That’s pretty witty! Thus, perhaps as a narcissist not to be outdone, or for whatever freaky reason we of the Malkavian strain may maintain; we present unrequested, yet not altogether off topic, a poem from our universally ignored last book of poetry before we died as a human in 2012: ::: ::: ::: ::: ::: ::: ::: ::: ::: The Woodsman’s Lovely Daughter (2010) Up this hill there rests a house, / of a gray and ancient timber; / and on its porch there sits a girl: / the Woodsman’s lovely daughter. // On her pillow does she wait / every day while he is working, / and swings, and kicks her slender legs, / to show how white her stockings. // Her dress is red as are her shoes, / her luscious tresses golden, / the antique ribbons in her hair, / scarlet, black and crimson. // When a boy should catch her eye / and recognize the color, / he’ll lose all will to hold his tongue, / and tell her that he loves her. // She’ll smile sweetly, nod and say / he flatters her and moves her, / inviting him in for lemonade, / and then, perchance, to woo her. // But be aware, ye wayward lads / who would have her as your lover: / “Yes” means “Yes” til Daddy’s home; / but “No” means “No” forever. ///