Peter Pan (Chicago Style)

Hello folks. This is how the story of Peter Pan would've ended if he had showed up in my window instead of Wendy's.

PETER PAN
by Chip Davis

Like a poop in the grass
I just laid there, still
He crawled through my window,
up onto the sill.

I was like, "Yo dude,
stop staring at me."
And that's when I noticed
his best friend fairy.

He says, "My name's Peter,
Peter Pan is the name.
Will you come with me?"
I said "No."
(Peter:) "That's a shame."

Peter said, "If by free will,
you won't take my hand,
I'll have my friend fairy
bring you back to Neverland.
At gunpoint, I say,
at gunpoint indeed.
And if you try to escape,
she'll bust a cap in your seed.
So you best come with, Chip,
if you desire to live."
I shrugged, said "Ok,"
but then pulled out my shiv.

I stabbed Tinkerbell,
cuz she had it comin'.
And when she fell down,
I showed Peter summin'.
I said, "Yo *** is doomed,
you Immortal Brat!"
Then I whip out my Glock,
and it spits out KAKK KAKK!

The Lost Boy collapsed,
bullets peppered his chest,
then Tinkerbell said,
"Petey, I did my best."

I said "Shut up, ho!"
then I waved my gun
Peter said, "Please, Chip.."
I said, "Shut yo mouth, son.
You come in my crib,
and then threaten me, playa?
Don't you deny it,
don't you be no naysayer!
I run this show!
There's just no denyin'!"
Then I leafed through his wallet,
and they both laid there dyin'.

The fairy went first.
I felt no shame.
Peter said, "You killed her!"
Well, that's the name of the game.

I said, "Don't come climbin'
up into my room,
then threaten my life
cuz I'll mess you up, BOOM!"
Then I picked up young Peter
(he made a groaning sound)
as I tossed him out the window.
THUMP! He hit the ground.

All the Lost Boys and all the Lost girls
Heard about Pete's death in the real world
They cried and sobbed, but the moral they got:
You sneak in my house, and you gunna get shot!

How It Is

I want to take this opportunity to plug another Blogspot blog, this one called "How It Is" (howitisyjuniorjunior.blogspot.com) authored by my sister Sydney Davis, who also happens to be my blog's sole Follower at the moment. Please give her site a look-see, as she is ten times more witty than I could ever hope to be.

How It Is

Roses Are Red (And So is My Hatred)

We've all heard the "Roses are Red, Violets are Blue" poems. I'm going to go ahead and write my own right now. Whatever is on this post, I have made up on the spot. I did not pre-plan any of this. Which would explain why this poem sucks (if it turns out to suck). Here goes:


Roses are Red
Violets are Blue
I miss all That Time
That I Once Spent With You

But Remember that Night
Your husband came in?
Yep, I do too;
He dislocated my shin
And he broke my jaw
While you sat there and watched
Why didn't you help?
Answer: CUZ YOU'RE A BIATCH!

You should've backed me up
Said "Honey, this ain't nothin'
This guy fixed our garden,
I was bakin' him muffins."
I woulda played along
like, "Yep. I'm that guy.
I pulled up your weeds,
So your flowers won't die."
And he'd been like, "Oh sorry,
I feel so bad,
You were just here to help.
Oh what a good lad."

Ida been like, "Yep,
No trouble at all."
If that had been said,
HE'D HAVE NOT BROKE MY JAW!
But instead you just sat there,
you didn't protest,
HE FRIGGIN' DONKEY PUNCHED ME
in my back, in my chest,
and I couldn't breath,
I was spittin' up blood
While your husband just laughed,
said, "Suck it up, stud."

I said, "My name isn't Stud,
It's Chip, you fat fart."
Which was a bad idea,
cuz he punched my sensitive part.
I was like, "DANG!
THAT HURT, HOLY CRUD!"
And he was like, "YEP!
THAT'S MESSY LIKE MUD!"

Uuuuuummmm....
That last line he said
still doesn't make sense
Even now, I look back,
it still sounds kinda dense,
Messy Like Mud?
Was that an insult, or what?
That's like saying, "You're Chicken,
and I am the BUTT!" (What?)


Sure my ribs hurt,
and my kidney was split,
But after your husband's beating,
I didn't give a [expletive].
I was just plain confused.
What was messy? Was it me?
Or was it blood on the carpet,
he was referencing.

Blood is Red
My Bruises were Blue
Did I mention, you whore,
I ain't happy wit choo?
I ain't, not at all,
cuz your husband's beatdown
sent me to the ER,
and you never came round.

So now you call me up,
in two thousand ten
asking "Wassup?" and
"How have things been?"
And you wonder why
I don't answer you straight?
I'M IN A HOSPITAL, SLUT,
I'M IN FRIGGIN' PAIN
I SAID I MISS THAT TIME
THAT I SPEND WITH YOU
BUT YOU'RE JUST MESSY LIKE MUD
Yep... And I mean it too.

Intro

Hello. My name is Chip Davis. I am currently in Chicago, pursuing acting while working a full-time job and, oh yeah, attending school full-time. In other words, I have little time for auditions, which isn't good seeing as how I kinda sorta WANT TO AUDITION VERY BADLY. So then why, you might ask, with my time limited as it is, would I start a blog, which could consequently become a consumer of what little time I have left?

My answer: HECK IF I KNOW.

The point is, for someone who writes as a hobby, I have a slightly short memory, meaning that if I come up with something clever, I better write it down quick because I will be really mad at myself for not being able to remember it in a few hours. And since my diary is filled up to the last page, and I can't go out to Walgreens to buy a new one, this blog will serve as my online notepad.

Also, I like to write witty poems (at least, I THINK they're witty) and lyrics for comedic songs (at least, I THINK they're funny). Meaning that I might throw some really rough material up here to get a comment or two from You, the one person who is ever going to end up reading this blog.

There. I'm done with my really really rough introduction. Please keep visiting, and I will keep on writing.

Cheers,
Chip Davis