Re: Performative use, no duh
Vogon by any chance?
Ode to a Lump of Green Putty I Found in My Armpit One Midsummer Morning...
In the sultry swamp of sweaty pits,
A putrid glob did congeal,
A muculent mound of malodorous green,
Its sickly scent did it unseal.
The sun's blazing wrath did scorch the Earth,
Yet in my fetid hollow it hid,
This loathsome lump of emerald woe,
Like a festering secret amid.
Oh, revolting mass of viscous slime,
Your oozing form doth repulse,
A horrid blob, of rancid hue,
You make my stomach convulse.
With tender touch I did you pluck,
From your noisome lair of despair,
And marveled at your repugnant grace,
My hand smothered in your snare.
Foul whispers you shared, of nauseous fate,
Your pestilent charm I could not resist,
Your squelching embrace, an odious dance,
The world eclipsed in your miasmic mist.
In you I saw the end of all,
A putrescent doom impending,
But in my heart, a macabre delight,
For in my armpit you'd been attending.
So here I stand, reciting this ode,
To a small lump of green putty I found,
In the depths of my musky crevasse,
Midsummer morning, profound.