About a painting

Holy Glockenspiel
Crappenberg!

Fartily arty
Heartily absurd

I didn't did I
Doobeedoobeedoo

I gessoed all down the canvas
What did I do!?

Glocken Holyberg
Spiel and crap!

My mind my mind
It ain't coming back

Datt's not my name.

Here is a rap-battle between my former self - 6 year old Matt D and my current alter-ego 26 year old Datt M. Street-cred is on the line and it's up to you to decide who has game and who is lame (and will later be 'drive-byed').

Datt M is up:

Yo Yo
Wigger Wigger
Yo
I'm Datt
Yeah I'm so freakin Phatt (Mofos)

Don't mess with that
Coz you might go splatt!
(Wigger Wigger)

Who's that fool Matt
He's thick
Like his head hit a batt
Ye-yah.

And to this rises Matt D:

Matt is my name,
Scat is my game.

I am a cat,
I sat on a mat.

I eat fish
at the mat.

I play with bats
In the rat cave.

People pat me.


...it's now up to you. Vote or die.

Sorry Mr Anderson

The setting:
It's seventh form (the last year of highschool), English class and we are studying King Lear.

The teacher:
Mr Anderson, mild, hearing impaired and memorable (evidently).

The question:
"Matthew, how do you explain The Fool's final line, 'And I'll to bed at noon'?"

The response:
"Mr Anderson, Bichon Frise. Glazed upon my window." And to this Mr Anderson nodded and said, "Yes that's good, does anyone have anything else to add?" To which Mr Anderson was met by a muffled silence (perhaps not unlike that which he heard when I spoke my response).

The apology:
Mr Anderson, I'm sorry. I mocked your hearing loss that day. Instead of a studious answer, I gave you my thoughts on a small breed of dog similar in appearance to, but larger than, the Maltese. I did so knowing that you would not hear me properly and with intention to cause laughter amongst the classroom at your expense. I apologise for this act of disrespect.

The poem:
Irrespective of my intentions that day, a landmark poem was created and here it is for you one more time (and this time with graphic).


Bichon Frise.
Glazed
Upon my Window.