How I love ya -- an original song of love and stuff

I needed a break from felling trees in a manly fashion in the yard of backness. Oh, how the muscles get sore at this advanced age of mine. And oh how thrilling it is to hear the crack of a dead tree trunk and see a 25-foot formerly living wood creation come tumbling to the ground and not hit my house. Yes, this truly is Nirvania (I spelled this in this fashion as I do not mean to say Nirvana. I really do mean Nirvania. You get there by going to Pittsburgh and hanging a left).
Anyway, as I feast upon my lunch of tangy original Sunny D and a fine little casserole I made of venison stew meat, brown rice, cream of mushroom and celery soups and mushrooms, I was a thinking I needed to post another post to this here Queenie's Revenge. After all, I must recharge my physical self to do more manliness upon my backyard. So I thought what better way to create peace and harmony and brotherhood but to spill my guts in this here blog.
And what better way to give us all a feeling of oneness and gushy mushy love, but to post lyrics to an original love song titled "How I Love Ya." I have a tune for this, but you'll have to keep an eye on YouTube for when and if I feel like spreading the love in that fashion.
Anyway, here it is (I got help from someone in writing this):

How I Love Ya

You are …
An infected monkey butt hair with sour applesauce
From the first day that I found you I wish that you’d got lost

You are…
Rancid raccoon road kill splattered on my lawn
When you’re in my nightmares I am praying for the dawn

How I love ya (x3)

You are …
A quart of curdled milk stinking up my fridge
When I get a whiff of you I jump off of the bridge

I wish …
You had a porcupine deep inside your pants
It would really hurt when you do your dance

How I love ya (x3)

You are …
A wacked out piece of poo and a dippy doodle head
If I were a bad man, I’d wish that you were dead

You’ve got …
Tapeworms in your gut and chiggers on your scalp
When you hang around, I think that I may Ralph

How I love ya (x3)

You are …
Stinky slimy sewage in a port-o-pot
You make me want to hurl a phlegm ball full of snot

You are …
A sniveling little dillweed who clearly is insane
Every time you speak you show you’ve got no brain

I don’t wish you any real harm
Only so you know you lack all of the charm
I hope you become a man instead of staying such a boy
And to call you all these names brings me real joy

How I love ya (x6)
Not much
-------------------------------------------------------------

Now, if I see anyone making money with this without having asked permission, signing a contract to provide me and the co-writer with multitudes of coin upon this hitting No. 1, I have proof that this was posted on this here date. Of course, I also have proof this was written a few weeks ago as my computer hard drive can not lie.
So feel free to share this in the interest of worldwide brotherhood.
And remember, it's not nice to call people names.

Rules of Queenie's Revenge

As some guy said to me once, "There ain't no f***-ing rules." This man wasn't exactly someone you'd want to base your life's philosophy upon. However, when I met him, he must have been thinking of Queenie's Revenge.
There are no rules here. The four of us will post whatever we want, whenever we want for whatever reason we want.
We have the freedom to say anything. And we most likely will. And we will not always agree with one another. What I may think, feel, say or post may be in direct opposition to what one of these other bloggers thinks, feels, says or posts. That's fine. Difference of opinion is good. It brings about conversation and change.
Please do not feel that any particular opinion or idea expressed here is an indication of what any of the other bloggers sees as truth. In fact, once the idea is expressed here, the individual who posted it may have a change of heart or a change of mind after that and may not express it. So, pretty much, it's what that blogger had to say at that moment in what your science Earthlings call the space-time continuum (I am so glad we have spell check on this thing).
Rules? We don't need no stinking rules.
Enjoy ... or don't.
That choice is yours.

Let there be Queenie's Revenge

I want to welcome all you poor soles (spelled wrong on purpose) who have walked into this blog called "Queenie's Revenge."
The goal of this blog is to do something ... something with words.
Four people of unlike mind and unlike body have come together to produce this here blog.
I kind of forgot what rules we set up in starting this blog. So I don't know what I can tell you about us, except that I am battling one wicked case of poison ivy right now. Ouch!
I do know that you are not supposed to put bleach on poison ivy reaction as it eats away your skin. I didn't know this before I did it.
The thing about Queenie is two-fold: there was a German lady on the corner who had a dog named Queenie and there was this mental movie called "Mother's Day" in which the wacked-out psycho thing that lived in the swamp was named "Queenie."
But now I must eat dinner.
Good day to you and eat all the onions you can.
BigCheez