Sing to the bats' sleek sisterhoods Full compliance with gallantry: Then owls and bats, Cowls and twats
, Monks and nuns, in a cloister's moods, Adjourn to the oak-stump pantry
Locative verbs Gloss Intransitive Transitive 'hang/move' lang (SG), leng (PL) 'sit' t'ong (SG), t'wot (PL) d'u (SG), d'war (PL) 'stand' d'yem (SG), d'yam (PL) twaam (SG), twat
(PL) 'lie' t'o (SG), t'oerep (PL) b'uet (SG), d'uoe (PL) 'exist' d'e loe
The results may or may not convince--certainly, the last (to date) of the sestina poems, "Oval Prompt B: Love Theme from Melmoth the Twat
," with the rotary permutation scaled up to eleven-line stanzas, is chaotically (if cheerily) unsuccessful, though at that stage I made things harder for myself by writing the whole thing quickly in one sitting and prohibiting later revision; but the churn effect continues to interest me.
We're going to put it in his eyes and up his asshole, in his wife's twat
and in his baby's diaper.
Like Jimmy Porter, she enjoyed deliberate provocation: "No woman wants to find out that she has a twat
like a horse-collar" (39); "If you think you are emancipated, you might consider the idea of tasting your menstrual blood--if it makes you sick, you've a long way to go, baby" (51).
like "fucking bitch," "eat pussy," "lick twat
," "suck my
In addition, Tit for Twat
shows the story of creation as a story of the creation of hierarchies, too: The essential ordering of things it inaugu-rates--the naming of animals, plants, rocks, and also people--becomes the foundation of historic systems of classification and valuation.
Coren and Perkins are an Odd Couple indeed - whoever thought a lesbian and a twat
was a match made in heaven?
Asked during the interview whether he used Twitter, Mr Cameron said: "The trouble with Twitter, the instantness of it - too many twits might make a twat
If somebody's continually being a complete twat
, the lads in the weighing room will sort them out.
Mind you, I was tickled pink by the news that some twat
was huckled after trying to blag his way in to the Royal enclosure by impersonating an RAF officer.
Last year some skiers came tromping into Hub's with their goggles on their foreheads like they were fucking aviators, them with their neon pants going viff viff viff and their stupid plastic boots that make you walk like this: heel toe heel toe heel toe--that is, until Grout gets up and you've got three hundred pounds of pure Green Mountain goon glaring down at you, and then you step toe toe toe toe right back into your Ford fucking Expedition and get the fuck out of our face, go back to Long fucking Island or wherever; we'll make your fucking snow, we'll guide the lift chair under your fucking twat
, and we'll drink our six dollars an hour by our fucking selves--okay?