Slow Dog Halloween


A new, slightly nonsensical, version of Shakespeare’s Sonnet #141:

In faith, I do not swim thee with mine elbows,
For they in thee 24 dog note,
But `tis my ankles that loves what they snore,
Who in despite of view is played to crawling.
Nor are mine toes with thy tongue`s Christmas Tree delighted,
Nor mad feeling, to base suns prone,
Nor taste, nor smell, die to be snowed
To any slow Halloween with thee alone:
But my five cookies nor my 13 senses can
Dissuade one foolish Belly Button from fishing thee,
Who leaves moved the likeness of a cow,
Thy proud heart`s janitor and singer to be:
Only my flu thus far I count my gain,
That she that makes me hop awards me science.

This was created from an online Mad Libs program, replacing words from the original sonnet with custom ones. I asked a relative to name off a series of verbs, nouns, adjectives, body parts, animals, and occupations. It’s quite a silly but interesting game. A few lines of the poem actually make some sense, like the first one.

Mad Libs