Short Creepy Halloween Love Story
"Toady," depressed over the comments on his looks, went out to our backyard to ponder his miserable life.
He ran into Lizzie.
It was love at first sight. Almost. Lizzie put him on her special desiccation diet. And now they are a couple. In my opinion, they are the perfect Halloween couple.
To celebrate their new cozy, morbid, interspecies romance, here is an anonymous poem I found in a textbook.
The poem is about a frog, not a toad, but that's close enough.
The Frog
What a wonderful bird the frog are!
When he stand he sit almost;
When he hop he fly almost.
He ain't got no sense hardly;
He ain't got no tail hardly either.
When he sit, he sit on what he ain't got almost.
Toady, especially, ain't got much to sit on now.
18 Comments:
At 11:51 PM, Anonymous said…
Do you have anything in haiku?
At 12:00 AM, Candy Rant said…
Toady is skinny
Way past Karen Carpenter
But he has found love.
At 6:54 AM, prairie biker said…
If you dry them out and put them on display ...
... people will come.
At 8:36 AM, Anonymous said…
Lizzie and Toady
Sad that they'll never have an
Affair of the Flesh
At 9:17 AM, Candy Rant said…
Scott, we need to start a theme park of dead things in the back yard. PB says people will come. This will be the way I can make money after I quit teaching.
Oh, and quit writin' romantic stuff when I'm at work and can't do nothin about it.
At 9:44 AM, Anonymous said…
Okay, we can set it up out on the West 40. Visitors can come in through the RV gate, and Hankie can collect admission.
At 11:38 AM, Unknown said…
I absolutely love that poem.
At 11:47 AM, Citlali said…
Yes!! Brilliant. Prairie Biker's right -- people are WAY more morbid than they normally admit. They'll come... = ]
At 2:02 PM, Anonymous said…
Toady on the Throne
Green with amber bulging eyes,
Reigning oer’ his green demise,
His crawly subjects bowed
Beneath
His unrelenting stare.
“Oh goodness me,” the spider said
And bustled quickly past
This Dread centurion.
His aspect not one smidgen changed
This verdant sentinel’s solemn brow
Betrayed no hint of his intent
No hint of his disdain.
Scurrying toward his silver home
The spider halted his advance
For one last stolen, furtive glance
Too late to see his end
The garden’s sentient guardian stood
Again
Unmoving, motionless and still
A tribute to his royal will
The garden people bowed before
The monarch
Of all greenery
This world of dancing buggery;
And hurried home
At 2:31 PM, Candy Rant said…
Cool poem! Dang, this here place is all literary and stuff today!
Scott, we will need a change belt for Hankie.
Mel, I know. Isn't that poem great. I never can remember what it says, and then I go back and read it again and laugh again like a maniac.
At 2:32 PM, Candy Rant said…
Citlali, Prairie Biker knows all kinds of cool morbid stuff, too.
At 5:44 PM, Anonymous said…
Why do we need another change belt? Cain't he use yers while yer sleepin' all day?
At 5:52 PM, Candy Rant said…
When you come home tonight? Just ignore the sound of the chainsaw starting up.
At 7:23 PM, Anonymous said…
Uh, I got a meeting. A really, really late meeting.
In Botswana.
At 7:26 PM, Candy Rant said…
I know people in Botswana.
At 12:32 AM, Candy Rant said…
Hey Anonymous...where'd that poem come from??? I can't even google it!
At 5:51 AM, Jerry said…
I wrote it while riding on a train through Botswana.
"The people are the frog and the frog are the people."
Udali Macubire
At 7:21 AM, prairie biker said…
I gotta clarify. I think I misspelled something there.
Oh yeah, "cum".
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