by E. Terrence Vest
Oct. 11, 2006
Gazing long upon the shire, while stumbling through a dream. I wake up in the mire, next to unexplain'ed frothy cream.
Fumbling blindly through the parlor, trampling underfoot a snifter, glass in foot it makes me holler, why do I entertain handsome young drifters?
Farmhands come and go with their plan, along with naive city-dwellers, I am their ghoulish fisherman, but I can't resist the fellers.
Oh, my frumpy wife, I married one mannish. I should have seen this path of life, would lead me seeking culo (Spanish).
Mr. Vest is a contributor to the Nincomblog. He is a 19th century intellectual elitist who stood accused of aggravated buggery in 1848, but was never tried because of his vice-presidential connections. His verse starts with conjured Victorian imagery, but becomes progressively fouler when he realizes he can express his unnatural lusts without fear of castration in this century.