BS: Wretched poetry about a little dog.

Subject: RE: BS: Wretched poetry about a little dog.
From: 42
Date: 08 May 04 - 10:28 AM

a flea-ridden dachshund, while scratching
nefarious plots was a-hatching
"Cat" control was his plan
Little Hawk was his man.
Every last thread he was snatching.

tee hee
j

Subject: RE: BS: Wretched poetry about a little dog.
From: GUEST,John Gray in Oz
Date: 08 May 04 - 01:28 PM

I once had a little dog named Ben,
He had nine arseholes - nearly ten!
He wouldn't bread, and he wouldn't crust,
But he ate apple pie, til he fuckin' near bust!

JG/FME

Subject: RE: BS: Wretched poetry about a little dog.
From: Amos
Date: 08 May 04 - 01:43 PM

Dear god...the examples of "worst case" poetry are now being selected for emulation by aspirants!! Thus are we bound for hell on a superhighway of intentional mediocrity.

A

Subject: RE: BS: Wretched poetry about a little dog.
From: Herga Kitty
Date: 08 May 04 - 02:26 PM

Sinsull's account of the song MMario sings, sounds like the ancient Welsh legend of Gelert's hound. So the reference to a laird (Scottish) is interesting...

Kitty

Subject: RE: BS: Wretched poetry about a little dog.
From: Little Hawk
Date: 08 May 04 - 05:25 PM

Ode to Fritz the Dachshund

Our dachshund from Deutschland named Fritz
Used to give our poor neighbours the fits
He peed on their daisies
And drove the cats crazy
And tore all the garbage to bits

He would start at first glimmer of dawn
When he'd drop a big load on their lawn
Then he'd strut 'round the place
A smug look on his face
And assault their shitzu with aplomb

He would bark at the slightest excuse
And go on like a psychotic goose
Then he'd bellow on some more
Just outside the front door
Till they'd turn the old Doberman loose

Then he'd yelp and flee into the house
Where he'd lurk like a terrified mouse
Underneath Mother's bed
He would hide and play dead
While destroying a sweater or blouse

He would eat anything he could steal
From a cooler, the fridge or your meal
He'd imbibe party glasses
Get drunk and make passes
At the potbellied pig, how she'd squeal!

He tried walking on swimming pool water
Which inspired my cousin's young daughter
To leap into the drink
Though we yelled, "Let him sink!"
He was saved, though she hadn't of oughter...

He ate seventy pounds of old ribs
And robbed candies from babies in cribs
When his stomach was pumped
They discovered a clump
Of old socks and it cost 30 quid!

When he finally sickened and died
And went to his reward in the sky
We got flowers for Mum
Played a slow kettle drum
Then all cheered and got bloody well high!

Subject: RE: BS: Wretched poetry about a little dog.
From: Amos
Date: 08 May 04 - 06:06 PM

Now there's a hopeful sign!!

Oh, LH, you have restored my faith that even the most...oh, never mind. Nice poem!!


A

Subject: RE: BS: Wretched poetry about a little dog.
From: Joybell
Date: 08 May 04 - 06:51 PM

There are examples of inspired, but talentless, artists from all over the world. Ed Wood mentioned in my previous post, for example,was American. Forgiveness is not a concept that either one would have understood.
Now wait a minute!!!!!
Has anybody seen Amos and Mrs. Penelope Rutledge in the flesh in the very same room? Just wondering??? Joy of the Bells.

Subject: RE: BS: Wretched poetry about a little dog.
From: Peace
Date: 09 May 04 - 06:20 PM

Ratshit pottery about a diddle log. I don't get it.

Subject: RE: BS: Wretched poetry about a little dog.
From: Amos
Date: 09 May 04 - 06:20 PM

I have often thought about Mrs Rutledge's flesh, but have never been in it, in the same room or any other.

Not for lack of offers on her part, mind you...

Something about the Yankee accent, I understand. But there are standards.

A