"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!"
Friday, November 10, 2006
A poem...
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1 comment:
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).
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