My Christmas Tribute to ROFF

You're a mean one, Mr. ROFF.
You really are a heel.
You're as cuddly as a cactus,
You're as charming as an eel.
Mr. ROFF.


You're a bad banana
With a greasy black peel.


You're a monster, Mr. ROFF.
Your heart's an empty hole.
Your brain is full of spiders,
You've got garlic in your soul.
Mr. ROFF.


I wouldn't touch you, with a
thirty-nine-and-a-half foot pole.


You're a vile one, Mr. ROFF.
You have termites in your smile.
You have all the tender sweetness
Of a seasick crocodile.
Mr. ROFF.


Given the choice between the two of you
I'd take the seasick crockodile.


You're a foul one, Mr. ROFF.
You're a nasty, wasty skunk.
Your heart is full of unwashed socks
Your soul is full of gink.
Mr. ROFF.


The three words that best describe you,
are, and I quote: "Stink. Stank. Stunk."


You're a rotter, Mr. ROFF.
You're the king of sinful sots.
Your heart's a dead tomato splot
With moldy purple spots,
Mr. ROFF.


Your soul is an apalling dump heap overflowing
with the most disgraceful assortment of deplorable
rubbish imaginable,
Mangled up in tangled up knots.


You nauseate me, Mr. ROFF.
With a nauseaus super-naus.
You're a crooked jerky jockey
And you drive a crooked horse.
Mr. ROFF.


You're a three decker saurkraut and toadstool
sandwich
With arsenic sauce.

Frank Reid
(who didn't even have to change the words much. And who knows, like
the Grinch, ROFF's heart can and does grow)

On Dec 25, 9:42*am, Frank Reid © 2008 wrote:
You're a mean one, Mr. ROFF.
You really are a heel.
You're as cuddly as a cactus,
You're as charming as an eel.
Mr. ROFF.

You're a bad banana
With a greasy black peel.

You're a monster, Mr. ROFF.
Your heart's an empty hole.
Your brain is full of spiders,
You've got garlic in your soul.
Mr. ROFF.

I wouldn't touch you, with a
thirty-nine-and-a-half foot pole.

You're a vile one, Mr. ROFF.
You have termites in your smile.
You have all the tender sweetness
Of a seasick crocodile.
Mr. ROFF.

Given the choice between the two of you
I'd take the seasick crockodile.

You're a foul one, Mr. ROFF.
You're a nasty, wasty skunk.
Your heart is full of unwashed socks
Your soul is full of gink.
Mr. ROFF.

The three words that best describe you,
are, and I quote: "Stink. Stank. Stunk."

You're a rotter, Mr. ROFF.
You're the king of sinful sots.
Your heart's a dead tomato splot
With moldy purple spots,
Mr. ROFF.

Your soul is an apalling dump heap overflowing
with the most disgraceful assortment of deplorable
rubbish imaginable,
Mangled up in tangled up knots.

You nauseate me, Mr. ROFF.
With a nauseaus super-naus.
You're a crooked jerky jockey
And you drive a crooked horse.
Mr. ROFF.

You're a three decker saurkraut and toadstool
sandwich
With arsenic sauce.

Frank Reid
(who didn't even have to change the words much. *And who knows, like
the Grinch, ROFF's heart can and does grow)

Frank,
I have always enjoyed your prose and witty stories.
This poem makes me feel warm and fuzzy all over.....hope it not a TIA.
Guy

Frank,
I have always enjoyed your prose and witty stories.
This poem makes me feel warm and fuzzy all over.....hope it not a TIA.
Guy- Hide quoted text -

Nah. I did get a "ROFF can kiss my ass" from a former ROFFian
though. ROFF is like walking through the prairie, watch were you step
and its actually rather nice.
Frank Reid
flytyer37.blogspot.com