Tonight’s Entry: A Snorfleglorp of Rhyme and Meter
“A snorfleglorp? What’s that?” you ask. A strange new word I shall unmask.
It means a lot, a ton or many; sometimes even more than plenty.
In the end, it is the dose of rhyme and meter in this post,
for I seem to be inspired to rhyme about events transpired.
The Moose, or Muss as is his name, committed acts that caused him shame.
Amongst our newly vacuumed floor, he dropped a load, that dirty whore.
The runny shit has now set in and though I visit it again
with cans of glorious Resolve, the stain continues to evolve.
It grips the floor as if by hate and still won’t seem to dissipate.
A plethora of times I’ve sprayed, and yet I find the stain has stayed.
Luckily the stench is light, but Moose won’t hold it overnight.
Before you know it, he’ll have shit everywhere I like to sit.
Moving from that fecal tale that I had chosen to regale,
the snorfleglorp shall grow and wend away from stories of rear ends.
I’ll also stay away from from stains, instead, spinning a yarn of pain.
But don’t worry, I’ll shall heal, despite my hurting quite surreal.
We have a guest who’s staying here until her new apartment clears.
Earlier, her shit appeared, much more of it than I had feared:
Couches; tables; milk crates; clothes; boxes (full of what? Who knows!);
a traffic light that really works; so much stuff it was berserk.
For those of you who know my place, you’ll know we don’t have extra space.
Already, we are low on room and any left, we’ll soon consume
with DVDs, or books or games; accumulating such profane
amounts that you could hardly be without collecting some debris.
But still we felt that we’d be kind and told her that we didn’t mind
if our house became a spot within which she could throw her lot.
Admittedly, the couch is nice, and certainly it did entice
me to agree to let her store some of her stuff beneath my floor.
but our garage is now half-filled and it’s because we’re just weak willed.
I spent my day unloading junk and wallowing within my funk
and now our storage space is full. There’s so much shit. My god, it’s bull.
But worst of all, and it’s my fault, I am a victim of assault,
for as we moved the couch downstairs, I sprained my neck and am impaired.
I thought it best to lift the chair above my wall without a care.
But Smurfette didn’t have the strength. And while I held it up at length
and used my neck and head to hold the couch aloft, my neck did fold.
“MY NECK!” I screamed, the pain intense, the couch now up against the fence.
Soon enough, we hit the ground, the couch and I one messy mound.
Actually, that’s not the truth. I didn’t scream or swear uncouth.
I muttered “ow” and kept on moving, hoping that I’d be improving.
Sadly, I’m still in duress, but the pain is slightly less.
And so, my snorfleglrop is done, so sadly, for it was such fun.
The night is old, my bed so sweet. Until the next time that we meet.