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Show I I THE LITERARY HORRORS CLUB. 'Twas in a literary fog Beside an inky wave. Somo rather handsome skeletons Were waltzing on a grave, A very pretty lynching, too, Gave zest to the affair, When Jack o' London, stalking in Cried thrice, "Ahoy, Sinclair!" Then Upton came from Packingtown As gay as one can he Whose progress is accompanied By Reverend Thomas D., The latter striking attitudes And braying at the moon, While flourishing a manuscript Entitled "Coon, Coon, Coon!" "Enough, enough! suppress the stuff!" Quoth Upton of Sinclair, "I would a bitter tale unfold Of Sausage and Despair. My hero is a forelgnor, A stranger yet to soap, vHls name Bzzzzisqtyozistnob (Pronounced Bzzuzzixstnope). Up popped a stranger weird and wan Whose chin required a shave. He tore three handfuls from his beard And writhed upon a grave. "Alas! she was a cannibal!" Then all the Club arose and cried, "Good evening, Mr. Caine!" Wallace Irwin in June Bookman. |