Roses are red, weasels are blue.
If you weren’t a gurzbag, you wouldn’t be you.
Though you’re a great heaving snout, I don’t wish you the gout,
And you’re much more fun than the average dumb lout.
What do you do with a great slothsome beast
Who has always got his nose in the Fancy Feast?
I tried dancing and singing, but his chowing never ceased!
He consumes 15 pounds every day at least!
– to the tune of the Oompa Loompa song from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory
Tom gets back in the mockery seat to mock my default IM away message: “I’ve been snarfed by a giant kerschnuffle.”
So there’s this Karen girl, you see. Young slip of a thing, barely old enough to know she’s alive. Offer her a piece of advice I did. “Karen,” I said gently, “Karen, there is one thing in this world of which you must be wary. One thing for which you must keep the eagle eye peeled. One agent of greater menacing potential than all other things combined. That thing is the giant kerschnuffle. If you are not eternally vigilant, sometime you’ll turn around and a giant kerschnuffle will be there to snarf you.” I offered my sage advice gently, and with foreboding. But did she listen? No. Not a whit of it penetrated her cranium to lodge in her cerebellum. So not long ago–just today in fact–she was pawing about the home establishment and a giant kerschnuffle appeared in her vicinity, having insinuated her less-than-eternally-vigilant defenses. And what did it do? I’ll tell you. It snarfed her. Completely and without pause. Alas, sometimes these young slips of things have to learn by example, even when they’re done in by the process. Too bad, she was a pleasant one, too.
A weasel chose to thumb his nose at a passing catamaran,
And to his fervent, hairy dismay, a third world war began.