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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required So we’re going on a picnic with the pygmy, Pixie Poggly, being the quirky queenly quaintly quickly person she is and her friend a raunchy rascal reverently named Andy Bailey. As you remember he was in the Aussie army association, barely battling the banshee that were bawdy blackly bloody in the boggy boundary briefly in the outback, and lets not forget pixie’s perky prominent pal that is a bossy, bluntly, brainy, bookie, breathing brashly, balmy, bits of boogie bookie chatter to all the cheery, choicely, chunky crowd around his choosey, cheesy, cheaply choice of chummy spots, and in his coarsely cocky way, he coyly clamors crafty creepy words that really don’t say what they needs to say, but confuses even the gentle, ghostly, gaudy, gawky, gabby, gypsy genie down in the gaily, gabby, ghastly valley town called Gatsby. I hear even Fatty Fannie the fancy, fleecy, flimsy, flowery, and foxy maiden that has her doggie, “Dotty” watching her dreamy, dressy, downy, dowry. And to make things easier Pixie’s dumpy daffy deafly, dinky donkey named Dixie is going to carry all the supplies, and we are going to the daffy damply dainty little dairy where the daisies grow daily in the deeply densely droopy grasses next to the hay, and it sounds like it will be a giddy, giggly, goodly, goofy, goosey, grabby good grammar in all its Grammy award wining grandeur day. Parts of this poem were copied from another poem that I cannot display here, but that I did write, it is called “The Picnic” and I thought this would be some fun reading for all here.
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