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A particularly odd poem by Edward Gorey, which some of my friends in College were fond of reciting a somewhat corrupted version of. It's slightly odd and disturbing to read. It's even more so when someone is spouting it off for absolutely no reason. And it gets even more surreal when a dozen or so people either recite in unison, or pass it around, each taking a line.

I myself know next to nothing about Edward Gorey, but someone I know who does tells me that almost everything he does has the same sort of surreal and slightly disturbing qualities that this poem does.

It was already Thursday,
but his lordship's artificial limb could not be found;
therefore, having directed the servants to fill the baths, he seized the tongs
and set out at once for the edge of the lake,
where the Throbblefoot Spectre still loitered in a distraught manner.

It goes on, and the version that folks recited has several hooks in it whereby one of the participants can enter even odder infinite loops, should they so choose.

One of those things that makes me really miss school most of the time. And occasionally sends me screaming into the night.

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