Detective Fritterwhisker knew it was you
Harumphed the Cheese, belabored the sneeze
And we sang the between, Elizabethan we
Wheeled in Legendary Bodybuilt Steve
To ladder the rose, to rise to the pose
And we, glitterprone, teased to the knees
Did slip on the tile, made fall for the spoon,
fuzzied the wine in its geotrick shelf,
wanted to wed you despite the debris
but you sugartailed and slipped us the solar-freeze
were thusly finned through the secondest gate
gone AWOL at last from the rodent brigade.
You sugared the cootiebug, installed your harangue
Now this mascarpone posy is all that remains.
Valley Victorious!
She marched her armies overland, jaundiced as they were, wearing the red cape, the crested helmet. A benevolent dictator she was counting out, controlling all the wedding plans. She was like the working part of a lock. She was a tumbler. Without her see-through, sod-busting acumen no forgotten malcontents could bloom. She kept herself abreast. Some logistical problems. An allergy to many-cornered pollens. Trace of Salmonella in the mousse. And nobody wanted to dance! Which rather put her off. It was supposed to be a lurid affair: troupes of masked and naked men, two flag teams wound in ribbon, and the Mormon Tabernacle Choir singing all the hits of Hair! No, never would there be a day like this. The only presentation of her whole and lonely self! She must! She must! It radiated on the dance floor like a strangulation. All quailed, she quelled them with a single shimmy, it was longer than anyone could stand. A fete, a proper indication of her military strength.
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