We spent all morning, Horatio and me, slogging in waist-high rubber boots through the murky swamps of Benbrook, TX. (Though Benbrook is not famous for murky swamps, merely attending any golf course or wild area beside a poorly landscaped business-complex leads to plenty of murky swampness, where water run-off pools indifferently among the long grass…)
Alas, we tried kosher dill, dill, and bread & butter pickles. (I admit, Horatio and I ate most of the bread & butter pickles. We were hungry after all that stomping around.)
We used all sorts of elaborately bad haiku, all composed by me. Some of my gems:
Victorian pants
Riding crops, boots, and pirates,
I Am Fabio!
A dying leaf falls
in a puddle of water
when you touch yourself.
Alas! My pickles were pickle-y enough. Horatio assures me the pickles passed his inspection for the capture of bad poetry bats. My haiku, however, was simply too good!
I can’t suck even when I’m trying.
Can anyone donate bad feeding for the capture and continued feeding of the bad poetry bats?
Here’s something for your baitO stinky fish headsdelight not my taste tonighthow they disgust me
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and this one tooMy granny pantiesswaying, blowing in the windchildren run through them
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If you like bad haiku, you might get a kick out of this: http://575petpeeves.blogspot.com^_^
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