Poet and novelist Irving Vanderblock-Wheedle had a fortunate escape this week when his office at Duck Hollow University caught fire. The world of literature, however, was not so fortunate. This charred scrap of paper is all that remains of the long poem Mr. Vanderblock-Wheedle had been working on for the last three years.

—to whom
But the groom?
And the broom, I assume.
But still, to resume:
From the dark weeds that bloom
Where the dank shadows loom
Comes the straggling fume of a sickly perfume
In the gloom of my womb-like tomb of a room;
Then something goes boom,
And I flee from my doom,
And I get in my car and I rev it, vroom vroom,
And I step on the pedal and fly—zoom zoom zoom!
And I spill down the hill like a log in a flume,
Vowing never to stop till I get to Khartoum,
And I—

Police and fire investigators say they are proceeding under the assumption that the fire was set deliberately.


  1. We’ll have to assume there’s an entire Stanza of poetic meditations on the philosophy of Hume.

  2. Fred says:

    And nobody knows while they zoop and they zoom
    Whether which will catch what one or who will catch whom.

    -Dr Seuss, If I Ran The Circus

    But it could also apply to a police chase.

  3. RepubAnon says:

    Sounds as though the Vogons have competition in the bad poetry department.

    “Vogon poetry is of course, the third worst in the universe. The second worst is that of the Azgoths of Kria. During a recitation by their poet master Grunthos the Flatulent of his poem “Ode to a Small Lump of Green Putty I Found in My Armpit One Midsummer Morning” four of his audience died of internal haemorrhaging and the president of the Mid-Galactic Arts Nobbling Council survived by gnawing one of his own legs off….”
    -Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy

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