Fumblegin – The Mystery Gnome
May 26th, 2010
Those have heard, down our way
Of a certain story that does tell
Of a certain character, small and thin
That reeks of compost, farts and gin
Eyes of wonder, teeth that grin
That be him, that Fumblegin
For a long time animals went missing
After dark, when the owls did hoot
At first it was believed to be fancy cats (oooo!)
Or hustling mice or chunky rats
Except that none of these exist
So to avoid humiliation, they took a risk
Set a trap and what did they catch?
Not a cat or a rat or a Bandersnatch
But a wee small man with a tache so trim
That was him, that Fumblegin
Despite trying for at least a day
He managed to escape just after lunch
Not that he really did much to disguise
Where he lived, you just followed the pies
Down the street and around the bend
Right to the very end
There he sits, belly on top
Stinking like a rancid mop
It’d take three lifetimes to recount his sin
You know him, that’s Fumblegin
Entry Filed under: Bedtime stories,God damn poetry,Ian
8 Comments
1. Kevil | June 3rd, 2010 at 07:31
The bastard.
2. Ian | June 3rd, 2010 at 07:48
Brief but succinct. That’s what I like about you son.
(yay, Kev’s back!)
3. Chris | June 8th, 2010 at 04:30
I no likey. Do nonny more of this.
4. Ian "Mac Mac Mac Mac" McIver | June 8th, 2010 at 07:53
Nonnny more is nonny likely young sir. More than likely is that you’ll get less nonny and more monny.
Monny more is the soup of the day.
5. Chris | June 8th, 2010 at 12:52
No.
6. Ian "Mac Mac Mac Mac" McIver | June 10th, 2010 at 07:48
Monny more sir? Monny more? Can I interest you in monny more?
7. Chris | June 12th, 2010 at 10:52
No hey nonny nonny no; no. Nonny monny more.
8. Ian "Mac Mac Mac Mac" McIver | June 14th, 2010 at 07:39
That’s a big string of hey nonny no nays. I wonder if we could apply to the Guiness book of Records. We surely can beat that. I bet this was a popular pastime in medieval Britain.