A poem for Helmet
She looks like an angel: she wears a helmet with wings,
Bent over a malevolent chessboard, a mad girl sings!
Great armies appear, summoned from hell.
Bishops and knights are teleported under her spell...
Rooks and queens are dropped from the sky,
Like bags of sand which allow a balloon to fly,
A demon cat pulls a carriage of bone,
where Helmsknight sits on an infernal throne.
Her voice may be soft, but the eyes have a sinister glare,
As she conjures up tricks from a cloud of despair.
She places her pawns (dressed as chickens) into enemy lands,
Remorseless assassins which do as their dark mistress commands.
Yet at the decisive moment, the child loses her voice,
Her singing becomes an incomprehensible noise,
And Helmet can command her pieces no more,
The animals revolt and turn against her...
They chew at her sweater, they chew on her dress.
Her hair becomes an incredible mess.
They bite on her legs, they pull on her tail,
and her bughouse game becomes a terrible fail.
Thoughts on Chuck's game
Chuck is a crafty bughouse player,
who faces the mighty vampyre slayer!
Chuck's plan may be laced with error,
But it strikes vampy's heart with terror.
He opens up the spinal tap,
Which sets off a minor booby trap.
He gives his pieces a little look,
But lets his opponent off the hook.
In the end, nothing can match Chuck's calm resolve,
Which not even the spinal fluid can dissolve.
Alas, vampy's mode is set to panic,
And her position goes the way of the Titanic.
An underrated player: Gus McClain
In the bowels of Helms Deep,
Lurks a creature which knows no sleep.
It calls itself Gus McClain,
The poor creature has half a brain.
Not quite human, not quite orc,
It consumes a lot of pork.
In its eyes, burns a fire,
By its words, it is a liar.
It cannot speak, it only mumbles,
It cannot walk, it only tumbles.
Half-naked and half-berserk,
Its face is twisted in a smirk.
It knows one thing, and that's to smash,
Burn Helm's enemies into ash.
When it comes to bughouse, it's really good,
To it, all opponents look like blobs of food.
An overrated player: ijh
A spammer has been caught. We've caught a spammer!
We confiscated his axe. We took away his hammer!
We nailed him upside down. We really nailed him!
We smashed this clown. We truly smashed him!
We put him on the rack. We shoved him in a toaster!
We buried him in hot coals. We trapped him in a roaster!
We shaved his head. We cut his beard.
The creature that emerged looked a little weird.
We locked him into a dungeon. We threw him in a pit.
A miserable shit remained. A miserable shit!
We ate his avocados. And drank his whisky.
We were really nice to him. And he was a little frisky.
The tiny world of littleplotkin
Pick up your magnifying glass,
It is time for Moltey's class!
Is that a little worm? Or is it a little Plotkin?
Or perhaps, it his cousin Pancho Golubotkin?
Welcome to the world of the small,
Where the grass grows really tall.
A place of miniature wonders,
In a chess game of reckless blunders.
It is a tale of assassins and spies,
In a mysterious land of caterpillars and butterflies,
A place of subtle mistakes,
In a chess game for the greatest of stakes.
Hundreds of thousands of tiniest ants,
Are hidden amongst these innocuous plants.
Its a war machine of endless capabilities,
In a chess game of limitless possibilities.
She has the mark of the devil: she wears a helmet with horns,
A lunatic princess runs across a chessboard covered in thorns.
Her castle is in ruins, her father the king was deposed,
Her dress is in tatters, and her breasts are exposed.
She is completely insane: she wears a helmet with bats,
A mad girl spends her days breeding an army of rats.
She carefully places them onto the chessboard,
Playing a strange mix of Bughouse and Horde.
She is feeling galactic: she is wearing a helmet with stars,
A cosmic maiden is playing a chess game on Mars.
It is played on a four dimensional board filled with lasers,
Where the pieces are spaceships equipped with dangerous phasers.
She is morbid and obese: she is wearing a helmet of cheese,
A fat girl is eating a plate covered in two layers of grease.
Fortunately, helmsknight wakes up from a terrible dream,
And she is looking good for this Sunday's stream.
She eats only vegetables: she is wearing a helmet of corn,
A confused girl took this oath the day she was born.
It prevents her from eating delicious lamb and goat,
And condemns her to a diet of only barley and oat.
She is very angry for she is wearing a helmet of beeps,
A pious girl is preaching to a congregation of creeps,
She plays chess and sings mad Celtic tunes,
To a bunch of little kids holding party balloons.