Halloween 5

And Halloween is complete as the Pumpkin has been carved. We had an ambitious plan to this year produce our very own Orange Darth Vader. Unfortunately the plan failed to take account of my complete incompetence and our selection of that Pumpkin which was discarded in the corner of the shop.

Dad I feel sorry for that one. Let’s give that one a home.

So after many cut fingers our Pumpkin has been born.

It’s no Darth Vader. So it needs a name. Is it.

Donald

Mr Clever

Darwin Watterson

OR Oompa

Terrible Poetry

Yes it’s almost the weekend so it must be time for a bit of terrible poetry via Chelsea Owens great weekly competition. This week given the subject it’s going to be virtually impossible to skew this round to the worlds numpty politicians. So the rules are:

  1. The type of poetry I’m interested in is a tanka. Colleen Chesebro runs this form (and a few others) every week for her popular Tanka Tuesday challenge.
    A tanka is very much like a haiku, but uses the format 5/7/5/7/7.
    On top of that, our Topic is PUMPKIN SPICE.
  2. What’s the length? I already told you: it’s a syllabic pattern of 5/7/5/7/7.
  3. Rhyming is not allowed. Scented candles are.
  4. The most important part is to make it terrible. Madame Chesebro herself must apply to WordPress to have my site banned from the internet, burned, and buried with cloves to ensure we never attempt to write tanka poetry again.
  5. Pumpkins and their harvest seasonings can stay rated at PG or tastier.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (October 4) to submit a poem to Chelsea.

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Had to look up Pumpkin Spice. Never had it before. Was also tempted to interpret tastier as X rated – but I’d better not.

Terrible Poetry

It’s time to shake the very fabric of time and space with a bit of Terrible Poetry hosted by Chelsea Owens. This week the challenge is:

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Infinitely improbable, you say? Don’t panic! Read my basic outline on what every pan-dimensional being expects from bad poetry in my Blogger’s Guide to the Terribleness. Aim for a little lower than self-throttling by one’s own intestine; a little higher than Vogon.

Here are the specifics for this side of the galaxy:

  1. The Topic is towels. Do you know where yours is?
  2. The Length is up to the budding artist (you).
  3. Rhyming is optional.
  4. Just make it terrible. As you clear your throat for a recitation, the entire Vogon fleetmust flee in …well, in an organized, bureaucratic fashion after completing the necessary paperwork.
  5. How risqué can a towel get? I wouldn’t dare ask Adams that, but I think we can keep things PG or friendlier.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (September 13) to submit a poem to Chelsea.

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My friend stayed at a Trump Hotel and pinched one of the towels

When the President finds out he will give him one of those scowls

On the Vice Presidents visit to Ireland he stayed at another Trump Hotel

I wonder if he had a towel in his bag when he bid the hotel farewell

Now the army has to bunk at Trumps Golf Resort in Scotland

Hundreds of fluffy white ones will go missing as mistakes are not learned

Poor Donald looses so many towels I hope he has a good supplier

Probably from China but he won’t know as he is such a crap buyer

And I wonder as Trump played golf while Hurricane Dorian continued to magnify

What was he thinking as he dried his grip with one of the finest towels money can buy