Tho' 'twon't say when, my wont's to pen,
"I grabb'd ten shen 'n' shook 'em..."
Till then I'll bruit this substitute:
"I'll stick to stalkin' skookum."
(And, once they're caught, you know, one ought
to cuff their flukes 'n' nuke 'em.)
I've punted foals. I've blunted dholes.
I've hunted moles down holes.
My recent goal's to play new roles --
like trackin' truant trolls.
(One snare I fear...? I'll ne'er adhere
to quality controls.)
I'm ever urgin' ev'ry virgin:
"Virtue must be earn'd:
Procure ye horns of unicorns,
nor leave no cones unturn'd.
(Each horn purloin'd must needs be join'd
with love -- lest one be spurn'd.)"
An op'ra done (a top-notch one)
last season at La Scala
explores in song what all goes wrong
when vanquishin' vetala.
(My baritone was "stand-alone";
I sang Vetala Wallah.)
My friend Seurat tried bellin' chats
and wound up in the morgue.
Still, hear him rage, "Who's up for wagin'
war upon the warg...?"
(Who'd join -- enlist -- in such a tryst
ought visit <warg.org>)
No taint to show restraint, although
I'll faint -- or go bananas --
unless I shoot (read: execute)
some xindhis. Or some xanas.
(One's not a nut who'd question what
a piece of work this man is.)
Gendarmes demand all arms be bann'd --
brass knuckles and machetes.
(With same I'd deign to yank the chain
of all remaining yetis.
How do 'em in...? Their hides I'd skin;
their guts turn thin spaghettis.)
Some beasts you'd drub...? Then grab a club
(a niblick, spoon or mashie),
then zero in...and shear its shin.
zashiki (ugh!) warashi.
(One blow at speed is all you'll need:
nowt skillful, shrewd or flashy.)
Voila! You've seen there's beasts umpteen
as nasty e'en as snarks.
While we disperse, let me be terse:
Their bites...? Fa-a-ar worse than barks.
(No wonder fundamentalists
exclude 'em from their arks.)
Fin
