And too, the monster's mother came,
but, truth be told, she was a ditz.
Tumbleweed within her brain,
she fell into the slivovitz.
And then a problem was set forth -
for none had yet (of course) seen fit
to set down (right) the recipe
for making of fine slivovitz.
But then a prophet from afar
with monkey's fur upon his mits,
came striding through the emerald fog
that hearkened to the slivovitz.
"Hooray" did cry the townsfolk then,
(those namby-pamby common gits)
"For surely here has to us come
one who can channel the slilovitz!"
<meta>
A scotsman wearing plaid and kilt
did wander in through wisps of mist
to contribute some random thoughts
about the treasured slivovitz!</meta>
