And now for something completely different...
Poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese.
--G.K.Chesterton--
By: Deborah McGhee
Conan, oh Conan,
With hair of red.
If not for your jokes,
We'd all be dead.
Conan, we love you,
More than you know.
I suffer whenever
I don't watch your show.
I stay up and wait,
For a glimpse of your beauty.
I especially like
When you shake your booty.
Oh Conan, dear Conan,
How we all love thee.
For you I would
cut off my own knee.
And wrap it up, in a box,
In a pretty bag.
Give it to you on your show,
Giggle and call you a fag.
Then run away,
Enjoy myself, as security runs after me.
Then fall before I get very far,
Because I gave you my knee.