"W thought we smelt the afterglow
of sexual desire.
We snorted more and...Blimey! Cor!
'Tis Drumpf's coiffure, afire --
which odor's not unlike some hot
ignited whitewall tire."
Poet Poe pens nonsense verse. "...plus phun," puns Uly, "I disburse." Its gamut runs from spam to worse. The matter posted...? Poe's diverse -- most, postcards from his universe, replies to grudges he must nurse. My summary...? Let me be terse: a mitzva, mostly. (Not a curse.)
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Rev'd Spooner Meets Rev'd Carroll
He sought to thaw each thought he saw flee, frozen, from his mind. He peer'd again, then gear'd his pen, supposin' he'd...
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PWWL is pleased to acknowledge the participation of friend-of-blog JD in creating this item. Collaboration in name, collaboration in pro...
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