Currywock
'Twas brillig, and the Slithy toves
Would gyre and gimble in the wabe
The cuckaboo tree groaned in argument
With the Jub Jub Jub Jub Labe.

And follow a track,
Dark tho' it is.
I'd switch me torch on
Only the batteries are dead.

And reach a home of Argumentative Persuasion
As a wibwob bird squawked and fell off the roof,
And hear the cries of "I'll have a korma"
And "If you don't shurrup, woman, you'll be in a **** coma."

"But beware my son;
Oh billee and billay,
The curry mad Freak is on its way!"
"I will" said the son, halfway through a sticky bun.

And he went out, billay and billee
And pondered whether he ought
So rested he by the cuckaboo tree
And fell off his horse in thought.

And one, two! One! Two!
A-one, a-two, a-one, two, three, four,
#Boom boom chi a-boom boom-chi
Sorry.

And with a burst of vindaloo fire,
The Currywock trod through the mire,
Got its foot stuck in a wire,
And said something that was in this poem until the censors read it.

And he got on his horse,
Turned round to face the same way as it did,
And with a swish of gallumphing swordsmanship,
He fell off again.

But with slashes and spears,
'Tween kormas and biryanis,
He gave a final thrust
And was met with a shower of chilli flavour blood.

So he gallumphantly rode home,
The freak's head 'neath his arm
Happily treading on Slithy Toves
That gimbled one gyre too far.

And hast thou slain the Curry Mad Freak?
I doubt it.

I will almost certainly be adding more of my strange ramblings here in the near future, so stay... er... logged on.