Th’Eve In Which Didst Carve M’Self In’ta Gourd A’fore Shitting On Two Cars
’Twere a night unlike any other, lads. All Hallows Eve, they called it. Throughout the city the sounds coo! coo! bk coooo! were replaced by screeches most unholy-vile as to send shivers up and down wee-spine of Chiliburger. With but week-and-day until time-of-the-vote arriveth didst wonder aloud to self on more than one occasion, “’Twouldst be able to vote this go ’round?”
Coo! Bk-Coooo! A-Cooooo! Coooo – Coooo. Coo! Coo, Cooooo, coooooooooo-Coo!
Bk-Coooo! A-Cooooo! Coooo – Coooo.
Screeches unholy moans and th’what-havst-yous interrupted said thoughts as abruptly as entered (wee) head. Didst finally then settle down and manage to carve self-portrait into large-girthed gourd a’fore setting out on town proper. Not wholly unflattering at that, if I may toot mine own horn but once, twice. Coo. Witness!:
