Learn from the Magic Worm

There is a magic worm,
in my backyard is his berm,
right next to a leafy fern,
on the grave of a man named Ullr deeply interned,
who passed with wire bindings,
big skis and torn up knees,
still tangled up in that big bunch of trees,
his love of skiing his only disease,
he still controls the snow,
and the big wind that blows,
from under the ground,
without making a sound,
he changes the mountains luck,
the weather becomes a gray muck,
small cars get stuck,
people roll in those trucks,
but the worm just heads for the door,
he lives right on top of his score,
a cornice is under his floor,
about to make him sore,
I can watch him glide,
through my window side,
with a smile two miles wide,
his wormy slide carving down the graveside,
arms at his side with no feet to hide,
no poles to plant,
no thought of strange rants,
snow flying off that great big brimmed hat,
no talking to strangers like some kind of a bat,
just perfect figure eights in the snow he burns,
a worm on a berm smoking fern,
forming perfect magic turns,
learn from the magic worm,
now go squirm!


nate


In honor of the great Magic Worm and his divine teachings I will only
reply to serious reply's to this instructional poem or serious replies
to a reply of a reply.

On Wed, 01 Dec 2004 05:55:39 GMT, uglymoney
wrote:

There is a magic worm,
in my backyard is his berm,
right next to a leafy fern,
on the grave of a man named Ullr deeply interned,
who passed with wire bindings,
big skis and torn up knees,
still tangled up in that big bunch of trees,
his love of skiing his only disease,
he still controls the snow,
and the big wind that blows,
from under the ground,
without making a sound,
he changes the mountains luck,
the weather becomes a gray muck,
small cars get stuck,
people roll in those trucks,
but the worm just heads for the door,
he lives right on top of his score,
a cornice is under his floor,
about to make him sore,
I can watch him glide,
through my window side,
with a smile two miles wide,
his wormy slide carving down the graveside,
arms at his side with no feet to hide,
no poles to plant,
no thought of strange rants,
snow flying off that great big brimmed hat,
no talking to strangers like some kind of a bat,
just perfect figure eights in the snow he burns,
a worm on a berm smoking fern,
forming perfect magic turns,
learn from the magic worm,
now go squirm!

That's a lovely pome, Ugly. Thanks.

But I think you meant to post it in the "Absinthe" thread.

bw

uglymoney wrote in message . ..
There is a magic worm,

snip

a worm on a berm smoking fern,
forming perfect magic turns,
learn from the magic worm,
now go squirm!


nate


In honor of the great Magic Worm and his divine teachings I will only
reply to serious reply's to this instructional poem or serious replies
to a reply of a reply.

Nice, Nate. Guess I'll shut up before I put my Foot in my mouth.

bdubya wrote:

That's a lovely pome, Ugly. Thanks.

But I think you meant to post it in the "Absinthe" thread.

No no no. Worms go in Mezcal. Absinthe gets Wormwood.

Don't get the two mixed up or you'll find yourself doing magic turns all
over the berm.

--
//-Walt
//
// There is no Volkl Conspiracy

Walt wrote:

bdubya wrote:

That's a lovely pome, Ugly. Thanks.

But I think you meant to post it in the "Absinthe" thread.


No no no. Worms go in Mezcal. Absinthe gets Wormwood.

Don't get the two mixed up or you'll find yourself doing magic turns all
over the berm.

Berm ? Zere is a berm ? Sacre bleu.

(Do you 'ave a leecense for zat minkey ?)

On Wed, 01 Dec 2004 17:23:06 -0500, Walt
wrote:

bdubya wrote:

That's a lovely pome, Ugly. Thanks.

But I think you meant to post it in the "Absinthe" thread.

No no no. Worms go in Mezcal. Absinthe gets Wormwood.

But absinthe yields pomes. Mezcal just yields vague memories of
standing out in the alley around 3 AM, howling something about "owning
crossover" at the (increasingly nervous) neighbors.

bw

bdubya wrote:

But absinthe yields pomes. Mezcal just yields vague memories of
standing out in the alley around 3 AM, howling something about "owning
crossover" at the (increasingly nervous) neighbors.

Yeah, well, sorry about that. But I do in fact own it, you know.

Next time I'll go with the absinthe and write you a nice pome. Ok?

--
//-Walt
//
// There is no Volkl Conspiracy

On Thu, 02 Dec 2004 09:23:37 -0500, Walt
wrote:

bdubya wrote:

But absinthe yields pomes. Mezcal just yields vague memories of
standing out in the alley around 3 AM, howling something about "owning
crossover" at the (increasingly nervous) neighbors.

Yeah, well, sorry about that. But I do in fact own it, you know.

Next time I'll go with the absinthe and write you a nice pome. Ok?

Could a pome be similar to a poma, but with the pull cable running
below instead of pulling from over the head, reducing the upward pull
on the platter. A ballsaver of sorts?

Or would that be pome another beer?

In that case, fill me up. Its friday afterall. I've till tomorrow
morning before I've any need to be sober again.

nate.