There's a town in England, did you know, where every single hooter - no matter if owned by man or woman or goat - wears a... WART!
Wart-on-the-Nose is its name. This picture is a rough example:
Some are like this:
Or this:
Wart-on-the-Nose is a wonderful place. (Even though a blight owns each face).
Do you know - in Wart-on-the-Nose
With each sneeze: a "wart wave" flows?!
Just like the Mexicans, warts - in tune,
Wibble and wobble and wave like a loon!
(Picture)
But, as I pen these lines, there's not a sneeze-spree in sight. (That I know of).
So, one day, or two days to be precise, a strange situation occurred. It was so strange that it was the MAIN story on the BBC news! This is what took place:
Mr Nobble - who possessed the largest nose in Walton - began to moan. "This is terrible," he whined, with gooey drops dangling. "Mr Kleenex would go bust if he had a nose like mine."
WHINE
WHINE
WHINE.
The contents of his paper hanky were gross. And the sounds - revolting. I will skip these (not literally) due to my pea soup supper's preparation. But...
This twit, Mr Nobble, whined like a baby. His nose was runny and it WAS NOT funny:
(Picture)
"You've ruined my table-cloth!" complained his wife, Deidre.
"Our carpet's stained!" cried the vicar when he entered the parsonage for advice regarding his daughter, Nancy's, wedding.
The librarian lost her wig when he let loose over her reference books.
Anyway, to end this nonsense: Mr Nobble, Mr Norman Nobble, possessed a violent cold. (Which was three days old as I pen these lines).