Thy michturitions are to me,
As plurdled gabbleblotchits,
On a lurgid bee,
That mordiously hath bittled out,
It`s erted jurtles,
Into a rancid festering confectious inner-sphincter.
Now the jurpling slayjid agrocrustles,
Are slurping hagrilly up the axlegrurts,
And living glupules frart and slipulate,
Like jowling meated liverslime,
Groop, I implore thee my foonting turling dromes,
And hooptiously drangle me,
With crinkly bindlewurdles,
Or else I shall rend thee in the gobberwarts with my blurglecruncheon,
See if I don`t.”
As the late, sainted Douglas Adams once said, Vogan poetry is the third worst in the galaxy; narrowly bested by the Azgoths of Kria, which is more than capable of causing the reciter`s large intestine to reach up and throttle itself to death to avoid further auditory punishment. The accolade of worst poetry is of course reserved for Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings, of 37, Wasp Villas, Greenbridge, EssexGB10 1LL………………
“The dead swans lie in the stagnant pool,
They lay, they rotted, they turned
Around occasionally .
Bits of flesh dropped off them from
Time to time.
And sank into the pool`s mire.
Whoever boasts the worst poetry is entirely subjective and open to debate: but, I hasten to add, you may have to hurry an opinion, because the Vogons, as the contracted engineers, are due in the Solar System any time now, in order to construct a pan galactic freeway, which will probably go straight through your front garden. This will render any outstanding debate about cultural matters entirely yesterday`s news. And when this happens…………Glechit grublegoots to you. Or as Grand Vogon Blugglegast might say……..
“Oh Gashee, morphousitity thou expungiest quoopgobits!
Frupping lyshus wimbnuggets, awhilst moodgroobly kormzibs.
Bleem parplflex grobbledubs frapt!