Adrian's Arsenal & Additional 'Ardware Applesauce

Tan-ta-
rum...
tan-ta-
tum-
tan-ta-
ta-a-a-ah!
Tan-ta-
tum...
tan-ta-
rum...
tan-ta-
ra-a-a-ah!

Dig: we're 
stick
figgers 
(sic)
Pentel’d 
plain.
Do but 
scroll!
You'll butt 
whole
worlds of 
pain.

Chum: be-
ware

l’hommes de 
guerre
avec 
sword!
His fell 
move
may well 
prove
unto-
ward.

Let’s as-
sume

gents with 
boom-
erangs 
might…
take their 
best
shots from 
nests
out of 
sight.

Even 
kings

heavin' 
sling-
shotted 
stone…
may as-
sail.
(David’s 
tale
is well 
known.)

Do a-
void

you the 
‘droid
with the 
wand!
Run! Go 
now!
(None know 
how
to re-
spond.)

Note twin 
schmos

totin’ 
bows.
(Where’s his 
br’er…?)
Skip their 
barrows:
tipp’d 
arrows!
Take 
care!

Fear this 
guy:

near his 
thigh
rests a 
knife.
Who’s not 
bettin’
he’ll 
threaten
your 
life…?

Ought a 
person

caught 
cursin’
wield 
axes…?
Not at 
all!
Swat that 
gall
‘fore it 
waxes.

Queer’s the 
luck:

here’s a 
schmuck
with a 
crossbow.
‘Nuf’s e-
nuf!
None need 
suf-
fer such 
loss. Go!

Shit! This 
staff

splits the 
chaff
from the 
wheat.
Clue the 
gent:
“You! Git 
bent!”
[Hit DE-
LETE!]

When a 
bloke’s

yen’s to 
poke
with his 
spear
your left 
side,
what’s left…? 
Hide!
Disap-
pear!

Chimes nex’ 
cad,

“I’m Rex 
Badde!
Fear my 
pata!”
Joke’s on 
him:
folks him 
limn 

“vir non 
grata.”

Ought a 
lad

thought “not 
bad”
with his 
whips…
get to 
snag
that lit 
fag
‘twixt your 
lips…?

Men may 
writhe

when with 
scythe
you at-
tack ‘em.
Moral’s 
clear:
more foil 
fear
when they 
pack ‘em.

“E-e-e-eek! A 
bomb,”

squeaks the 
mom
of this 
fellow.
(“Show no 
fear!”’s
what the 
dear
dam should 
bellow.)

Ev’ry 
boychik

who’d 
toye (sic)
with 
hammer…
must be 
tarr’d.
(Trust you’ll 
pard-
on my 
grammar.)

Might who 
wields

bright new 
shields
run the 
risk…
of a 
scrap
with a 
chap
with a 
disc…?

Sound the
'larm!

Bounder’s 
arm’d
with a 
stick.
Answer…? 
Charm.
Lance his 
karm-
a with 
schtick.

Tykes with 
nothin’ –

like 
Goths in
old 
Edda --
combat 
blind –
though that 
kind
should know 
betta.

“A soul’s 
dead,”

we drolls 
said,
“empty-
handed.
Sans one’s 
gun,
man’s un-
done:
‘no-man’s 
land’ed!”

Zany 
stick

figyures 
(sic) --
knife…shield…
axe…
‘til new 
Rugers*
mill 
lugers
each 
lacks.

     * As of 2015, 

Ruger was the US’s

largest firearms
manufacturer