Hunting Failed!

We spent all morning, Horatio and me, slogging in waist-high rubber boots through the murky swamps of Benbrook, TX. (Though Benbrook is not famous for murky swamps, merely attending any golf course or wild area beside a poorly landscaped business-complex leads to plenty of murky swampness, where water run-off pools indifferently among the long grass...)

Alas, we tried kosher dill, dill, and bread & butter pickles. (I admit, Horatio and I ate most of the bread & butter pickles. We were hungry after all that stomping around.)

We used all sorts of elaborately bad haiku, all composed by me. Some of my gems:

Victorian pants
Riding crops, boots, and pirates,
I Am Fabio!

A dying leaf falls
in a puddle of water
when you touch yourself.

Alas! My pickles were pickle-y enough. Horatio assures me the pickles passed his inspection for the capture of bad poetry bats. My haiku, however, was simply too good!

I can't suck even when I'm trying.

Can anyone donate bad feeding for the capture and continued feeding of the bad poetry bats?