Crotchety old men reading year-old,
Newspapers and drinking year-old milk,
Suddenly assailed me for some frothy beer;
Jeering I jest that they don't look their best,
Wearing polka dot vests with feathered *******.
(Get those naughty thoughts out your noggins)

Speaking of noggin, I was jogging
With a porch light up Johnson's Hill,
And a dog dug a jig from a neon sign,
That had velvet written on it,
From a German gnome,
Born from a dwarf!
What a lucky find!

I'll index it next to the index finger,
But first I'll clean it with Windex.

Sleep? Sle3p? Sl33p?