Sham-Sham, the dumpster Faerie

Here at the little report, my own little morsel of the Internet tit-meat on which I plaster my man-splash of dark horror, I am starting something new. Art, or "Kunst" to my German speaking friends. Some of my trashy Kunst has been languishing upon my hard drive, and so, I hope to start the first of many exhibits which will be updated weekly here at the little report. The first in this series features a piece of a somewhat torrid nature: Lesbianism. The central figure here is "Sham-Sham the dumpster Faerie", who just happens to be a lesbian.


Sham-sham, was a Faerie by trade,
Her Faerie clothes were all hand made.
From shreds and shards and bits of things,
Like cabbage, and treacle, and tampax with wings!

She lived beneath a stately bridge,
within an old luxurious fridge.
Upon sofas and linens of yesterdays papers,
And issues of penthouse were her linen drapers.

She dined off of cardboard and drank of hot pee,
Her tastes were refined, as you no doubt see.
She pranced and she flitted, or rather she hopped,
and waddled and slalomed and hobbled and plopped.

She awoke every morning to the crowing of cock,
which she proceeded to kill with a very large rock.
As she hobbled outside, her mouth full of chicken,
She remarked, "How divine! T'is quite finger-lickin'!"

She crawled from her cavern and into the day,
To the town of Saint Francis, where all were quite gay.
She plopped and she hobbled down Castro street,
Where our Faerie friend a drag queen did meet.

Beneath rainbow flags which fluttered and furled,
That Drag-queen did shriek, and her eye-lashes curled.
"What the hell is this beast, which impedes on my path?
Get you hence from me quick, or suffer my wrath!"

The She-man did roar and bellow and blast,
Until finally Sham-sham reacted at last.
She unhinged her jowls, as the Drag-Queen did cluck,
And gobbled her up, every bit of that fuck.

And the Leather bears screamed and ran from their Pubs,
And the Fisters abandoned their dark fisting clubs.
The Twinks and the jocks went scrambling about,
While flailing went flamers, so riddled with gout.

And as they all panicked and ran all around,
Sham-sham was sated, so she turned around.
She hobbled and wobbled back under her bridge,
She crept back inside her luxurious fridge.

She curled up within her greasy newspaper,
and smiled contently at her porno-drapers.
And as the screams within her abated,
She fell asleep, her hunger was sated.

And as she slept, she made muffled cries,
for hot dogs, and ham-slops, and spam-cherry pies.
And her massive drumstick legs, they twitched without errors,
Digesting a Drag Queen, this chicken of terrors.