The man with the dragon tattoo

From the mists of long-lost time,
‘neath a sloggy snoggy bog
crawled a creature sloot with slime.
Scaly like a snake, but slip’ry like a frog.

When the apey humans saw it
slitherin’ through the clootey flume
they were aiming for  to draw it
into a room of gloom.

“T’was a dragon if I ever saw one
and what’s friggin’ more than that
It came huffing through the kingdom
like it owned the place, then sat,

upon the Stieg’s Salander shoulder
with tails of gruesey sex
to propel the dead man’s tattooed  tale
into an international bestsell text.

Then the dragon he slid slinkin’
from  Lisbeth’s stained-skin speck
and had himself pricked drinkin’
from a neo-Nazi’s neck.

Soon the inked-up beast  will dwindle
‘midst the world’s dysfunctional glut
as he sinks his paws in Grindell,
instead of a Svedish tattooed slut.

But the dragon’s breath is encumbered;
he’s destined to lose his pull
when his half-ass time is numbered
’cause the world’s a glass half-full.


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