Forsooth and forlorn ferocious I fried,
Before Bibawhack, my baboon bastard's bride.
To teachy thee a truth, Ye took And Ye tried…
On yon odorous oxters [as the ocean tide.]
Guarengriddle Green, elope, elope. Makes watery- eyed.
So send it soft, send it soon, spittle spot, easily spied.
Him and she, Her and He hurtle and hide…
Disenchanted, disabused, deceased I died.
Celebrations shock gatherings cries of the breath;
And clapping of those masking's while holding their crush;
Labor long and hard, while hurdling soft;
Spills the just of juice;
I can't vue it, just can't vue it...
is the Vogon's contest?
7/17/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2021©
Did anyone say vegan
oh you mean Meagan
No she died ears ago
eating a pulpit
wat !!! she ate wood chips !!!
Yes Mima ,her intestinal tract
blew up like a big balloon, splintered and crackled
her cel phone gave her miiginites ringatitus
what a turd,... stay away from dah freakin' cel phone
or you'll wind up limp, like a piece of lettuce
Vogan Poetry inspires us all
Couth super- of the world
trailer, stringendo travels afar
Rent center bank me bark me
recipe, stringendo.for sure for sure
National poetry month prompt day eight Vogan Bot Poetry
Fouey Fricklebundt fries formed generously under the daily duress of Voganistic scoundrel dogs and gloryfined frickleless masters showed up as Jayburgers seriously rounded up in a distressed way by interplanetarium worm hog feedsayergoers. Muddling in madness, the querulous queen of the planetarian everylords slapped an intergalactic space voyager cat into Fricklebundt’s space pod, knowing his allergies would do him in. Swarmpopped at last, we quickly showed the curious mongovvers that the welcome mat was closed to the queen after this meanness. Sixty-four species of humanoids dunderslapped their pawburgers upon the paperwork that caused her demise in record ways. It was a glorbobbering way to get our own candidate to the top of the Vogan council, so in a dubbbliciously deploriattting crazzllating way, it was what we wanted in the end.
Happily ensconced in a glimmering tree
Wearing buckle belts on his pudgy left knee
The old Vogan king took a potshot at me.
My men promptly snatched him up and threw him down
Tore off his wig, his shirt, and his hideous crown
Kicked him meanly into a heap on the ground
We dragged him by orange donkey cart all over town
By the time we were finished, his pants were all brown
He gave up his scepter, his gold teeth and his crown
He offered me the key to his kingdom, his wife, and more
What would I do with that dried up old shrew of a boar?
Anyway, I was on a mission and wanted a war.
What really made me mad, what incensed me, was Vogan TV
It was on every single channel, and how good can that be?
Next time I tell you the Vogan King will be sorry he messed with thee.