That these Babylonians spent more time in their inventing of kash than they did in developing their poetic forms. And the topics... couldn't they find something less distasteful to write about? Maybe I ought to try my hand at this repetitive versification? Hmmm...

Snow fell.
Well fell the snow.
The snow, the snow fell well.
Oh Hell! Snow Fell!

I look around to be greeted with looks of puzzlement, disgust, and outright enmity! Guess I'd best stick to the traditional forms. Yep! Not even going to try that Hoertling poetry with all its vague and mysterious references.

Having quonsumed more vast kantities of cash, I decide to have a go at the twounge tister...

Seventy-six or maybe sixty seven
Sleek silver salmon swimming up to heaven.
Slithering up the silken strands of starlight.
Straining skyward in stressfull silent starflight.

The other contestants look at me strangely. Sokni scratches his head. "Are we supposed to say that three times?" he asks.

"Oops! Guess I just got carried away!" I shake my head to clear the image of flying fishes and take a deep breath. "Seventy six sleek slick silver salmon swiftly swimming upstream to spawn, seventy six sleek slick silver salmon swiftly swimming upstream to spawn, seventy six sleek slick silver salmon swiftly swimming upstream to spawn." I manage the final syllable just as I am down to my last bit of breath. As soon as I can catch up with my wind, I lean across the bar and refill my bowl. In Madbat's absence and Caily's incapacitance, this has become a "Do-it-Yourself" operation. Looking around, I ask, "Can I get you fellers another?