The Quimmerdog.

It swiggelled tho' the wallen crake
had fruked  and dorkal-smashed the gleave;
Afore a calm of perripake,
be-stroked the yewker meave.

"Look out for Quimmerdog, my seed!
the breath that burns, the piss that pits!
Look out for burble rats, and heed
the churnoir slipsenshitz!"

He gripped his snarlig spear with hand:
crow-nested at the hive he scoped –
in dreams beside the knockerbrand,
and for a while he hoped.

And while in sophish thought he sailed,
The Quimmerdog with fir that bled,
raced snaffling through the gluffy kail,
and snarkled as it tread!

In out! In out! with cut  and stalls
the snarlig spear went stitcher-that!
the brute was dead and with it balls
began hopslopping off.

"And did thee slew the Quimmerdog?
come fold me up courageous seed!
what gailing play!  fluck me! fluck yay!"
He prawned it with the deed.

It swiggelled tho' the wallen crake
had fruked  and dorkal-smashed the gleave;
Afore a calm of perripake,
bestroked the yewker meave.