To: Dead Corpse
"As your attourney, I advise you to take a hit, from the little brown bottle in my shaving kit."
posted on 12/08/2004 7:29:19 PM PST
by Dead Corpse
(Cum catapultae proscriptae erunt tum soli proscript catapultas habebunt.)
To: Dead Corpse; tiamat; tuliptree76; Conspiracy Guy; Monkey Face; Darkchylde; Tax-chick; ...
ZOT! Because We Can!
Its 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 doesnt 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 couldnt spell.
We sent his shriveled soul to ... well...
We have no orthographic test,
On spelling bees, were not the best,
But trolls have brains much like a bird's,
Youll 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 didnt leave when it grew time.
We held a dialogue of sorts,
We talked of weather, and of sports.
We spoke of what wed 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 jjs hide.
We partied long into the night,
And still went on when it grew bright.
We couldnt 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 well 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, well pay no heed,
Except to note the coming Dread,
Of no more posts to the Undead Thread.
NicknamedBob . . . . . December 8, 2004
posted on 12/08/2004 7:37:26 PM PST
(AuthorHouse.Com ... BookStore ... Hawthorne ..."Outlandish!"...Science Fiction? Farce? Marital Aid?)
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!
posted on 12/08/2004 7:37:51 PM PST
("Children don't need counting, because whatever number you have, you never have enough.")
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