V-13 stuff.

[Citizen Kane]

Here's my junk that I posted on Vault 13, now that the old girl's going under. Put this all in quotations, I suppose, since I'm too lazy to reformat.
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You want a story? Fuck you. I felt like writing a poem, even though I'm particularly proficient at it.

The Vats
A poem by Andrés Jeréz (Citizen Kane)

Goo be seething,
Warriors beseeching,
You’re going to the vats.

Civilians be screaming,
Guards are grinning,
You’re going to the vats.

Equal are all, it will take,
Call the ‘Dweller, for heaven’s sake!
You’re going to the vats.

Bubble and boil, rumble and crack,
Mutants be near, another option you lack.
You’re going to the vats.

Close your eyes, my infant son,
Your old father was not quick with his gun,
Down he goes, wrapped in rag,
Connected by chain, bound in fetters,
I can hear it near, I can feel it cry,
I can taste its most pitiable lie!
I’m going to the vats!

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I think I'll write another when there's another unusually-long commercial... The Discovery Channel runs far too many of those.

They ran one of those commericals: here's another one.

I hate Brahmin
A poem by Andrés Jeréz (Citizen Kane)

I wandered through the city, our humble Shady Sands,
I looked to the hills, to the wastes, vast, dead lands,
And I thought back to my youth, back to the times of the earth,
When it was green and live and gave so many things birth,
It engendered animals and trees and many things,
Now all gone, victims of man’s infamous sins.
All gone, now, except mutated brahmin,
Beasts and monsters now in the common.
Great scorpions and warped insects,
All good gone now, all of man’s personal affects,
Just ash mashed in the dirt, now,
So I looked to a Brahmin, the corruptible cow…

And I kicked it.
I hate Brahmin.

Ash Sunday
A poem by Andrés Jeréz (Citizen Kane)


The Cat’s Paw was quiet that most terrible evening,
The shades drawn, per usual, not a sound seeping in,
The bed springs could be heard as you passed the door,
Such things are now a thing of yore.
This was Ash Sunday.

I shot up a dose of that poison so sweet,
I hugged the wall, standing on glass-barbed feet,
I lowered against the plaster, and shivered as I took a seat,
Then I heard the sound of boots and steel,
Of the hum of electricity,
Of the hissing of an oxygen tank.
This was Ash Sunday.

I looked up with enchanted eyes,
And saw these men go walking slowly by,
So believe me friends, I tell no lie,
This was Ash Sunday.

A red glimmer was seen beneath their coats,
They were laughing and letting out great, big gloats,
“This will be easy!” said one of the loafs,
“This is Ash Sunday!”

The casino lit up across the street, the chatter of guns filling the air,
The hookers and pimps dove down, the jet-heads stared on without a care,
The windows weren’t bare,
The Mordino’s were there.
This was Ash Sunday.

Three men dropped, defenseless it seemed on the lane,
Then the one with the oxygen waved his cane,
“Light them up, set them aflame!”
Then the lasers started to rain.
This was Ash Sunday.

Lasers did rain, and how they most certainly came,
The casino was stripped, cut into pieces, so many were slain,
From the crimson beams or the falling debris,
Detritus with blood, all for New Reno to see.
This was Ash Sunday.

Ash Sunday was a while ago, and now I can barely remember,
So many were dead, so many disremembered,
Yet I’m still haunted by that day in the early December.
That was Ash Sunday.
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They showed another one, so this is what I scrawled down in the meantime.. I think it’s the worst written of the bunch.

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Tell me what you think.

Why in the bloody hell are all of my 's showing up as a string of gibberish?