attila the hun

trustycoffeemug
the roman world was in a mess; the emperor caused no end of stress
then in the year four-forty-one, there came this guy, attila the hun
run away! Here comes attila
flee today! he'll sack your villa
can't you see? he's come to kill ya
swipe your bed, and then your pilla
attila was a nasty king; he and his huns wrecked everything
he lived by arson and the sword, burned down france cuz he got bored
run away! here comes attila
far away! go to manilla
kills more people than godzilla
swipes your sheets and then your pilla
to a wedding attila went, looking sharp like a hunnish gent
made a quick speech, went to bed; very next morning, was found dead
fare thee well, goodbye attila
bury him deep neath the rolling hillas
he wore shorts made of chinchilla
his favorite ice cream was strawberry

astronaut

trustycoffeemug
(n.) someone trained to operate aboard a spacecraft, braving such dangers as the pitiless vacuum of space, the burning agony of unshielded radiation, the wasting-away of their bone and muscle mass, and the existential agony that accompanies total realization of one's insignificance in the grand scheme of things, all in the hopes of exploring totally uninhabitable places with generally little in the way of mineral wealth.

astronauts may be said to blur the line between courageous heroism and flagrant stupidity

head

trustycoffeemug
(n.) bit at the front or top of many life forms-, where the brain is kept.

among the reasonable, the head is said to be good upon the owner's shoulders; among the infatuated, it is said to be beneath their heels; one who is in the throes of panic has lost their head; and so on. clearly matters of head are quite culturally significant

sycophant

the devils dictionary
One who approaches Greatness on his belly so that he may not be commanded to turn and be kicked. He is sometimes an editor.

As the lean leech, its victim found, is pleased
To fix itself upon a part diseased
Till, its black hide distended with bad blood,
It drops to die of surfeit in the mud,
So the base sycophant with joy descries
His neighbor's weak spot and his mouth applies,
Gorges and prospers like the leech, although,
Unlike that reptile, he will not let go.
Gelasma, if it paid you to devote
Your talent to the service of a goat,
Showing by forceful logic that its beard
Is more than Aaron's fit to be revered;
If to the task of honoring its smell
Profit had prompted you, and love as well,
The world would benefit at last by you
And wealthy malefactors weep anew —
Your favor for a moment's space denied
And to the nobler object turned aside.
Is't not enough that thrifty millionaires
Who loot in freight and spoliate in fares,
Or, cursed with consciences that bid them fly
To safer villainies of darker dye,
Forswearing robbery and fain, instead,
To steal (they call it "cornering") our bread
May see you groveling their boots to lick
And begging for the favor of a kick?
Still must you follow to the bitter end
Your sycophantic disposition's trend,
And in your eagerness to please the rich
Hunt hungry sinners to their final ditch?
In Morgan's praise you smite the sounding wire,
And sing hosannas to great Havemeyer!
What's Satan done that him you should eschew?
He too is reeking rich — deducting you.

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