Feeding The Alien
I haven't fed the Alien yet,
It's mewling and dribbling
and carrying on,
Like
a goldfish in a basket.
I've
only just got it, no manual of course,
And the damn thing won't let
me touch it,
Let
alone pet it, let alone feed it.
At least it's warm and has
comfort,
I've
swaddled it and coddled it, and treated it good,
But I still don't know what
it calls food.
And it mewls and it whimpers,
I'm driven insane,
I've
been back to the pet shop again,
"It's a rash", they said,
"It'll go away".
I cured the rash by removing
the blanket,
The
spikes were puncturing the shell,
It still mewls, but it's stopped whimpering.
I still haven't fed it, I
can't find the glurt,
But
we sewed up the holes in the brain,
It stopped mewling! Oh Bliss!
It doesn't move around as
much any more,
So
I took a good look and it's different!
Its Chumnay is so inefficient...
We opened the chumnay a bit
and it leaked,
So
we knew we were on the right track,
Now we could pick it up, and place
it
In the Grod, for feeding;
we waited,
And
sure, the leaking continued, we almost celebrated,
But the Alien didn't toover.
I'm looking at it now, it's
not happy,
Its
leaking far more than it should,
And it's threshing. I don't think
it's going to toover.
But what's this? The leaking
has stopped and the alien's still,
So we put the gazbach in the chumney,
quickly!
The
Alien's FED! We said, with glee!
It hasn't moved since, and
it's starting to smell,
Maybe
we made a mistake.
No
Matter, we'll eat it.
(C) Copyright 1999
DRAGGIE
All Rights Reserved
