Post by ogre on Jun 4, 2008 9:36:18 GMT -5
Grawwwp, mine days urr numbered!
Grawwwp, while badgurr's slumbered!
Grawwwp, I's wasted all mine time...[/color]
In all his years laying low amongst the fog-soaked waters of the cypress swamp, Kroke had learned a valuable lesson: boredom was ad dangerous in these parts as his old pick. It didn't matter if you were the mightiest warrior in all the land, if you could spend time with yourself, yu were likely to go stark loony. That, and to ward off the evil spirits he was convinced were following him, constituted that Kroke bellow his mournful, soulful tune.
Grawwwp, and in thurr evening,
Grawwwp, while othurrs theiving,
Grawwwp, I'm grawwwping mine old rhyme!
He slowly punted his way down on of the thousand slow, ichorous rivers that comprised the bulk of the swamps waterways. The pudgy toad in his patched clothing. He sat on the haphazardly-crafted driftwood raft, crouching on his haunches and using the blunt end of his gigpole to propel himself. His fat tongue lolled out of his mouth with each *L* sound. His eys, golden yellow with a split black iris, bulged schemingly from his head. Every so often, he would rub his shoulder with a padded figertip, particularly the cancerous protuberance where his poisonous glands were.
Grawwwp, I's been hurr so long,
Grawwwp, that singing this song,
Grawwwp, is how this old toads's been markin' his days.
Out of his peripheral vision, Kroke spotted something glisten in the water just to the left of his raft. Jewels, perhaps? Hardly, but Kroke would've taken a tasty fish over a crystal ring any day at this point. He spun his pole over in his hands and brought it's tip, complete with a wicked catching-barb, down on top of the unsuspecting wiggler. He brought it up to examine it; a fresh, still twitching catfish. It gulped air and thrashed about in the air, madly swinging it's own barbed whiskers ina vain attempt to fight Kroke off. Kroke pulled it free and tossed it to the side of the raft, next to his drawstring sack. "Krokes' gunnawunna eat goood tonights, yessiryessir." He spun his pole back over and continued deeper down the swamp river.
Grawwwp, toad on thurr waturr.
Grawwwp, once killed un otturr.
Grawwwp, now spends his time on thurr bottom ways.
Grawwwp, while badgurr's slumbered!
Grawwwp, I's wasted all mine time...[/color]
In all his years laying low amongst the fog-soaked waters of the cypress swamp, Kroke had learned a valuable lesson: boredom was ad dangerous in these parts as his old pick. It didn't matter if you were the mightiest warrior in all the land, if you could spend time with yourself, yu were likely to go stark loony. That, and to ward off the evil spirits he was convinced were following him, constituted that Kroke bellow his mournful, soulful tune.
Grawwwp, and in thurr evening,
Grawwwp, while othurrs theiving,
Grawwwp, I'm grawwwping mine old rhyme!
He slowly punted his way down on of the thousand slow, ichorous rivers that comprised the bulk of the swamps waterways. The pudgy toad in his patched clothing. He sat on the haphazardly-crafted driftwood raft, crouching on his haunches and using the blunt end of his gigpole to propel himself. His fat tongue lolled out of his mouth with each *L* sound. His eys, golden yellow with a split black iris, bulged schemingly from his head. Every so often, he would rub his shoulder with a padded figertip, particularly the cancerous protuberance where his poisonous glands were.
Grawwwp, I's been hurr so long,
Grawwwp, that singing this song,
Grawwwp, is how this old toads's been markin' his days.
Out of his peripheral vision, Kroke spotted something glisten in the water just to the left of his raft. Jewels, perhaps? Hardly, but Kroke would've taken a tasty fish over a crystal ring any day at this point. He spun his pole over in his hands and brought it's tip, complete with a wicked catching-barb, down on top of the unsuspecting wiggler. He brought it up to examine it; a fresh, still twitching catfish. It gulped air and thrashed about in the air, madly swinging it's own barbed whiskers ina vain attempt to fight Kroke off. Kroke pulled it free and tossed it to the side of the raft, next to his drawstring sack. "Krokes' gunnawunna eat goood tonights, yessiryessir." He spun his pole back over and continued deeper down the swamp river.
Grawwwp, toad on thurr waturr.
Grawwwp, once killed un otturr.
Grawwwp, now spends his time on thurr bottom ways.
