N: I hate poetry.
Kitten: Like you hate crabs on your genitals.
N: Yes. Kitten, who was in charge of finding the spooooky stories this year, selected the following piece of work to MST. I think she's trying to kill me.
Kitten: Untrue. I just thought it would be good for a giggle. Or two. Or three. Or four. Or five...
The Ghost of the Wimpering Willows
N: Sounds like a porno version of Mole and Badger and Ratty...
Kitten: "When the whippoorwill, whippers in the wind... the wind can whipper back... OH NICE AND CHUBBY BABY!"
In the dark of night,
the moon shines bright.
A cold wind blows,
tickling your nose.
N: *just cackles*
Kitten: Written by Mrs. Johnson's kindergarten class.
N: The nose bit is what kills me.
The trees sway back,
and the trees sway forth.
N: Sexy.
Kitten: If you say it fast you wind up saying 'twees.'
And then it appears.
Kitten: Your COCK, maybe?
N: It. Just IT. It's what Nike advertises.
You run and run as fast as you can,
but when you look back and its closer then before!
Kitten: ...What?
N: I'm sorry, I was distracted by the bad grammar of the second sentence there.
So...you run somemore.
Kitten: And he ran. And ran. And ran somemore.
N: And we laughed. And laughed. And laughed... somemore.
Now it's mad,
so it makes you sad
Kitten: And that's bad!
N: The creature's anger moves you to tears?
Kitten: You stupid lad!
and you no you have met the ghost of the Wimpering Willows.
N: NO, you HAVE!
Kitten: Run in terror.
So if you see a ghost appear,
DON'T RUN and show your fear.
Kitten: Turn around and leer!
N: Don't run... WALK!
Kitten: Buy it a beer!
Just say good day
and be on your way
and never EVER go there again!
Kitten: That didn't rhyme! Dickface!
N: This is an awfully forgiving vengeful spirit…