Monday, January 9, 2012

Messenger's Report

Some of you may be familiar with Paris Bailey-Earm, known much better as “Beast.” Wait, that’s a stupid statement. Of course you’re familiar with him; you’re reading his blog.

The love he had for that Beauty of his (real name Helen Holmes) got him killed recently. He broke into the apartment of Mary Holmes (that’d be Bambi), which had become a Labyrinth thing of some sort. Anyway, he went in, and while we’re not entirely sure what happened inside there (considering that we, you know, weren’t in the Labyrinth ourselves), we found Bambi dead with her neck broken, and Beauty and Beast dead in each other’s arms, with no discernible cause (which is usually shorthand for “The Boss probably did it”).

A note was found on Beast’s body, which I’ve reproduced here:

I...I don't know why I'm writing this. I don't have anyone to carry on after me, no possessions to bequeath. I don't even know if I actually will die in there. I'm confident in my strength. What I'm not confident is the Creature staying away. My song might end very, very soon...but the melody will go on.

One way or another, no matter what happens to me, I'm heading in there. I'm finding the love of my life, alive or dead, and I'm ending Bambi, the one who took her.

Blog’s over, people. Nothing to see here. Move along.

-Don’t Shoot The Messenger-

Sunday, November 27, 2011

Poor Paris. I am surprised he and his bitch lover held out as long as they did...

But there's always a bigger fish.

Wednesday, November 23, 2011


I go to fight
I swear I do
I'll take down Bambi
For what she did to you

I can hardly bear
To live alone
But I'll cherish your memory
I'll cherish your song

And if I'm not back
Within the week
We'll have joined again
And no longer will I weep

Sunday, November 6, 2011


A return of song
An entry to the throng
And God's will be done
And God's will be wrong

And God's will be misheard
Let it be misplaced
Let us eat a feast of lies
Let us stuff our face

At least we have a face
There are some who do not
Though my one love would tell us
That that's a quite wrong thought

I still had the drink
The elixir, the potion
The gift from Mother Goose
It set us all in motion

They thought I was asleep

When I had one eye open
They thought that they were safe
And now their arm is broken

I felt the change, I let it happen
I smashed the door and tugged him in
Or her, I'm not sure, but I snapped each bone
Until I was quite sure I'd win

They told me everything
How to get out
Or, more realistically,
How it was impossible, without a doubt

The building was a maze
The halls were infinite
The stairs never ended
The doors opened back into it

But they said nothing about the windows
Nothing about the glass
I smashed right through into open air
I fell upon the grass

Down six stories I fell
I don't know how I survived
But one thing is certainly for sure
I mostly will now thrive

Saturday, November 5, 2011

The walls have ears!
The doors have eyes!
The trees have voices,

The beasts tell lies.
Beware the rain,

Beware the snow,
Beware the man
You think you know.