Cannibal Picnic
Foreword: we’re all aware of the ’pot ate oh’ and ‘pert arter’ debate... well, in some English accents (including my own) there is a third version: ‘per tay ter’. I lean toward this pronunciation in this poem... So please don’t throw stones... or pertarters.
Two cannibals went hunting humans one day
Hoping a decent meal might come their way
They came to a beach and there was a boat
A skin and bone man said, ‘I’m six weeks afloat’
Because he was boney with so little muscle
They skewered that sailor with barely a tussle
A fire they lit and then over it
They perched our survivor like meat on a spit
One cannibal said he was off to find wood
You keep him turning to cook him real good
And then in an hour he stood there aghast
He’d never seen anyone turn meat so fast
His mate was rotating the spit roast like crazy
His victim’s arms flailing so fast they were hazy
The other one said turn it slow or be sure
That damned skinny human is gonna be raw
Well, the cannibal cook said with undisguised ire
I’m having to spin him fast over the fire.
So he won’t be cooked till quite a lot later
’cause each revolution he nicks a potater
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