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To: Dead Corpse

"As your attourney, I advise you to take a hit, from the little brown bottle in my shaving kit."

52,709 posted on 12/08/2004 7:29:19 PM PST by Dead Corpse (Cum catapultae proscriptae erunt tum soli proscript catapultas habebunt.)
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To: Dead Corpse; tiamat; tuliptree76; Conspiracy Guy; Monkey Face; Darkchylde; Tax-chick; ...
ZOT! Because We Can!

It’s ZOT! Because we can! We said,
The bad fate troll and the Undead Thread.
It seemed a worthy thing to save,
We had such fun dancing on his grave!

What is this thread about? You ask.
It doesn’t have a single task.
We celebrate an expired troll,
The dying swan his finest role.

Why so ignominious a deed?
'Cause he exemplified the breed!
With ignorance coming out his ears,
Songs of woe, and crocodilian tears.

He said he posted for the Juws,
That we should walk within their shoes.
He only proved he couldn’t spell.
We sent his shriveled soul to ... well...

We have no orthographic test,
On spelling bees, we’re not the best,
But trolls have brains much like a bird's,
You’ll know their sign -- you must guess the words.

He was a Phantirathic slave,
We zotted fast and paved his grave.
We danced and partied, sang and strolled,
Upon the asphalt we had rolled.

It was a moment so sublime,
We didn’t leave when it grew time.
We held a dialogue of sorts,
We talked of weather, and of sports.

We spoke of what we’d like to see,
If someone used this property.
At last the thought occurred to some,
To build a Mansion on this slum!

A castle rose into the heights,
Where once we gave a troll last rites.
A moat protected those inside,
And trinkets made from jj’s hide.

We partied long into the night,
And still went on when it grew bright.
We couldn’t seem to take a hint,
The property owner seemed absent.

I guess we owned it all together,
It brought us shelter from the weather,
And gave a focus for our thought,
What irony a troll had wrought!

We built and tunneled more and more,
Eventually, we found the floor,
A limit to our building boom,
That hinted at impending Doom!

Sixty-five thousand five thirty-five,
But until then we’ll surely thrive.
No one will note who says the most,
What counts is who will get Last Post!

Last Post! The last of its breed!
Up until then, we’ll pay no heed,
Except to note the coming Dread,
Of no more posts to the Undead Thread.

NicknamedBob . . . . . December 8, 2004

52,710 posted on 12/08/2004 7:37:26 PM PST by NicknamedBob (AuthorHouse.Com ... BookStore ... Hawthorne ..."Outlandish!"...Science Fiction? Farce? Marital Aid?)
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To: Dead Corpse

Well, phooey. The second disc of the Northern Exposure set isn't working (on the DVD player, or the computer) so he'll have to exchange it. And double phooey, I think I hear the baby crying!

See y'all tomorrow!

52,711 posted on 12/08/2004 7:37:51 PM PST by Tax-chick ("Children don't need counting, because whatever number you have, you never have enough.")
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