Now We're Talking With Odds A Gawking!

Maybe you can gawk at the odds. They could be on paper attached to fishing rods. Maybe I'm fishing to make that work. Isn't being crazy a perk? Gawking can be too. But never ever is using one hand to wipe your poo.

WaystationOne

Odds Make Me Run
(link dead. oh the dread.)

The Gawker is back.

Again...again...again...at his shack?

Is he though?

The odds are low.

He goes everywhere.

Places that are rare.

Even sleeps in a back alley room.

Odds are that can lead to doom.

Like wiping your butt with your hand.

Blah, that is so not grand.

We'd run far far away from that land.

Or at least take plenty a tp strand.

Plus he's gawking.

That doesn't take talking.

Just large eyeballs.

No posting on walls.

May catch some long named disease.

That is worse than fleas.

His odds aren't gawking well.

Again they just fell.

Could take a nerf bullet to the eye.

Oh me, oh my.

Half blind would stink.

Wonder if the eye would still blink.

A half blinker.

Be quite the thinker.

A half gawk.

Now he can talk.

Could have an enemy arise.

Go after him in disguise.

He repoed their car,

A long time ago at his sand bar.

Or maybe a comment nut.

In a comment rut.

Post on my whine of the day.

Come on, Gawker, do it I say.

You didn't? How rude.

Here's more than attitude.

More of my whining thinking.

Odds are sure sinking.

Odds = Gawk Later

I Think They Fell Into A Crater 

Ever go to a place with no tp? Ever have to use your hand at your sea? Blah to that in every way. Got any whiners at your bay? Comment back on their daily whine? Yeah, pfft to that says the feline. Hopefully no repoing comes due. The Gawker and Betsy are both sneaky with it at their zoo. The cat warned you should it come to pass. Don't say nothing is done for you by my little rhyming ass.

Fill your rummer, get drunk all summer.