If Amour-fou must be in house,
Give me K. Kat, and Ignatz Mouse.

*Quietly disappears from view, pops up several blog-years later on Tim Blair’s World Series Blogwrestling site as ‘Doggerel Death Beast’, gravatar’d in azure and gold lycra, crazy-eyed with the steroids.*

(One must be careful how one types
That tiresome term “po-mo”
For more than likely typing quick
You end up with “porno”)

Vlad’s purgatory and ensuing angst
By Jack has been explained
And though Jack’s efforts I have praised
My credulity’s still strained

For Lolita’s not exactly pure
No blushingh maiden fair
Budding trailer trash more like
And all too willing to share

She goes off with that Quilty bloke
A nasty piece of work
Enjoys his paedophilic charms
Knows full well he’s a jerk

Such an unlikeable, dreary lot
A relief when they all die
After wasted lives misspent
One cannot help but sigh

I’d spray the room with strong Lysol
If I ever arrest this crew
I’d not bother with a Miranda
They’d think ’twere someone to screw

We wuz both robbed, EC! It’s Fenech v. Nelson ‘91 all over again, I tells ya…

Bless as ever for the space, LeProdders. Great post & thread, Merc.

Ding…..ding…ding…ding….ding….�

Inside a ring that’s actually square
The ref raises two arms high in the air
The crowd erupts with a roar, frenzied and fecund
Not one of the punters demanded a refund

Humility Disclaimer: *self-appointed and completely unqualified

Vlad, the Impaler Unfairly Impaled

O! Such exquisite purgatory,
Accused of just that felony,
Which, with his pre-teen ’siren’, he
Would honey-trap us; (see ‘irony’).

Read outside Vlad’s Hump’s ‘what she saids’;
Her nightly ’sobbing’ in their beds,
The terror in her HUMP’s ‘teenage whine’,
Waddayawant? A neon sign?

With every Hump-twist of the ‘jailbait’ ratchet,
Vlad adds a counter-clue, if only we’d catch it,
Hump swoons: ‘The curve of her thigh, oooh, it’s heaven’,
Vlad screams: ‘Eleven, eleven, she’s ELEVEN!!!!’

Degree of diff? Surely ten-point-ten!
To write that faint dischord to your own singing pen,
Blipping a ‘moral hazard’ on each reader’s scope,
(Talk about extending us each enough rope!)

You’ve got a good point - down to this day,
Too many critics do still blithely say,
(In amoral and a-liter’y atrocities),
Yairs, t’is all about ‘barely legal precosities’.
(Don’t even get me started on the Hollywood travesties…)

And - touche, Sorc - they are ‘po-mo’ often,
Moral core and perspective now long-softened,
By decades of yapping far too frenetic,
‘Bout how words are mere craft, self-contained, hermetic.

But soaring, singing, Mod-poet Sorc,
(And I fly this with a grin - of course!)
Might I gently just suggest,
That you too failed merely A-minused Vlad’s naughty test?

In Great Books High (ie fiction school),
We’re told shown agin & agin just one rule,
To make your point hit deep and well,
Show show SHOW the reader - never tell.

So may I mildly, meekly expound,
How Vlad’s cautionary tale’s the best around,
When it comes to SVU intervention:
Call it a simulated ‘Literary Pre-emption’.

A step-by-step Creep’s Guide for Chicks,
See how easy it is to fall for our tricks?!
Not Lola, but you, the reader, swallowing Lothario’s oily diction,
In the safest learning ’safety zone’ of all, girls: utterly believable (and warm, funny, and so…chilling, too) Cocksman Fiction.

Jack, for our runner up this eveing Dolly has a lovely Bulova watch, wasn’t he a great player, customers?

sorcerer, hope you enjoy this link.
http://www.post-gazette.com/pg/08039/855735-109.stm

I do predate the Po-mo thang
By many years, be praised
By Leavis, Frye and Bradley
Was my critical conscious raised

We called it different names back then
But was the self-same thing
We did not deconstruct the words
But let the meaning ring

I must admit I like your take
Poor flawed perverted Vlad
To write of sleaze in peerless prose
And see some good in bad

But being of a feminist bent
And mother of a girl
I come to Vlad with some disquiet
As I watch his tale unfurl

For though it is a moral book
And says a lot that’s true
My gut reaction maybe is
To ring up SVU

In Defence of Humpy Vlad

Just imagine (for a tic),
Drop the purely Modern shtick,
Shift gears up to Po-mo crit,
Why’s HH such a clever shit?

More’s the point is ‘Who is Humpy?’
In this take on rumpy-pumpy?
Sure, the character’s alarming,
The narrator is deeply charming.

Feel the skidding tension rise,
Between these double-doubled guys,
The charmed who beds the kid with glee,
The cursed who brays: ‘What’s wrong with me?’

And fizzing in his lonely den,
The writer with a single pen,
Vlad v. Vlad, saint and sinner,
Musing who might be the winner.

What a splendid quest: to write,
Your dragon as a mounted knight,
For Life, greater love hath fair scriv none:
Than to flip it upside down - just for wordy kicks, and a bit of moral fun.
(Oh, OK, and to show your latest new country you’re No. 1…)

…”to speak on behalf of the desire of older men for underage girls”

Ah yes the “love” that dare not speak its name…

A Modern Guide to Nabokov

Humbert would screw a twelve-year-old
If he could get it up
She’d likely not have had it
So she might give him a tup

Bedazzled by his seeming charm
And hypnotising chatter
The fact he’d banged her dear old mum
Did not seem to matter

Lolita lived some time ago
Her secret was not found
No Facebook, text or message clients
And no mobiles around

Wrinkly farts have certain joys
They all have lots of money
That you can forget he’s just a perv
Whose penchant’s a bit funny

For partners of his own age
Were all bored with his shtick
Flab, blemished bod and sagging rod
They’ve given him the flick

When man a certain age does reach
He really needs to get
Personality, wit and charm
Maturity, you bet

Because all men wake up one day
To find the mojo gone
While real women on the other hand
Can keep going on and on

Old Humbert’s such a stupid git
A sleazy bore to boot
That even Lols got sick of him
When he came for a root

Meanwhile the women of his age
Would wisely have been seeking
A young stud with a nice buffed bod
Not one with joints a-creaking

Today the cops would come along
A good think, one would think
For Lolita, though a metaphor
It still gives quite a stink

Out of curiosity has anyone read any of Banville’s crime novels, written under the nom de plume Benjamin Black?

Also if anyone is interested in a good novel about the child-soldiers in Sierra Leone and Liberia, Ivory Coast wrtier Ahmadou Kourouma’s “Allah Is Not Obliged,” narrated by a ten year old boy provides a startling description of the madness of the times of Charles Taylor and Fodah Sankoh.