Ode to a Boring Man

If Thunderquark doesn't move on soon I may have to arrange for the spare piano to be accidently dropped upon him. Of course that would leave me with three Lady Falconburger wannabee's haunting my abode like ....um.... haunty things. The daughters three, Pricilla, Belinda and Melinda. I keep expecting to round a corner and find them hunched over a cauldren chanting "Bubble bubble toil and trouble". They have a distinctly witchy feel about them. The peasants hate witches. Hmm... and idea forms in my head like a lion rising from the savannah grass to strike.

I have recieved a missive from my neighbour Lord Flannery von Snotgobbler today... it seems he is on the edge of decarling war again. Against me. Sigh. He will never learn.

Thunderquark inspired me to write a poem today...

Ode to a boring man.

Oh my God.
From whence did you come?
You boring man.
Your voice,
Drones…flat… if paint drying could make a sound… that would be it.
Your face,
Looks like it’s bored of your skull and is trying to slide off of it.
To scuttle away, flop, slither and hide beneath a chair.
Your hair,
Is following your face in an escape bid to be free of you.
You boring man.
You have no right to ever use the word ‘interesting’.
It would be profane.
It’s like someone found the pure chemical element ‘Boring’
Obtained a massive dull block of it.
And carved you out of it.
A moment before they died.
Of boredom.


Hmm... might get Jose the stableboy to take the girls into the village for a tour... right after I get Bob, my advisor to have a drink at the local and accidenlty tell that story about the witches three.

Oh well.. I best be off. Peasants to oppress, apples to eat.