Le sanga po le dirba je slabu ke kalcyrzdani---was Re: Big Bang theory

["T. Peter Park" <tpeterpark@erols.com>]

The following poetic masterpiece copied below reminded me today of my
suggestion a few years ago to la lojbab. about a science fiction story
or movie where the hero escapes from a horrendous alien palace, temple,
or fortess called the Barda Kalcyrzdani:

Brother WXYZ of the "Anglican" list wrote wrote:
> 
> Once in a while there looms on my screen something that I just have to
> share with people regarless.   The following took me several minutes to
> relay on because, I could not stop laughing.   Now the fact that you can
> see the pinch line coming makes it al  the worse because by the time you
> get there your eys, like mine, I hope will be full of tears.
> 
>     Bro. WXYZ
>                       ~
> mailto:ABCDEFGH
> 
> The Little House Out Back
>     "No Smoking Please"
> 
>  One of my bygone recollections,
>  As I recall the days of yore
>  Is the little house, behind the house,
>  With the crescent over the door.
>  'Twas a place to sit and ponder
>  With your head bowed down low;
>  Knowing that you wouldn't be there,
>  If you didn't have to go.
> 
>  Ours was a three-holer,
>  With a size for every one.
>  You left there feeling better,
>  After your usual job was done.
>  You had to make these frequent trips
>   Whether snow, rain, sleet, or fog--
>  To the little house where you usually
>  Found the Sears-Roebuck catalog.
> 
>  Oft times in dead of winter,
>  The seat was covered with snow.
>  Twas then with much reluctance,
>  To the little house you'd go.
>  With a swish you'd clear the seat,
>  Bend low, with dreadful fear
>  You'd blink your eyes and grit your teeth
>  As you settled on your  rear.
> 
>  I recall the day Granddad,
>  Who stayed with us one summer,
>  Made a trip to the shanty
>  Which proved to be a hummer.
>  'Twas the same day my Dad
>  Finished painting the kitchen green.
>  He'd just cleaned up the mess he's made
>  With rags and gasoline.
> 
>  He tossed the rags in the shanty hole
>  And went on his usual way
>  Not knowing that by doing so
>  He would eventually rue the day.
>  Now Granddad had an urgent call,
>  I never will forget!
>  This trip he made to the little house
>  Lingers in my memory yet.
> 
>  He sat down on the shanty seat,
>  With both feet on the floor.
>  Then filled his pipe with tobacco
>  And struck a match on the outhouse door.
>  After the Tobacco began to glow,
>  He slowly raised his rear:
>  Tossed the flaming match in the open hole,
>  With not a sign of  fear.
> 
>  The Blast that followed, I am sure
>  Was heard for miles around;
>  And there was poor ol' Granddad
>  Just sitting on the ground.
>  The smoldering pipe was still in his mouth,
>  His suspenders he  held tight;
>  The celebrated three-holer
>  Was blown clear out of sight.
> 
>  When we asked him what had happened,
>  His answer I'll never forget.
>  He thought it must be something
>  That he had recently et!
>  Next day we had a new one
>  Which my Dad built with ease.
>  With a sign on the entrance door
>  Which read: No Smoking, Please!
> 
>  Now that's the end of the story,
>  With memories of long ago,
>  Of the little house, behind the house
>  Where we went cause we had to go!
> 
> Author unknown
> 
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