 
Heidenreich's Poetry Corner
It was a poem... by Heidenreich.
Hi, folks! I hope you like my work! If not, I'll kill you, you fucking Heebs.
The Ballad of Shoelace
How I yearn for sweet romances,
a date to bring to Skinhead dances,
social functions are so lonely
without my heart, my one and only.
Other hate groups have it easy,
but Nazis are a bit less sleazy,
Groothuis is not my type at all,
I'm a summer, he's a fall.
The singles scene makes me so nervous,
I need a Nazi dating service,
bachelor life has got me blue,
I wonder What Would Adolf Do?
Maybe I should join the Klan,
even Bradshaw's got a man,
he spends time in Orlando's bed,
then wears the sheets upon his head.
For advice I went to JBL,
he's the kind to kiss and tell,
goosestepping may have got him fired,
but in my book, he is admired.
"Boy," he shouted, "don't you see?
Find a mate in WWE!
Orlando loves me 'cause I'm his boss.
Excuse me while I burn this cross."
As I pondered his wise words,
a lilting voice could soon be heard,
"Stop the pain!" it shrilly cried,
I felt my black heart melt inside.
Who could croon such dulcet tones?
I knew I had to jump his bones,
a single glance proved Bradshaw right,
Smackdown brought me love at first sight.
His ratlike face, his frosted hair
fuel a hunger I cannot bear,
two lovers adrift upon an ocean
of shattered dreams and wasted motion.
Botching moves and breaking bones
can make a man feel so alone,
this gaping void deep in my soul
longs to be filled by Michael Cole.
But then I learned that he was taken,
oh, Big Jonny's soul was achin',
your love for Tazz does wound my heart, sir,
why, oh why, won't you call me "partner"?
My darling Cole deserved no such fate
chained down to a man of four-foot-eight,
I must admit I was quite a wreck
my heart was broken like Stevie's neck.
I vowed to save Cole from his captor,
so we could write our own sexy chapter
in the Book of Love, now on sale
through Penguin Press by express mail.
Latino Heat might call you "guapo",
I come at night just like the Gestapo,
whisk you off to a room so dank,
as my homies did to young Anne Frank.
You play hard to get, my precious pearl,
I love the way you run like a girl,
but you cannot spurn my sweet advances,
sooner or later, I'll get in your pantses.
I'll push you up against the wall
and have you at my beck and call,
as Falco said, don't turn around,
you know Der Kommissar's in town.
Hush now, dear, our time is fleeting,
I'll treat you to a private reading,
reveal to you my inner beauty
just before I tap that booty.
You speak your thoughts, I write mine down,
two wordsmiths in the same Smacktown,
we're kindred spirits; two intellectuals,
I've always fallen for metrosexuals.
Impress you with my wit and guile,
you love my American strong style,
don't say a word, don't make a sound,
it's time for a little "pound and ground".
You swoon at my poetry,
as do I at your cute goatee,
I dim the lights and bolt the door,
then rape you 'til your ass is sore.
My favorite poem's all about Raven,
allow a camera in my haven,
invite the whole world to see
the splendor of our sodomy.
Nothing could cause my heart to race
like the boyish charms of MC Shoelace,
we improve upon this perfect day
with Little Jonny in a three-way.
Our true love will last forever,
don't leave me or your head I'll sever,
I'd follow you from New York to Dallas,
until we're wed in the Cow Palace.
Untitled
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
I sure love Nazis,
so let's all gas a Jew.
Haku
My penis was not
Little Jonny; in fact he's
my third testicle.
The Dance Of Joy
My soul is black
black as the night
like a black man riding a black dog
Booker T on Fifi, perhaps
but only if she's black.
My pain is so great
burning like gumbo
that has too much tabasco
you don't know how to prepare gumbo
you fucking retard.
I'd break your neck
if I weren't so sad
even playing Bayou Billy
on my Nintendo Entertainment System
would not cheer me up.
My heart was destroyed
a long time ago
when they canceled Perfect Strangers
Life means nothing without Balki
I miss you, Cousin Larry.
Hadoken
There once was a man from the bayou,
who mastered the art of the haiku,
he was pushed to the skies,
because he crippled some guys,
just like the Street Fighter named Ryu.
What The Hell Is A Cinquain?
Heidenreich
Loose Cannon
Your neck snaps
I remain somewhat indifferent
Talentless fuck
National "Talk Like A Pirate" Day
Arrrrrrrrrr!
Heil Hitler, mateys.
Believe The Hype
Midgets beware,
here comes the loose cannon,
hide Kidman and Scotty,
hide London and Shannon.
You guys upset me,
I hate all the shorties,
even Funaki
in his mid-to-late fourties.
I only fight cruisers,
I kill them so dead,
much like Mark Jindrak,
who fell on his head.
Announcers are also
a group I despise,
ask me a question
and get paralyzed.
They think they're so smart
with their fancy book learning,
I think Jewish people
could use a good burning.
Stop all that yapping,
and put down that mic,
I murdered Josh Mathews
and made off with his trike.
It's new and it's shiny
with a pretty pink tassel,
no longer can Joshie
drive-thru at White Castle.
All of Velocity
earned my hatred and malice,
I hear Bill Demott has
a mother named Alice.
Perhaps I will choke her
with a strand of linguini,
the only good Guinea
was Ben Mussolini.
He wasn't a Nazi,
but nobody's flawless,
Paul Heyman's back pains him
because he goes braless.
He is rather bulbous,
that's plain to see,
with bosoms much larger
than Ms. Dawn Marie.
Even Paul has his problems,
after all, he's a Jew,
but he lets me sleep in
his fly Subaru.
We travel the nation,
from city to city,
my workrate's improved
from "nonexistent" to "shitty".
I'm not the best wrestler,
not even by far,
my last twelve opponents
are in the E.R.
But I'm young and I'm eager
with so much potential,
Paul Heyman sure has a
whole lot of credentials.
My poem is so soulful,
a charismatic enigma,
but I can't seem to shake
this neck-breaking stigma.
If you're slated to face me
better make out your will,
I'm like Nathan Jones
with one-tenth the skill.
I'm not from Australia,
Louisiana's my home,
I sure hope you like my
funky-fresh poem.
Say what? You don't?
That puts a frown on my face,
now I will treat you
to a stylish neckbrace.
Oops, you fell down,
I did it again,
dropped you right on your head
and picked up the win.
you should drink milk,
your bones are so brittle,
I like snakes that pop out of
those cans of peanut brittle.
rhyming "brittle" with "brittle"
is a John Cena trick,
if you don't like it
then please suck my *crowd*.
I feel sort of sad
to end your career,
but I just tell myself
that you're probably a queer.
So, sorry I maimed you,
too bad you're a cripple,
if it helps, I will buy you
a scoop of fudge ripple.
At Baskin-Robbins,
home of 31 flavors,
good thing you signed those
liability waivers.
you cannot sue me
for ineptitude,
it isn't my fault that
you're dead like Rick Rude.
your court case is flimsy,
surely you'd lose,
I really hate lawyers,
'cause lawyers are Jews.
Just look on the bright side,
your neck's on the mend,
after all, as they say,
what's a spine between friends?
We're best pals forever,
so gimme some lovin',
let's stick all the Jews,
in a big pizza oven.
Please put this behind us,
it's all in the past,
won't you allow me
to sign your full-body cast?
your wheelchair looks sporty
with that rad racing stripe,
now you know better
than to call Heidenreich hype.
What can I say?
I'm sort of a klutz,
and so Steven Richards
kicked me right in the nuts.
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