Young Writers Society

The Profane Parables and Nihilistic Narrations by a Perverse Pariah

Offering Occasional Observations of Odd Occurrences

And an Astonishingly Annoying Amount and Application of Alliteration

The following contains explicit language, violent conduct and numerous moral ambiguities. It is also sideways-eight-percent true in all aspects. The reader may, understandably, recognize a seemingly unreliable amount of foresight in some aspects. This may elicit skepticism regarding the overall authenticity. Well, a quick cross-reference with the “questionable aspects” and Wikipedia will prove the doubters wrong. Every time. So there. For these reasons, it should be ritualistically recited at bedside to small children, to ensure a future generation full of promising politicians, priests and food service employees.

There once was a Siberian peasant, a long, long time ago,

His smell was offensively unpleasant and his eyes seemed to glow.

A Holy Man, the Starets, a lazy, crazy drunk,

Grigori, the Debauched One, also, The Mad Monk;

Healing horses with his hands, his favorite sense was touch!

Touching this and touching that,

Touching piss and touching shat,

Touching soiled blouses and touching wine,

Touching spoiled spouses and touching crime,

Touching royal houses, touching Divine,

Some would say he touched too much, touched too much, touched too much!

He grew out his beard and he wandered about,

His glowing eyes leered and he spoke like a lout.

He stumbled upon a monastery, far away from home,

And he rumbled through its commentaries, reciting all of its tomes.

He returned to the barren village, and seemed much more aware,

Ever since his on-foot pilgrimage, his words became so clear.

He’d now preach to the peasant population, behind a crazed, glowing stare,

He would also practice hypnotization, with whoever he came near.

There was once a Russian Tsar and ruler, a long, long time ago,

His physique was short, weak, meek and antique; it suited his ego.

The Last Emperor of Russia, Nicholas the II,

He was submissive to his wife and to a mystic peasant.

Inheriting a throne, for which he was ill-prepared!

He took commands from his wife,

He took commands his whole life.

Too dull for opinions, too scared for strength,

Too gull to lead minions, too square for change,

Too dual for dominions, two faced and strange;

Had he cared, the Romanov's would be spared, would be spared!

Alexandra, Russia’s final Empress, lived long, long, long ago,

Being German-born was infectious for the public to know.

Mother to five including the Tsarevich of Nicholas,

Both the poor and the rich thought she was a callous bitch.

Pressured by her social rank, she collapsed with emotion!

From madness quells and sadness spells,

She had an iron will, but little brain-cells.

Capricious and shy, the public scorned her.

Judicious and dry, the Tsar adored her.

Superstitious, occultists would inform her.

There was always just commotion, commotion commotion!

Alexi was Tsarevich to Russia, a long, long time ago,

Secretly suffering from a sickness, blood followed every blow.

A tiny bump on the belly, or scraping his knee,

Could potentially result with a fatality;

The doctors were baffled,

The dynasty was desperate.

The blood never seemed to stop,

His bruises would never clot.

Would the medicine help? Was it in the glutens?

The deficient lad yelped, “I need absolution!”

A Siberian would be their resolution;

Rasputin! Rasputin! Rasputin! Rasputin!

Alexandra would request his aid at the castle,

Nicholas acquiesced, although a he was a skeptic.

Upon his arrival at the palace, there were no restrictions,

The man belched, stared and picked his nose, he lacked social inhibitions;

He asked to see the boy after meeting “Papa and Mama,”

He barged into his room, while reciting a Bible stanza.

He laid his hands upon the lad and told him not to fear,

He made motions with his hands and stopped to stroke his beard,

The Empress looked endeared; the Tsar thought it was weird,

Then a miracle appeared; the bruising disappeared!

Bear in mind, Alexi’s condition was kept secret from the people,

If they had known, the Throne’s future would be feeble.

The Debauchee’s appearances could never be fully explained,

Because it would jeopardize Alexi’s future Russian reign.

So it didn’t make sense that this amoral man,

Could be a whorehouse fan,

And hold the Empress’s hand.

Or was seen getting drunk at the bar with his fellow peasants,

And then entered the Royal Palace holding Christmas presents!

This paradoxical man couldn’t even read!

Why should he sit with those who lead?

What excuses him for his onism of hed?

And where does he get off always preaching his creed?

“Closer to God” because of his decreed misdeeds?

“Before one can find salvation, one must first sin!

Because sin is creation; sin’s where redemption begins!

Your carnal implications are nothing you should dim!

God wants you to drink gin!

Touch, touch, touch skin with skin!

Because sin is creation; sin’s where redemption begins!”

-Rasputin! Rasputin! Rasputin! Rasputin!

Convinced of his divinity, Alexandra became obsessed,

If Alexi so much as sneezed, she’d send Rasputin a request.

His powerful presence stretched,

He was no longer just a guest.

The Empress often spoke of him with zest,

The public began to express protest,

Or would address in jest;

“Look at how he’s dressed!”

“Isn’t he the best?”

“I heard he’s possessed!”

“He always suggests.”

“He’s a fowl fucking pest!”

“He’s sucking her breast!”

“He lives in excess!”

“More like sexcess!”

“A man of God from Tobolsk?”

“He’s surely blessed.”

“His eyes can molest!”

“I fucked him! I confess!”

“Give it a rest!”

With the Tsar on the Battleland, fighting World War One,

Alexandra mothered the Motherland, and mothered their son.

Rasputin opposed the war, but still offered his prophecies,

The Empress was shaken to the core, and implemented his policies.

Key religious and militant men were removed from their offices,

To be replaced with others who were, at best, mere novices.

The Russian army faulted, and the resultant resulted;

The public blamed Alexandra’s occultist consultant.

Rasputin! Rasputin! Rasputin! Rasputin!

Felix Yusupov was disgruntled and disgusted by the Tsarina’s supplier,

So, he and two other men congregated and conspired,

They all agreed that the situation was dire,

And arranged to “retire” the debauched liar and Friar of Desire.

They invited him to an event that he couldn’t refuse,

A palace party with loose women and booze!

“Go into the basement, the parties underneath,

At Yusupov Palace on December 17th!”

He arrived at the palace, ready to indulge,

However no Miss, Mistress or Mrs. was there for his bulge.

There was wine, there were cakes and even a fireplace,

The edibles were laced with cyanide poison and toxic waste,

Suspiciously, Yusupov the snake didn’t partake,

Claiming that sweets and wine gave him toothaches.

Rasputin helped himself and soon became drunk,

He began to sing and sway and chanted like a monk.

The Prince watched in awe as an hour passed,

Was the poison was more effective as a gas?

He grew impatient as Rasputin finished the baked bread,

There was enough posion to render three elephants dead!

This is anticlimactically unfinished, and I apologize. Cut me some slack. It was 4 in the morning and writing a Seuss-esque story about a Siberian mystic is surprisingly fucking difficult. If the reception (assuming that there's any at all) is decent, I'll finish it.