Re: What do you like to do?
M a tried to wash her garden slacks but couldn't get 'em clean<br />And so she thought she'd soak 'em in a bucket o' benzine.<br />It worked all right. She wrung 'em out then wondered what she'd do<br />With all that bucket load of high explosive residue. <br /><br /> S he knew that it was dangerous to scatter it around,<br />For Grandpa liked to throw his lighted matches on the ground.<br />Somehow she didn't dare to pour it down the kitchen sink, <br />And what the heck to do with it, poor Ma jest couldn't think. <br /><br /> T hen Nature seemed to give the clue, as down the garden lot<br />She spied the edifice that graced a solitary spot, <br /><br />Their Palace of Necessity, the family joy and pride,<br />Enshrined in morning-glory vine, with graded seats inside; <br /><br /> J est like that cabin Goldylocks found occupied by three,<br />But in this case B-E-A-R was spelt B-A-R-E----<br />A tiny seat for Baby Bare, a medium for Ma,<br />A full-sized section sacred to the Bare of Grandpapa. <br /><br /> W ell, Ma was mighty glad to get that worry off her mind,<br />And hefting up the bucket so combustibly inclined,<br />She hurried down the garden to that refuge so discreet,<br />And dumped the liquid menace safely through the centre seat. <br /><br /> N ext morning old Grandpa arose; he made a hearty meal,<br />And sniffed the air and said: By Gosh! how full of beans I feel.<br />Darned if I ain't as fresh as paint; my joy will be complete<br />With jest a quiet session on the usual morning seat;<br />To smoke me pipe an' meditate, an' maybe write a pome,<br />For that's the time when bits o' rhyme gits jiggin' in me dome.' <br /><br /> H e sat down on that special seat slicked shiny by his age,<br />And looking like Walt Whitman, jest a silver-whiskered sage,<br />He filled his corn-cob to the brim and tapped it snugly down,<br />And chuckled: Of a perfect day I reckon this the crown.'<br /><br />He lit the weed, it soothed his need, it was so soft and sweet:<br />And then he dropped the lighted match clean through the middle seat. <br /><br /> H is little grand-child Rosyleen cried from the kichen door:<br />Oh, Ma, come quick; there's sompin wrong; I heared a dreffel roar;<br />Oh, Ma, I see a sheet of flame; it's rising high and higher...<br />Oh, Mummy dear, I sadly fear our comfort-cot's caught fire.' <br /><br /> P oor Ma was thrilled with horror at them words o' Rosyleen.<br />She thought of Grandpa's matches and that bucket of benzine;<br />So down the garden geared on high, she ran with all her power,<br />For regular was Grandpa, and she knew it was his hour. <br /><br /> T hen graspin' gaspin' Rosyleen she peered into the fire,<br />A roarin' soarin' furnace now, perchance old Grandpa's pyre....<br />But as them twain expressed their pain they heard a hearty cheer----<br />Behold the old rapscallion squattinn' in the duck pond near,<br />His silver whiskers singed away, a gosh-almighty wreck,<br /> <br /> W i' half a yard o' toilet seat entwined about his neck....<br />He cried: Say, folks, oh, did ye hear the big blow-out I made?<br /><br />It scared me stiff-I hope you-un was not to much afraid?<br />But now I best be crawlin' out o' this dog-gasted wet....<br />For what I aim to figger out is----WHAT THE HECK I ET?'
<br /><br />Also, do you use those corn cobbs in the outhouse during the winter, or is that just a summer thing?LoL 
