excrement,
It won't stop until I'm dead.
The sad thing is I'm on holidays,
No-where near my work,
Sooooooo, the pic is a little inaccurate,
But before you call me "jerk",
It reflects what I do all day,
Laze about dreaming up stuff,
To make those little cretins feel miserable,
And their pitiful lives so tough .....

:)

Cheers from the Land of Oz
(loved it!)

Hell, the more time that elapses,
The more my faith collapses,
In what we call humanity.

To where has our saftey gone?
The olden days for which we long,
When people could roam unhindered.

Life is meant for us to celebrate,
Not to merely sit and vegetate,
Afraid to leave our own homes.

Charlie, SEH and I have moved,
We have gone anti-metro grooved,
And moved to a smaller town.

One where people are so warm,
Safety to which they they all conform,
And humanity is not dead.

Our lives are so much freer now,
In the land of cane and cow,
But there's a McDonalds here too.

I say find somewhere back in time,
Where people smile & weather's fine,
For our lives are just to short.

Cheers from the Land of Oz

Alcohol, tobacco and firearms rule,
They are the one-stop shop,
They are the reason the site is good,
For their use shall not stop.
The tobacco is used to keep workers going,
To keep them on a high,
That nicotine serves to stretch their nerves,
And the hours simply fly.
The firearms are used to threaten,
Those who do not belong,
They are also used as a punishment,
For HTML programmers who get it wrong.
The alcohol is used as a carrot,
Like that in front of a horse,
For the workers are promised a p!ss-up,
If the site's good, of course.

Cheers from the Land of Oz

A million cliques spring to mind,
None of them sound right,
The loss never seems to soften much,
But your soul it continues to bite.
The one thing that helps me through,
That stops me going insane,
Is that the loved one who's passed away,
Wouldn't want to cause you pain.
You have my sympathies, Mcleod,
From here that's all I can do,
But feel free to email me,
If that may at all help you.

I have heard thet Tiberian Sun is a good,
If you like that king of thing,
It is a solid form of RTS,
But not much new does it bring.
I say buy it now and play it,
Over and over it can be played,
For D2 is still a good way off,
And again it will be delayed.

Cheers from the Land of Oz