PIGEON  I
Yeah, I crawled home the other night and opened up my door.  My eyes were greeted by a sight I hadn't seen before:
A heap of bodies, I'd say a hundred or more, strewn along the vestibule and piled up on my kitchen floor;
stone-cold dead I guessed, I had experience in these matters.
And then a voice spoke to me, clatterin outa the haze like a streetcar in a Pittsburgh dawn.
'!Good day to you fiend'.   Well, I wasn't standin for that kinda foolery.
'Who the hell d'you think YOU are?!', I bawled, with an "intensity" that come from usin a double apostrophe.
'I'm Rufus !',  he replied.  
Quick as a sprat out of a   sprat jar, I identified the situation.  
I asked  'who the hell are ya?, NOT whaddya smoke for purposes of recreation'.
'I'm Rufus!!',  he emphasised.  Well, I flew straight back at him. '!You don't have to get on ya high horse with me, pal !'
My brain was workin overtime   and he wasn't.  I'd already lapped his one brain cell at least one zillion times before collidin
with it on my return journey from Planet Zyz.   So far away from his understandin' it's not worth a mention in TheOxfordEnglishDic.
Quick as a sprog out of a test tube I supposed he'd been in the nest with my bird.  He had gills written all over his  os
(!excuse the zyzian reference)   He  had  gills  written  all  over  his   os :  Danglin bits of bird wattle daubed all over his . . 
I fulminated, he fumigated, our paths were destined to rhyme.
                                                                                                             SMOKEY LINNET
                                                                                                             TOM LEE SKINNY