Somewhere in a remote corner of the United
States there is an exceptionally unpleasant place
known as the Bog. A realm of bubbling black water
and stinking, clinging mud, the Bog has rarely been
explored by humans—intentionally. With no human
interference, a host of creepy crawlies is free to
live their short lives in relative peace and
discomfort. But enough of this. If you want to
know the Bog, it’s best to jump right in.
Please, explore the Bog at your leisure, and rest
assured, it is perfectly safe—some unpleasantries
may arise, but you (probably) won’t die (today).
Welcome to the Bog
Welcome to the gloomy bog,
Where flowers never bloom,
Where Lois picks a banjo
While Milton plays bassoon
Madame Zwelch knows what’s to come,
Surelock surmises what’s been done,
And under light of hazy sun
Boghaunter writes of everyone
My friends and I
We’re quite a crew
So many skills
Who ever knew?
We’ve quite a life
Since we’ve discovered
There is so much
To be uncovered
In this bog of ooze and bubble
With naught but
Fright and doom and trouble
O glorious bog without a double!
The stink of rot is in the air,
The buzz of insects everywhere,
And round every log, with fetid breath
Beware the sticky tongue of death
When it comes you’ll never know
Until you feel the fatal blow
Then it’s over and you’re gone,
A minor glitch till life goes on
So smile while you’re dying
You’ve got nothing left to lose
There is no point in crying
While you’re sinking in the ooze
You can’t escape it
Nor can I
So best to bear it
And just fly,
Fly above the oozing, bubbling bog
Welcome to the gloomy bog,
Where flowers never bloom,
Where Lois picks a banjo
While Milton plays bassoon
Madame Zwelch knows what’s to come,
Surelock surmises what’s been done,
And under light of hazy sun
Boghaunter writes of everyone
My friends and I
We’re quite a crew
So many skills
Who ever knew?
We’ve quite a life
Since we’ve discovered
There is so much
To be uncovered
In this bog of ooze and bubble
With naught but
Fright and doom and trouble
O glorious bog without a double!
The stink of rot is in the air,
The buzz of insects everywhere,
And round every log, with fetid breath
Beware the sticky tongue of death
When it comes you’ll never know
Until you feel the fatal blow
Then it’s over and you’re gone,
A minor glitch till life goes on
So smile while you’re dying
You’ve got nothing left to lose
There is no point in crying
While you’re sinking in the ooze
You can’t escape it
Nor can I
So best to bear it
And just fly,
Fly above the oozing, bubbling bog
| All rights reserved. |
| The Bog |
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| Contact Boghaunter: main@boghaunter.com |
| What Do You Want to Know? The Bog is not a large place, but how do you know where to start? If you want to meet the go to the Denizens page. Want to know more about places in the Bog? Check out Bog Haunts. Do you need insight into your personality or what your future holds? Read the Bog Zodiac and Madame Zwelch's Weekly Forecast. And if you want to read the current Bog story or explore past stories, go to Bog Happenings. Questions? Contact the Bogmistress. |
A Poem by the Boghaunter:
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