Yes Turd, I.
Having demonstrated an evident incompetence in double-dactyl form, in the time honored manner of losers everywhere, I have changed the rules to my advantage.
I have invented the Dublin' Dock-Till.
No, this is not a bear trap for sticky fingers or an implement for weeding the back streets of the Irish capital, it is a form wherein words have a phonetic similarity to an original well-known piece, The use of regional accents, Cockney, Bronx, Oirish , Whatever, is permitted , even encouraged.
This is my first rendition, hopefully you’ll recognise a little song from the Flab Fore.
It occurs to me that this would have natural appeal to the multi-talented Nay Jill, Hold.
Yes turd, I
nude at love, was juice to see le gam touple.
Knowth seams is dough, that seared Tuesday
sow, I’ll be leavin—
yes turd, I.
Dunce, Eiffel in love,
( I forget this line)
butt-hide in some thin throng
now eye,
long off her,
yes, turd I,
A. Nonny-Mouse
[This message has been edited by Jim Hayes (edited January 22, 2002).]
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