Putrid Poetry: Excruciating Epic

Bad Writing by Lothithil

The Lord of the Rings,
by Lewis Carrol's Insane Ghostwriter

Twas Bree-league in the hairy toes
Did gyre and Gimli in the wabe
All mimsy were the Boromirs
And the mome wraiths outgrabe

"Beware the Jabber-wraith, my boy
The blade that pokes, the jaws that flap
Beware the Crebain-bird, and duck
The low-flying Nazgul quack!"

He took his Elven blade in hand
Long time the Cracks of Doom he sought
So rested he but the talking tree
And stood a while in thought

And as in uffish thought he stood
The Jabber-wraith, with eyes of flame
Came stumbling through the Fangorn wood
And cursed softly as he came

"Drat one, drat two, where is the loo?
Have you ever had to wear a shroud?
Or ride a horse with a bag over your head,
If I can even find it, I'll be proud!"

He backed away from the deadly wraith
"The water closet is yon, behind that tree!"
So he misled him, and tried to behead him
But he could only reach as high as his knee

The wraith was annoyed, and Frodo's weapon destroyed
But Strider saved him from that deadly touch
And disuaded the wraith from taking the Ring
And shortening our Epic too much!

Twas Bree-league in the hairy toes
Did gyre and Gimli in the wabe
All mimsy were the Boromirs
And the mome wraiths outgrabe