SNOW PLOW
snow plow
hide in yesterday
the truths of tomorrow
broken axle
rust on your blade
no glimmer of hope for you
snow plow
snow plow
hide in yesterday
the truths of tomorrow
broken axle
rust on your blade
no glimmer of hope for you
snow plow
Loon: What a treat the Lords of the 4th Dimension have in store for us today. None other than a return visit from that all-time favorite, the ghost of Nero, Emperor of Rome. Nero, did you ever eat a penguin?
Nero’s ghost: Et tu.
Loon: How did they taste?
Nero’s ghost (belches, feigns vomiting): Blarrrggghhh.
Loon: I’ll make a note of that. Finally, how do you mask the horrible taste of water?
Nero’s ghost: ad hoc.
Loon (on drums): Ba dum dum.
Graham Chapman’s ghost (dressed as British officer): Stop this at once.
Surprisingly, Grig was an ardent Jane Austen fan.
While turning the photographer to stone with his gaze, Rasputin has momentarily abandoned reading:
a. Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austin.
b. A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court by Mark Twain.
c. Alice Through the Looking Glass by Lewis Carroll.
d. The Sorcerer’s Handbook by Magnus Gift.
The last orange pulsing ember of hope strangled to white frozen death. Lifeless crooked sticks marred the smooth blue chill outside the mesh of his cell. The moon gazed with cold indifference. No sneer. No frown. Cold indifference. Metal click and slide of tray. His dinner had arrived. The thick slab of roast beef was cooked medium rare. He preferred well done. The generous serving of mashed potatoes swam in gravy. He preferred butter. The peas were not lima beans. Final insult. The fat wedge of glistening cherry pie had always been his second favorite. He preferred lemon meringue. He wept a final tear and died.