Bad Cold by Shel Silverstein

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  This cold is too much for my shortsleeve. Go get me a Kleenex--and fast. I sniffle and wheeze And I'm ready to sneeze And I don't know how long I can last.... Atchoo--it's to wet for a kleenex, So bring me handkerchief, quick. It's--atchoo--no joke, Now the handkerchief's soaked. Hey, a dish towel just might do the trick. Atchoo--it's too much for bath towel. There never has been such a cold. I'll be better off With that big tablecloth, No--bring me the flag off the pole. Atchoo--bring the clothes from the closet, Atchaa--get the sheets from the bed, The drapes off the window, The rugs off the floor To soak up this cold in my head. Atchoo-- hurry down to the circus And ask if they'll lend you the tent. You say they said yes? Here it comes--Lord be blessed-- Here it is--Ah-kachoooo--there it went.

Randoms

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  • Geoffrey Chaucer Hath a Blog. He is writing a "newe set of tales. Thinketh of this: the image of the viage of an erthely pilgrimage ys but a maner of shewinge the wey of thilke parfit glorious pilgrimage into the celestial spheeres of the skye, in which we shal weare awesome shinye clothes and have swooshie laser swordes and eek have snappye dialog and sweepinge orchestrale bakkeground musique as we flye arounde the sunnes and moones and thinges-that-are-nat-moones. And thus Ich am writinge nat of pilgrimes on erthe but of pilgrimes -- wayteth for yt -- IN THE STERRES!"

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