Monday, January 18, 2010


Our father, whom we called "Big Ted,"
spent all his life collecting thread.

One day he died, and in his will
he left his thread to brother Bill.

A subtle malaise seized my mind.
Murd'rous thought in thread entwined!

I twisted up Bill's neck with thread
and pulled it tight 'til he lay dead.

I sliced him up in several chunks,
the which I hid beneath our bunks.

I would have thought that, post decease,
he'd rest, in pieces, but in peace.

But no! He rose up from the dead,
his mind on just one thing: his thread.

He'd got from somewhere four arms more
and spun a web beneath the floor.

He pulled me deep inside his nest.
You wouldn't want to hear the rest.

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