Friday, November 10, 2006

A poem...

"SISTER, sister, go to bed! Go and rest your weary head." Thus the prudent brother said.

"Do you want a battered hide, or scratches to your face applied?" Thus his sister calm replied.

"Sister, do not raise my wrath. I'd make you into mutton broth as easily as kill a moth"

The sister raised her beaming eye and looked on him indignantly and sternly answered, "Only try!"

Off to the cook he quickly ran. "Dear Cook, please lend a frying-pan to me as quickly as you can."

"And wherefore should I lend it you?" "The reason, Cook, is plain to view. I wish to make an Irish stew."

"What meat is in that stew to go?" "My sister'll be the contents!" "Oh."

"You'll lend the pan to me, Cook?" "No!"

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

What are you implying here Joseph?
That you think I am a good cook?
I know, I cook better than you,
and I look better too.

Your corn chowder has nothing on my Ranch stew.
Creamed corn is like snot,
It makes me gag a whole damn lot,
You don't even have to chew.

Obvisouly the cook gave me the pan,
So I can beat your butt at a cook off,
And have everyone drool over my Ranch Stew(l).