Such a fuss......

Wally

Well-Known Member
Apr 16, 2000
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Armed with mask and rubber gloves you open up the door,
And gingerly with care you pick your way across the floor,
A floor that’s strewn with underwear and things you do not know
What pathogens are brewing up and the home they’ll find to grow.

It’s not a secret science lab the government employs,
It’s a normal teenage bedroom , the den of grubby boys,
There’s plate and cups and mugs, and knives and forks as well,
Been lying there for weeks and weeks, too old to even smell.

The mugs are all encrusted with an overflowing fleece,
Of mould and fungus , green and brown, the plates with crumbs and grease,
The knives and forks upon the floor with hair, and dust and fluff,
The teenage boy without a doubt’s an abominable scruff.

However, Oh the lecture when his mother leaves a pot,
Of equine fecal sample upon the counter top,
Upon the kitchen worktop that is vaguely clean and bright,
Oh what a silly fuss to make , “the lid’s on nice and tight!”

“You know you’re stinking out the place?” (with nose held in the air),
“Do you have to leave it lying there, it’s more than I can bear”
And back into their den they slink, with grime and mank and must,
And carry on creating penicillin, lint and dust.
 
Weeeeeelll, I leave one pot of poo on the kitchen worktop for a worm count, and he makes such a fuss.
 
Very good and very true. We only mucked out our lots once a year the rest of the time we left them to fester in their own midden.
 
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