Friday, September 24, 2010

once more in the spirit of the holidays at the studio

Oh dear Liz, I speak to you from my cool grave
I regret what I've said, how I did misbehave.
You hate me, you loathe me, of that I am sure.
But intentions were honest, they were good, they were pure.

I thought we'd be friends if only you'd tried.
My feelings were true, but now they have died.
With some time to think from this place they call heaven,
It calls for some bread, preferably unleavened.

So bid me farewell, oh lovely, fair Liz.
But my friends are about, ready to give you their shiz.
I've told them about the abode they could storm,
How the drawer is still there, cozy and warm.

The dogs itty kibbles, available and tasty.
Just sit for the taking, oh my friends...they no wastey.
Once they're done with the kibbles, they'll want something more.
They'll be looking around, your home's a rat store.

I've already told them about your two hounds.
Both sleeping all day, like comatose mounds.
They're there for the taking, they won't even mutter.
Into the pot, a quick stir and some butter.

When you arrive home, feeling tired and spent.
Come into the kitchen, breath deeply the scent.
Of the stew that they've made you, I know that you'll savor.
It's tasty, you'll know it, but can't name the flavor.

Bon Appetit!,

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