Oh. My. God. I don't even know where to begin with this.
Now write me one to the tune of 'I vow to thee my country, and when I am done weeping, I will write.
Weep, weep, my friend!
I Vow to thee, O TerryI vow to thee, O Terry, it's time to sit and write,
A supplement that's perfect, except the bits so shite
That Andraax turns a purple that glows within the dark,
And makes his eyeballs water and makes his fingers spark;
So Terry take your pencil, and scribe unholy tomes
About the wanton habits of halfling garden gnomes.
I heard Kulthea calling, yahooing like a yob,
Across the breakfast table, while cavaliers and snobs
Pretend they cannot hear her, with papers rustling loud
Because they are so stuck up, because they are so proud,
They wear a dirty raincoat, they wear a mangy hat
Insulting Stephen Colbert, the Pope and ceiling cat.
And Andraax cries in corners, and swears he did not know
That little playful puppies like Larry, Curly, Moe,
That little pretty kittens are wont to deck the halls
With mistletoe and tinsel, deflated soccer balls,
So Terry, sit and scribble, so long into the night
'Cause Nicholas is waiting for Terry A. to write.
