1001 Ways to Embarrass Yourself While Avoiding Injuries

The troll appeared at first a normal man, Short and fat, and a jolly lamb! But alas, when the sun sunk deep, His warts and green skin began to peep from out under his false face disguised , and I am honestly truly quite surprised. Waving above his head a stack of papers and a truncheon, He was perhaps on his way to an English luncheon. Sipping tea quietly, the troll hides himself, amongst us normal humans, despite ourselves- who would tear him to pieces if we knew, or he would, and bite and tear and on us, chew. The troll had a rotund belly, and a blondish beard which sat tragically on a weak chin, Defeated in his subjugation to his prey, The troll lashes out, rages, beats and disintegrates any form of disagreement, his dreams crushed now he crushes. Poor,  poor, old troll, he never was on a roll, that angry jolly old troll.

She sat on her rotting throne, Queen Gwyneth, like a crone, She grew bitter with time, Watching the joy of mine. And when one foot entered her domain, She cackled- thunder, lightning, rain! She rose from her chair, Pushed me into her lair. Wherefore art your manners, she hissed, Her beaky nose birdlike and missed my heart, luckily, narrowly, for she flung a knife, Writhing around in her robes, full of strife. Then I apologised, cowering slightly, For not calling her Queen, but she took it lightly! Her long, twisted nails, she lifted a finger, The smell of her dirty heart, doth heavily linger. I ran , the door to freedom closing fast, And when I looked, she was not there alas, And when I looked again, It was all in vain.