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

I feel I have to rush in
And get a rhyme for "thrush" in
And robin and Wagtail
and Owl and nightingale
and cormorant, gull, tern and puffin.

We certainly can wag a tale
And at controversy not quail
But the noblest of fowl
Cries "hootoo" -- the owl
That lurks through the deep night in gale

My working life started with hirement
And consists of avoidance of firement
My only requirement
Upon my retirement
A pension to last till expirement

But what of the job?, we all ask,
did you have no respect for the task
was it merely a means
to fulfillment of dreams
did you clock in each day with a mask?

The life of a wage slave is sad
the torment, the grime or just bad
we all work like hosses
to make sure the bosses
can have twice as much as they've had

Retirement is not always better
you wait every day for a letter
saying hardship will cease-
you've a pension increase
but it only removes half a fetter.

what has happened to recumbentman
who claimed that no rhyme we could scan?
does he fear retribution
for his quick contribution
Nay, our scheme is a much longer plan.

I find that schemeing is a shure-in
To find, in your sad job, pleasure in.
Like tracking 'round dirt,
Spreading roumors of flirts,
And filling boss-man's cup with ham sandwhich.

You're in trouble it seems Mr Christopher
You're in places you've luckily missed afore
You're in up to the neck
But oh, what the heck
Have none of us others been drunk ever?

I'm sorry if waters I'm muddying
But still my nose doesn't need bloodying
My lines about work
Were just a line-jerk
What I ought do be doing is studying

I too am involved in writing
A piece about an end to fighting
And gardens and fruit
And a horn that goes *toot*
And a cat, on its feet, who's a-lighting.

Forgive if I look like a bounder,
your "Beaufort" piece* couldn't be sounder
(I'm one of the critics
of speed analytics
suggesting the figures be rounder)

*A876864

I'm not sure the error omnibus,
The numbers, from textbooks, were thus
And it seems that the fault
Lies in not getting caught
Where the editors not watching us?

I don't think too highly of editors
They come up like ravening creditors
Throw out our inspired bits
Leave in our cross-wired bits
Then publish a shambles and head it ours

This pseudo intellectual spree
is far too complex for me
I like to read ditties
'bout bums, dicks and titties
torn knickers, red faces, and pee.

I've just read the fruits of your toiling
On topics like underpant soiling--
I can't say it quite
Set my Horlicks alight
But it did give my giggler an oiling

To oil one's giggler's a pleasure
to undertake in times of leisure.
To try it while stressed
just leaves you depressed
and not even nearer said treasure.

Buck up Ekki, don't be so sad
Just keep up your pecker my lad
With no good ones sent in
The fare has got lenten
But honestly, is it that bad?

It's just like rays of the Sun
going back to rude bawdy fun
to mock now and then
weird women and men
and strange things to do with a bun

I think that my last rick of lime
has committed the cardinal crime
of grave misconstrual
I'm sorry for you all
as this one is far from sublime.

While stumbling on mellons I say,
"Where did my life go astray?
Was it in a bar?
The back seat of a car?
Or that joint left in an idle ashtray?"

To err is human so they say
to forgive is divine in a way
but life is too short
to think that we ought
to feel guilty each time that we stray.

the desire for mankind to stray
is often the door to the way
of treasures unseen
disguised by the screen
of the fearfull who simply say Nay

"Try everything once" Beecham said
"but don't folk dance or take sibblings to bed".
To avoid long term damage
adhere to this adage
Or just make one up in your head.