Whisky in Babylon Posted February 13, 2007 Report Posted February 13, 2007 I just want to say, there is nothing witty or clever about this poem its just good dumb fun Enjoy. Oh Zombies! How lovely the blood glistens off your rotted yellowed teeth and so quint is your decaying flesh as you pursue your deadly quest Effortlessly you tear, right through our cities disembodying our towns eating people by the pounds Your moans mixed with screams create such a wonderful gospel carried on through out the night even god himself cowers in fright So thank you dear Zombies for rotting your way into our media for munching and crunching into our hearts, we all salute you for doing your part We love you Zombies
Sweetcherrie Posted February 13, 2007 Report Posted February 13, 2007 HAHA, this is great! I appreciate this airy piece of poetry very much, gave me a good laugh Thank you
Whisky in Babylon Posted February 13, 2007 Author Report Posted February 13, 2007 Aw im so glad it made you laugh
GeldrinHor Posted February 13, 2007 Report Posted February 13, 2007 Caesar Romero and Clive Barker Salute you! Very well done!!!
Quincunx Posted February 14, 2007 Report Posted February 14, 2007 Minta marches through the thread, holding a fresh and dripping brain overhead with both hands and chanting: Z is for zombie, that's good enough for me, Z is for zombie, that's good enough for me, Z is for zombie, that's good enough for me, 'cause zombie, zombie, zombie starts with zeeeeeeee! ("I told you we should have cleaned out Kithicor Forest," whines a distant and high-pitched voice, "but nooooo. . .") A pack of slobbering zombies stumbles after the gnomie, biting whatever they bump into (including one another) and mumbling, "braaaaaaaaaaaains. . ."
Gyrfalcon Posted February 15, 2007 Report Posted February 15, 2007 *laughs* This is great, thank you for sharing it Whiskey. 'for munching and crunching into our hearts'
Xaious, Master of Time Posted February 15, 2007 Report Posted February 15, 2007 Mmm Mmm Mmm, Zombies. Good one, yes.
Zadown Posted February 15, 2007 Report Posted February 15, 2007 *wakes up from dozing in a chair and yells wildly, still half asleep* The unstable ones will blow! Watch out! *blinks and wakes up completely* Err.. somebody was calling me, right? Or was it Zool this time? Never can tell, with Z. *kicks away one of the last trailing Minta's zombies that's trying to bite him and wanders off towards the kitchens of the Keep* ((As an old Grandmaster and Head Honcho of the Official A1 Zombie Club I gotta say, lovely poem! ))
The Portrait of Zool Posted February 16, 2007 Report Posted February 16, 2007 *Zool quickly withdraws his hand from the matrix* "Unstable ones, you say?" Indeed! Lovely poem!
Quincunx Posted February 25, 2007 Report Posted February 25, 2007 Minta marches back through the thread in the opposite direction, chanting: I dunno what to say the gnomies won't do (dunno what to say the gnomies won't do) they got a plan for a super-gross stew (dunno what to say the gnomies won't do). . . The zombies have now been tied together, intestine to rotting intestine, and lurch along like a chain gang after the gnome. They tote enormous canopic jars with water, and the occasional six-inch-long leech, slopping out of the top. Got a jellycube monster from the underground an' taught the leeches to sing the icky boy-band sound I dunno what to say the gnomies won't do (dunno what to say the gnomies won't do). . .
Quincunx Posted February 28, 2007 Report Posted February 28, 2007 I mixed the monster with the gelatin dust an' a livin' fungus that tasted like rust I put in the leeches an' a pixystix too an' now I got a jiggly musical stew The mixture in the canopic jars lifts up dozen of little leech heads to sing the chorus along with Minta. I dunno what to say the gnomies won't do (dunno what to say the gnomies won't do). . .
The Death of Rats Posted March 7, 2007 Report Posted March 7, 2007 A tiny, black robed rat skeleton pushes and fumbles a wooden stool many dozens of times larger than itself acroos the floor to Whisky's side. Whisky, watching in baffled amazement does not move as it begins a laborious climb using tooth and claw (a miniature scythe clutched fast in it's left paw the entire time) until finally it reaches the top. It stands upright, primly brushing its robe with tiny peral-white paws and staring fixedly at Whisky from a level with he rhip. Its's eye socket glow weirdly as it contemplates sulently. She begind s to sweat coldly. Slowly, it reaches up, stretching out with blade and pointed claw... and shake sher hand.
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