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Rated: E · Poetry · Comedy · #1808581
Epic poem of the warrior-feline Punk's battle with the immortal String.
WARNING - this poem is not my work.  It was channeled through me by my friend’s cat, Punk.  He cares not if it entertains you, for its purpose is to connect with you on a primordial level.  Have you too grappled with an arch nemesis more powerful than yourself?  Punk believes nothing is more savory than to defy such a foe.  No?

How’s your grasp of Norse Mythology?

Have you heard of the mighty Thor?

And of his enemy, the Midgard Serpent,

who was so titanic he encircled the globe?

They fought thrice times, and each

confrontation shook the heavens and the earth.

During their third battle they slew one another

on the last day of the world - Ragnorak.

When these battles are recounted I cannot

help but smile a little at their telling.

For if you were to compare them to my

Herculean bouts with the hellish String,

Thor and Jormungander’s battles seem more

like elementary-school playground scuffles.

Who am I to make such a pretentious claim?

I am Punk, sit back and hear my tale.

Before I get to how much more daunting

String is than that overgrown worm,

let me first compare my lot with that

silver-spooned mouthed godling - Thor.

Thor had his backers, the dwarves you see,

who fashioned him an arsenal of

enchanted gizmos of a sundry variety.

The likes of which, it is safe to say,

Batman, Inspector Gadget and James Bond

in total could not possibly hope to scrounge.

A not-quite-long-enough magical hammer;

kind of phallic in a Freudian way if you ask me.

Enchanted gloves to wield said hammer;

and keep his hands soft too I might add.

And lastly a girdle which increased his strength;

Who knew? Thor wore a girdle. I rest my case.

I don’t have the support of dwarves,

gnomes, pixies, or a contingent of fairies.

I don’t have any divine weapons,

magical underwear or enchanted paraphernalia.

Plus I would scoff at any stuff offer of such

or the likes of which - even if they were

presented to me on a silver dish.

Unarmed combat is how we do,

with no quarter asked and no quarter given.

Mono a gato, no holds barred, and any

foreign implements are simply not allowed.

Hostility, raw hate and deep seeded enmity

are the only perquisites to our fights.

Tooth, claw, and a superior intellect

are the weapons at my disposal.

Combined with my speed, heart and sinew,

these are all I need, want or desire.

As for a cost comparative analysis which

evaluates String and the Midgard Serpent;

the bottom line simply states that the

Midgard Serpent was slain and String is immortal.

If Thor were alive today and if he so desired

he could smite String many  thousands of times

with his puny, phallic, fantastical hammer.

String would just laugh at all this pounding

cool as a cucumber with nary a scratch.

I could go on but I believe I've made my point,

besides all this talk of the infernal String

has brought my blood to a boil, which reminds me

it's time for our next grappling, fight.

For although, as I said, Thor and Jormungander

fought a paltry and mere total of three times,

there is not a day of the week that goes by

where String and I do not fight in frenzied battle.

Free Verse Poem

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