Piquant Hostesses
Bowls of mustard lined the hall
And hotdogs filled the chamber
It made poor Will feel rather small
Although he relished danger
The giant tongs! He cowered not
Instead, he tried to ketchup
Then suddenly his buns grew hot
Thus causing him to hiccup
The onions filled his eyes with tears
Of sadness at their cleavage
Some sour Kraut yelled in his ears
"You vill enjoy your mealage!"
But Will was a resourceful lad
Dogged, firm, and gutsy
"No weiner, I," said he, "I'm bad"
And strode off, glum and sulky
Contributors: | Apsley, Anon., Beefy, dok, Kansas Sam, Erie, Karin, F, TG. |
Poem finished: | 24th April 2004 by Anon.. |