Friday, April 11, 2008

Rhyming Quickie

In a spanky little house by the sea
In a land foreign and far, far away
There lived a horrible old man
Who didn't wanna bathe every day.

He ate doughnuts, croissants
Bags of chips and monkey pie
When the kids said he should wash
"Soap's devil's work," he'd reply.

"But you'd be so much happier clean,"
The children chided and insisted
"Get outta here, fer I gots plans t'be
The dirtiest fella whut ever existed!"

As time passed and the visits stopped
The old man got all the mustier
"Ferget them meddlin' kids and such!
My flies are much more trustier."

Then one day when the sun was high
The hot air really got to his pits
The smell forced him to his knees,
Said he, "suppose this is whut I gits!"

Coughing, he went to the shower
Used hisself some soap he still had
"Whooee! This stuff reeks of pansies!
And I thought my pits smelled bad!"

Under the long neglected shower jets
He shed his stank and bits of grit and mud
The old man shed hisself a tear
Cuz he was gonna miss his layers'a crud.

He stepped out and toweled hisself dry
"Most uncomfortable thing I ever did!"
He announced, facing an expectant crowd
"Now git off my lawn y'rotten little kids!"


Anonymous said...

I love this.

This will be Kevin when he is old. Ok maybe not, but you never know.

He could buy soap that doesn't smell like pansies.

"forget them meddlin' kids and such! My flies are much more trustier." I like that line. It may be one of my favorites. flies are trusty they are always where you don't want them.

Anonymous said...

I hope for his sake that when he faced the expectant crowd he remembered to hang on to the towel.

That doggerel is so doggererllian it's positively canidoggerelonianistical.

If Ted Geisel were alive today, he'd send one of his Yinks to kill you.

Anonymous said...

I don't know what is scarier, that a crowd was waiting for him to get out of the shower, or that the crowd was a bunch of children.
Either way, he was still on his lawn naked, which you should be allowed to do if you own a piece of property.

P.S. to the curves of the galaxy woman: You are a poop head, and I love you

Jack W. Regan said...

CCG: You are assuming that Kevin is going to grow old. Having seen his leprechaun dance, I fully expect him to be lynched any day now by an angry mob of diminutive Irishmen.

FD'SFD: I hope for the crowd's sake that he remembered to hang on to the towel. And canidoggerelonianistical would be a good name for a camera lens.

Kevin: They're both equally scary. And, frankly, I also feel bad for his lawn. It didn't have the greatest view, either.

Anonymous said...

I would be very sad if Kevin was lynched by an angry mob. Maybe I could distract them with beer.

Kevin you are a butthead but I love you anyway.

P.S. I am cuter

Jack W. Regan said...

Fortunately, a lynching by leprechauns isn't particularly dangerous. Just a lot of tickling, really.

Anonymous said...

I've left a discreet copy of Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man in FooDaddy's reading room to assist him with all the upcoming Irish and Catholic references. Sure, an' it's like takin' a shower in Eireland.

Cue Henry Cowell's Symphony No. 4 ("Irish").