There’s probably a ratio
Of snakes to mice that would ensure
The mice could breed enough to feed
The snakes and — critically — no more.
I’d guess, but my track record’s poor
With pets. And what to feed the mice?
Not cheese (like I could spare a slice)!
If they’d eat snakeskin, that’d be nice;
If not, the snakes might have to go,
And then the mouse bowl’d overflow
And I’d be ankle-deep in needy
Rodents. Quandary indeed.
Cheese has fat, so melt it thin.
A warm tortilla?
Done! That’s dinner.
i close my eyes to concentrate
on cattle but an altered state
comes over me
is this a dream? no, that can’t be
quacking spider lizards tracking
nasdaq want financial backing
but in cheese
which normally i’d have but jeez
it’s hotter every time i sneeze
my money’s runny
queso melting in the sunny
school just struck my tummy funny
as i ate
no more snacking
i’m up too late
The moon’s not made of Wensleydale,
Said Wallace (via Peter Sallis)
In A Grand Day Out, which tale
Yet failed to tell us what that ball is.
Shearing sheep? We’ll go one better:
Squeeze a worm to make a sweater!
Who’s the genius who decided
Hey, that worm’s got silk inside it!
Let’s make negligees with that!
Also, sheets and grandpa’s hat.
Astonishing: We’re eating cheese
That’s moldy milk from some cow’s udder!
(If there isn’t mold, it’s butter.)
Feeling peckish? Grab your pet
And squeeze, then tell me what you get.
If you’re lucky, you can make
An outfit and perhaps a steak
Or side dish; if you’re not, don’t pout,
The doc can buff those scratches out.
My calico won’t trust me, now.
(I’m asking Santa for a cow.)
Lost Horizon plays
Briefly, then shuts off
Shrouds the fire sign
Mist envelopes the
Where the patrons wait
For the lighting guy
Or someone like him
A side effect of loving cheese
Is turophiliac disease
From which your hope of getting well
Proports inversely to your smell
Since only truly funky odor
Motivates the casual voter
Who from loud complaint might shrink
Were you diffusing paler stink.
“If no one’s moaning, what the heck,
Let’s go to town on Pont l’Eveque,”
You might decide in absence of
The social forces named above.
Those happy hermits know the score:
The friendless binge on Roquefort!
If you ride public buses, though,
Please keep away from Brie de Meaux.
Treat gently with your neighbor’s nose, and
Think about the cheese you’ve chosen;
Please, ensure that no one’s there
Before you cut that Camembert
De Normandy or Stilton (Blue).
Confused? Defensive? Get a clue:
Lest turophilia be beaten
Out of you, watch what you’re eatin’.