Hello and welcome one and all to this week's edition of what has quickly grown into America's Favorite Past-time. I apologize for the delay, but as some of you may know, I was up in Provo
over the weekend, and took rather ill. (Phlegm bombs exploding from my throat every 20 seconds! Wicked crazy drugs! Disco Roller-skating!)
Our first poem is the teaser from last week:
Forward March! (When bowel movements go wrong).
Get ye forward!
Do not fear the sound nor smell!
round every corner.
Hold your breath DO NOT INHALE!
The floor below us,
begins to quake.
But fear not, I won't lead you astray!
I am your compass,
I am your Captain.
I alone know the way.
These bowel movements,
are getting stronger.
We can't go back though hope be gone.
We will triumph!
E'en when bowel movements go wrong.
The next specimen of Manpoem that I have for you is one I wrote just today at work. It is written in letter form and must be read with certain rhythm. Feel free to rap it as Randolph is black.
This is your nephew Randolph. If you would take the sand off, I'd hand off the precious golden ring. Que BLING! I swear I ate no thing! Just elvish bread, and Sudafed, and a little can of corn. Poor Aragorn! His heart is torn 'tween Elf-woman, Man-woman, and woman that was hobbit-born. Frodo. Mistaken for a girl, by all the world of Middle-Earth since his day of birth cause his pretty golden curls. Well Gandalf, I must go. Give my love to Bilbo. Cause now I'm done, I must flush then run. It's sure been fun, but now my bum is numb.
Until next week, may your your foreheads grow like the mighty oak.