h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

Now Oscar's a saint
His enemies ain't
Looking good, turning up their proud noses
At loving that now smells of s
Is not the world quaint?

Dear Oscar, resigned
To being maligned
For indulging his illicit caper,
Was killed by magenta wall-paper
Too badly designed.

Quote: "The wallpaper is killing me, Robbie. One of us has to go."
He actually died, tragically young, of septicaemia from an ear infection acquired in Reading Gaol. ( Just in case any of you thread-lurkers don't know the story.)

Magenta, I ween
Is reddish, unseen
By Oscar upon his death bed
I fancy that rather than red
The paper was green

Green?????

It sounds like we otta
Have a bet, if you've gotta
Bottle of something quite tasty.
Before you rush in quite so hastey
Just think quite a lotta.

Your memory is keen
I must not be seen
Conceding more bottles to you
'Twas Bonaparte died of the hue
Of arsenic green

Sebastian Bach
Fulfilling a lack
Wrote regular weekly cantatas
In such compositional matters
He had quite a knack

And now: A Super-Rimicle

~Bonaparte chose Josephine
~To be both his wife and his queen;
~Even after the British sent all their forces to defeat him at waterloo
~And Bonaparte was sentenced to exile on the Isle of Elba, it's true
~He still thought her keen.

And a Sub-rimickle:

The Beatles' was yellow
And though they lived well, oh
I'd hate to be cooped in a sub
No matter how tasty the grub
The farts would be mellow

Andrew Marvell
Did very well
As the tutor to the daughter of Fairfax;
And though he would pay his fair tax,
He hated Cromwell.

George Bernard Shaw
Gained knowledge galore
By reading the Encyclopædia
Though googling we now find speedier
And less of a chore

George Bernard Shaw
Ate his vegetables raw
And lived to be well over ninety,
When sometimes he fancied a pint he
Would order a score.

Dorothy Parker,
New York's great remarker,
Drank liquer as if without ends;
And yet she outlived all her friends
And spoke a bit darker.

Going over this thread
I noticed with dread
The crudeness of post 44
I wish I had yikesed it before
And sent it to bed

"Come on, Dad, let's go!
We're late for the show"
Called out the impatient young laddie
To whom his long-suffering daddy
Said "Andy, a mo!"

The captain said,
"There is a dull red
Monster in the back of the store room,
But instead of discussing it in a foruum,
Lock the bulkhead."

Certain disaster
Met Lady Astor
As she prepared for her mid-morning tea:
A black-widdow climbed up her knee,
So she crushed the b*****d.

This is a crime
I can`t make it rhyme
It`s a form with which I`m not familiar
On reflection though, it isn`t any sillier
Just give me time

You're welcome indeed
The form is in need
Of input for hope of survival
(Not many will greet its revival
With joy, I concede)

Why, oh why
Do none come by
Do all leave us sooner or later
To go off to a place that's greater
With angels and sky?

A new day may dawn
A new brain may spawn
A revival, so welcome the Lurcher!
His talent is one we should nurture,
Not greet with a yawn

I feel blotty
I need potty
This night out with the boys has been great
But now it has gotten so very past late
Wife yells a-lot-y.