Wednesday, August 23, 2017

A Sliver Of Odds In Silver Pods!

Before we begin today's post looky, Fox will love looky, what we won at our coast.

And if you want to give the next one a go, hop on over to WEP's show.

Now back to our regularly scheduled post as we go all looky at Fox's coast.


See what I did there? The old switcheroo at my lair. Blogger even says switcheroo is not a word. Isn't that absurd? Maybe Grammar Nazi will agree. I guess with these odds we may see.

Odds aren't slim.
They may be trim.
Out of a limb.
But they aren't slim.

For comics abound.
Litter the ground.
Or maybe a box.
Maybe behind locks?

That may be bad.
Lowers odds a tad.
A thief breaks in to steal.
A rather messy ordeal.

His internet goes.
The library has woes.
No way to speak.
Odds up the creek.

No one dies.
Good that no one cries.
But no post to be had.
RIP posts litter his pad.

He sees it all.
Throne up on my wall.
There very annoying.
Grammar Nazi skills deploying.

But I'm not threw.
That you new.
Odds may be sinking.
The bad grammar is winking.  

He goes on a spiel,
About the whole ordeal.
The odds go up.
I filled his annoyance cup.

Then again he may stammer.
Just curse all the bad grammar.
He cries foul.
Throws in the towel. 

Hmm odds either way.
That's new today.
Depends odds is weird.
Diapers are to be feared.

Odds = Check The Grammar
Don't Want Him To Bring Down The Hammer

A grammar nazi at your sea? That is a fun thing to be. Or umm maybe not. Depends on the plot. Maybe no one will die and no one will cry. Whoops, as I post that people did. Guess those odds we can get rid. More bad grammar from me. Silver Fox may flee. Could trip on his boxes of stuff in mass. Then he may really curse my little rhyming ass.

Fill your rummer, get drunk all summer.

Tuesday, August 22, 2017

What The Hell, Odds Can't Spell!

A grammar nazi's delight. Or maybe a fright. The odds are sure fickle this time. I can't even tell if they rhyme. Well the cat can with ease. Humans may not find it such a breeze.

Theese odds izz strange.
Strangee like with range.
Not sure on it though.
May be off at my show.

Tabbies sayz when.
When times ten.
Boy, thiss is ruff
Speaking this stuff.

Wezz find it hard.
Like finding the card.
Peicking out thee right one.
Sure can be tough to be done.

Back to the oddzz.
Like those yummy codzz.
Not those burd guys.
You know, the thing that flies.

Unless penguin man.
They may be a fan. 
Burds attacking lowers odds.
They go back to cods.

Litter art is a winner.
Be sure and eataz dinner.
But odds could goes downe.
If fame came to trout towne.

No blog posts to see.
Instead an artz gallerie spree.
Showing at nine.
The lives of the feline.

May also get eaten.
Those ancestors can't bes beaten.
But they look hungry as canz be.
Don't mess with them at their sea.

Burds are back.
What'z the flack?
Burds and deer.
Oh my, stand clear.

Odds of deer.
Squirrels in the clear.
Rabbits nearby.
Odds mays lie.

Odds = Maybe A Burd Knows
Just Look At Those Grammar Blows 

Can you decipher their bad grammar speak? We can at our creek. Can't type it like they do though. That we sure know. Got critters in your yard? Are they making you a cranky bard? Are penguins a better burd? Or are they just as absurd? I guess I'll go eat a bass and think on that with my little rhyming ass.

Fill your rummer, get drunk all summer.

Monday, August 21, 2017

Odds In Beer Are Coming Near!

That would be rather bad. Betting while drunk may make you mad. When you wake up hung over and broke. That's enough to make anyone choke. But you could win. Also choking on the dough at your bin.

Why even try?
Odds sure are high.
They'll so be here.
That is so clear.

Beer in a shower,
Hour by hour.
Whoops, fall and hit head.
Blog is now dead.

Camping in the woods.
Sure beats the hoods.
Eaten by a bear.
No more blogging at their lair.

Fat shaming at play.
Oh the dismay.
A fat person flattened each.
No blogging in reach.

Going for a third.
A new agent who's a turd.
Except they are a killer too.
No new blogs in view.

At a book retreat.
Both left in defeat.
Basic Instinct remake.
New posts at stake.

Entered a cave.
Thought it was a rave.
Damn, it's a bear.
Not the kind with hair.

Pissed off gun nuts,
That are in gun ruts.
That never ends good.
These odds aren't understood.

An idiot takes offense.
They are far too dense.
So they really take a fence.
Odds go up a few cents.

The football heads stage a comeback.
They want to cause flack.
Each can't decide which to show.
Boy, these odds just may be low.

Odds = Go Get A Beer
You Have Something To Fear 

Ever get chased by a bear? Is camping a fun thing to do at your lair? Beer in the shower may not be a good idea if drunk as a skunk. Then you may go kerplunk. Odds sure did a flip flop from the start. Maybe there is some kind of plot. Watch those gun nuts when it comes to sass. They may gather in mass and pass more than gas. They'll never catch my little rhyming ass.

Fill your rummer, get drunk all summer.