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Array
(
[sid] => 1741
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => The Art of Farts in a Tin near Tim
[time] => 2002-08-04 21:14:28
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => Can’t be bothered to even fart in a tin or on Tim
Or just Tim I used to enjoy farting on Tim Tim looks at me sideways, With a look of suspicion A look that said “please, not again” He is a man, a tortured man A man who has seen it all He saw my best fart of a generation Stinky, hysterical, eggy Rotten and rancid, foul of odour Wafting slowly towards Tim To be born It was that fart Which caused the mining disaster New York, 1941 The following year it reached Kentucky Causing multiple pile-ups Hurricanes and bush fires But enough about my fart Let me tell you about my burps It was 1998 I looked at Tim Tim looked scared Or excited Or both I was drinking pop Soda pop And Apples Apples and soda Give me burps Already Anyway, I did A big burp And it was As loud As concorde A concorde jet Tim went flying Across the room With the force Of my monstrous burp But oddly enough He was cheering “More burps!” “More burps!” he cried “I love ‘em” He hit the wall And fell to the floor And, covered in blood He managed a weak smile “Blimey, what a large burp”, he commented As the blood Trickled from his lips And ears “More! More!” But enough about My burp Let me tell you About my sneezing My sneezing is very dull It dribbles out into my hanky In puffs and drools Tim is not very impressed So I sat on him [comments] => 1 [counter] => 179 [topic] => 25 [informant] => Betty_Hapgood [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => MiscPoems )
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