The h2g2 Poem
Created | Updated Jun 25, 2003
Where Chickens Come From
Act I
One time inside the dank and odorous lab
Of very mad Professor Zinglewab,
A test tube broke and fell upon the floor
And mixed with chemicals that spilled before.
It ate its way right through the lab's brick wall
And at that point was nearly six foot tall!
Just then the constable came up the lane;
That mean, uncouth, sick creature was his bane.
It shaped itself like a policeman's car;
The cop got in, but didn't drive to far!
The blob then laid eyes on a Democrat;
He knew just how to catch this little rat.
He changed his shape to look just like a man.
An honest hardworking American.
The Democrat pursued to take his cash,
But that old blob ate him up in a flash.
The people of the town thought all was lost,
But then came forth the famous Fiefelgrost
The finest fencer ever to use foils
He'd fought for friends, for strangers - even royals.
And now he let it all go to his head.
The blob knew Fiefelgrost would soon be dead.
But, Fiefelgrost sprang forth both bold and true.
And with his sword he cleaved the blob in two.
Both body parts sunk in the muck and mire.
But then they both arose with twice the ire!
So Fiefelgrost let fly his sword once more,
And now in place of two big blobs were four.
And Fiefelgrost with his indolent brain
Raised up his sword prepared to strike again!
The townsfolk ran to stop the raving dunce,
But they were eaten by the blobs at once.
Act II
For many, many years there was a man
Who lived alone atop Mount Vorvican.
He thought the government was after him;
His trees, he wrapped in foil on every limb.
His house and clothes were covered much the same,
And people call his wasted life a shame.
On all technology he growled and frowned;
His beard had grown so long it touched the ground.
For supplement, he ate the soles of shoes
He scavenged anything, he cared not whose.
But he would always act most carefully
So government officials would not see.
Such was the wacky life of this poor slob.
Whom all the people called the hermit, Bob.
He saw the scene from where his days were spent;
He knew the blobs were from the government.
So as he cursed the state in his mad rave,
He climbed up to his home (it was a cave),
And sauntered up to his own little lab
Quite like the lab of good old Zinglewab.
Then, Hermit Bob hopped up and helped himself
To some shoe leather lying on the shelf
And mixed some chemicals to kill a blob.
No chemist ever outdid Hermit Bob!
He made sure his concoction was kept warm;
One hit with it, the blobs could not transform.
He made a bomb and put the stuff inside;
He knew he must make sure that each blob died.
He went outside and saw a Holocaust
Of blobs created by dumb Fiefelgrost
Who still was cutting, quite oblivious
For Fiefelgrost would never put up fuss.
It seemed the sick mitosis would not end
And under blob oppression man would bend.
Old Hermit Bob knew what he had to do:
He hefted up the heavy bomb and threw!
Epilogue
Good Hermit Bob, the martyr bonafide
And stupid moron Fiefelgrost both died.
But Hermit Bob held back the raging storm:
The blobs were frozen in a chicken form.
And now these birds are all domesticate;
The warning signs for this were seen to late.
Suppose poor Hermit Bob made some mistake;
Now that scenario would take the cake!
Perhaps those foul fowl harbor in their mind
The thought of overtaking humankind.
So as you eat your eggs think in your brain:
Beware the day the blobs will rise again!
