DescriptionBlack comedy of decay
|This writing has been rated by 1 members, resulting in a rating of 98% overall. Below is a breakdown of these results:|
|Spelling & Grammar:||100%|
Some green and smelly noodles, Were covering his head, They had crawled there in the night time, From a bowl beneath his bed. He had put it there some weeks ago, While he was watching tele, Now the contents were primeval, Sentient and smelly. They didn’t have a nervous system, Or a brain to speak of, Just a trace of DNA, To ferment the noodles on their way, Just a drop of his saliva, To make them feel a bit aliver, And raise the monumental question, From what or who did we descend from? And so they made the epic journey, From their ancestral bowl, Across the carpet of resistance, Around the T-shirt of despair, Up the bed leg of persistence, Across the pillow of transcendence, Until at last they found their godhead, With his gaping maw, His breath was sweet, His words profound, And as he muttered in his sleep, Of heroes in the land of Movie, They knew that this was were they would be led, Not long after they were dead. And so into the fearful chasm, They jumped with wild elation, And then their god consumed them, With the sacred rite of mastication. The man awoke not feeling well, And with it went a smell quite rank, Like rubbish bins outside a restaurant, Or vapours from a septic tank, He ran into the back yard dunny, And heaved until his throat was raw, And then he died in horrible agony, His noodle offspring caked around his awful maw. So remember when you’ve finished eating, Don’t be slack or listless, Wash your bowl up straight away, Or you might get your DNA, Returned to you with interest.