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513
[Oh freddled gruntbuggly, Thy micturations are to me, (with big yawning) As plurdled gabbleblotchits, in midsummer morning On a lurgid bee, That mordiously hath blurted out, Its earted jurtles, grumbling Into a rancid festering confectious organ squealer. [drowned out by moaning and screaming] Now the jurpling slayjid agrocrustles, Are slurping hagrilly up the axlegrurts, And living glupules frart and stipulate, Like jowling meated liverslime, Groop, I implore thee, my foonting turlingdromes, And hooptiously drangle me, With crinkly bindlewurdles,mashurbitries. Or else I shall rend thee in the gobberwarts with my blurglecruncheon, See if I don't!](#triggered)

(post is archived)

[–] [deleted] 2 pts

I actually enjoy Vogon poetry, joke's on you

[–] 2 pts

The problem is when listening to such poetry, you fall into insanity and don't know what's real anymore.

[–] [deleted] 2 pts

You should hear my Disaster Area cover band. From a safe distance, of course.

[–] 1 pt

Aaargh! Unnnngh-ahhh! Ah-Ah-Ahhhh! Stop! Please! Nnnnghuhhah!

Sorry, I had the accessibility reader on while I was wearing headphones.

[–] 1 pt

How can a poem be so raunchy and incomprehensible at the same time?

[–] 1 pt

Because you need a Babel Fish.

[–] 1 pt

Because you need a Babel Fish.

clever.

[–] 1 pt

Damnit. I didn't take my depakote yet.

[–] 1 pt

Damn, I wish I could read.

[–] 0 pt

If them fookin turlingdroms don't get tah dranglin they gonna get tha CRUNCHEON