Pull not my leg, dear lamb, nor the wool over my weakening eyes.
For we have strived as brothers, ye and I, to right
The ship of fools which carries us, and make it wise
And light it through its stormy, mindless night.
Thus have we earned good merit up in heaven!
For guiding Mother through her perilous strait.
And soon, from thousands ten-and-seven,
Will bring her unto thousands ten-and eight!
Store up good drink! Go, slay the fatted calf!
Polish thine trumpet, and have Doug bring his drum!
For we shall merrye be, and long will laugh,
When Mother is 18 thousand come!
Sharpen thine wit! Prepare thy brightest pen!
We'll post to her but ninety one times more!
And then -- oh friends, oh MOABites, oh then--
We'll usher her to eighteen-thousand's shore!

Nimrod Winnebago Willowtongue de Catastrophe
Seigneur des Droit Poétique des Royaunes Entires de M´re de Tous Merde des Taureaux

Port Royale, Endroit des Apaches, Normandy du Sud. 1948