Original text in yellow, anagram in pink.
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'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
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He, Lewis, grabbed the vibrant role,
Assembled dreams and rhymes with glee,
But vowed that one most mighty goal:
Originality.
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2nd place: David A. Green -
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I'm the Revd. Lutwidge Dodgson,
I wrote this inane rhyme:
Love rabbits, algebra, the hymen, small gals
Who beg a story at bedtime.
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3rd place: Richard Grantham -
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'Twas hell: the bawdy virile boys
Rimmed virgin lemmings in a boat:
And lethal were the red-hot toys,
As the mob buggered goats.
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One day, Larry the Bushbrash,
Went A.W.O.L. to rim/view/smell,
A vermin Granthambeast - My god, it bit!
He begged: "Desist! Die! Go to hell!"
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Would Lewis/Morse investigate,
Meaning, to diverting baby-rhyme?
Tosh! We may be, Dr. D.L. Brash,
Both at loggerheads all the time!
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Behold, two noble boys we omitted,
Aussies, Mr. Grantham, Dr. Brash.
Llama with the egg I vomited.
Evil lying by degenerate trash.
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The stud drives home this gender toy
When ma'am them boobies twirls,
Well damn it, it got real large, boy,
And he gave baby girls!
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'Twas gribly, and the mervil simes
Did thore and hembol in the blay:
All tegsim were the gorobimes,
And the waggot rebs outvay.
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'Twas Bob Dog and his silly troves
He lithely writ, to light the 'net
Many big, we read in droves
O muse, mad grammar, he able beget.
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I never enter words when sloshed,
or, all high, translate mumbled shit:
We may dig a groggy babble,
yet it'd be a shame to vomit it!
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'Twas brilliant when the slimy toads
Did gyrate and gambol in the waves;
Mel grimly to the borough goes,
"Meter I bred behaves."
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Lewis does here absurdly vent,
Total gibberish - what rot, lame!
Rhyming words violated, bent,
Made a highly misbegotten game!
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Lewis (embalmed blind by gin)
Votes: "My smashing little words!"
Gearhart read them: "High again?
Boy Eve -- Bet HE wrote a lot o' turds!"
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H'mm, boggle over God's live earth:
Are we madder than the Hatter?
Lewis' unintelligible byways myth
Is "sob!", so GODDAMN battier!
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"Oh, Anagrams," reverent Lewis notes,
Bemusing baby girl A. Liddell,
"A hobby to them witty wags.
Hm? The motive? God, there's a riddle."
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My mind's agog with nonsense, see?
I'd love to wreave my gribble,
Draw tharglets by that maethma tree,
Though all I do is dribble.
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The 'gerbils', 'rabbits', in the gram
See here, above, will drive me mad.
Goodbye to rhyme, that won't at all:
This ends now, guys - I'm glad!
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'Twas twilight, and the Lovelet boys
Did shag and bugger in the rear;
All slimy were their bimbo-toys,
And so mom gave them beer.
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A mid-morning, my sweet brother
Dribbles at the Teletubbies;
As all my view - the dog and mother
Shag - I learn what doggy-love is.
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Last White House Senior Orgy meal,
George B. did his mom on the mat;
And by them, ever-starved, Big Bill
Banged Hillary's wet twat.
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Delighted by amanita mushroom's high,
he wrote odd, even verse.
I best get dabbling -- a little try.
Who'll bet my anagram is worse?
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Lewis wants a girl, thirteen-years-old,
to bugger in the bed.
I've got balmy breasts to hold,
and blew him (gave him head!)
--Tom Myers
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