Dr. Seuss by Dickens:
Wherever it was that I should first have heard of these egss and ham so green in nature, or whether my disdain for them was immediately lucid, shall henceforth in these pages be saved. To begin my dislike for eggs and ham green with my dislike for eggs and ham green, I record that I was offered a plate of these by Sam-I-Am. Those green eggs and ham.
What next?
Performed by Sam Kennison
DO YOU WANT THESE EGGS!?
DO YOU!?
THEN STOP YOUR FREAKING RHYMING AND GET YOUR ASS OVER TO YOUR PLATE!!!
I WON’T SERVE THEM TO YOU IN A BOAT!!!
I WON’T SERVE THEM TO YOUR FREAKING GOAT!!!
I JUST KILLED YOUR GOAT!!
HOW DO YOU LIKE THAT!?!
HUH!?!?
HUH!?!?!?
SAM
I
AM
!!!
AAAAAAUUUUURRRRGGGGHHHH!!!
how the grinch stole christmas by e.e. cummings
cindy lou lived in a pretty who town
with up snow floating many flakes down
spring summer autumn winter
she asked her won’t she said her why
the grinch lived north (his heart so small)
cared for christmas not at all
he hitched up max to take the tree
joy love peace glee
cindy saw “santa” and was dismayed
the grinch an evil plan he made
“i take the tree to fix the light”
gifts tags beast spite
and to the sleigh with tree by trunk
the grinch back up to home he slunk
kids in beds to be forlorn
up to wake on christmas morn
somewhos arose with everywhos
saw no gifts or food or trees
(slept woke hoped and then) they
knew their never was not a dream
jpy love peace glee
(and only the whos can begin to explain
how children are apt to forget to be saddened
with up snow floating many flakes down)
that morn one who started singing
(and all joined in to welcome day)
grinch cocked ear and he was puzzled
child by child and man by man
bag by bag and toy by toy
he had tried to kill their joy
no who sad and any who happy
day was spirit and not just stuff
women and men (both large and small)
toys tags trees all
brought by grinch to whotown feast
he carved roast beast
green eggs and ham by John Cage:
the end
Green Eggs and Ham by Philip Glass:
I am Sam.
Sam I am.
I am Sam.
Sam I am.
I am Sam.
Sam I am.
I am Sam.
Sam I am.
I am Sam.
Sam I am.
I am Sam.
Sam I am.
I am Sam.
Sam I am.
I am Sam.
Sam I am.
I am Sam.
Sam I am.
I am Sam.
Sam I am.
I am Sam.
Sam I am.
I am Sam.
Sam I am.
I am Sam.
Sam I am.
Is this a green egg which I see before me,
The egg toward my ham? Come, let me eat thee.
I eat thee not, and yet I see thee still.
Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible
To eating as to sight? or art thou but
An egg of the mind, a false creation,
Proceeding from the hunger-oppressed brain?
I see thee yet, in form as palatable
As this which now I chew.
Thou marshall’st me the way that I was going;
And such an instrument I was to eat.
Mine eyes are made the fools o’ the other senses,
Or else worth all the rest; I see thee still,
And on the plate are ham and eggs of green,
I’ve always thought Sam-I-Am was suggesting something a little more kinky than mere green-colored food when he asked, “Would you, could you, with a goat?”
Whether the rain brought the creature or the creature brought the rain, I do not know. A dismal drizzle beat down upon our queer old house, the sound it made against the eaves seeming to speak of secrets long lost in the endless corridors of time.
I looked up from my book. The ceaseless drone of the rain had long since sapped the pleasure I customarily derived from my researches into the curious career of Dick and Jane. The almost palpable gloom outside had invaded every nook and cranny of the room, and I saw that my sister too had been affected by it. The plastic potato she was wont to experiment with lay discarded at her feat, and she sat motionless, staring out the window into the rain. It seemed that time itself had stopped, and I longed for something—anything—that might interrupt that awful moment.
Had I only known! If only I could undo what happened next! For no sooner had that thought formed in my mind than a strange muffled sound, an deep ominous bump, was heard from the vicinity of the front door.
Curiosity and fear battled in my heart, but presently curiosity gained the upper hand. I crept stealthily to the entrance hall and stole a fatal look through the hall window.
They tell me that what I saw there was merely an illusion, something brought on by an overactive imagination combined with a surplus of sugar in my breakfast cereal. Yet what I saw there was real, and the image is irrevocably burned into my mind’s eye. The thing walked upright in a grotesque parody of a human form. Yet a sort of fine fur covered it entirely, and a strangely prehensile tail trailed behind it. Its face, if you can call it that, was not human at all, but clearly showed the undeniably savage traits of the feline. Yet that was not the worst of it, for crowning its head as snow caps a mountain was the towering, unmistakable form of a hideous, bestriped hat…
THE CAT IN THE HAT by H.P. Lovecraft
Wish I had time to do this myself, but can’t. Could someone gin up a Dennis Miller version?
gricklegrass, past Whos and Horton, where slow and sour’s a windy day, brings us by a gruvvulous regraminafication back to Lerkim Once-ler and environs.
Sir Lorax, orator d’ arbor, fr’under the Truffula trees, had passencore been reuplifted from North Stichumbra on this side of the smeary pond of ambulent Hummingfish, to mufferfight his befurrified war, nor had yerturtle’s stacks by the pond Sala-ma-Sond exeggerated themsnuvs to Lord Droon’s googootchgooses while they went doublegumming their munchhunch all the time: nor avoice from aspeck bellowsed whowho to pentpolluxed pachydope: not yet, but vronischwinn after, had a cappedcat upended a bland old nagfish: not yet, though all’s floobed in flibberelry, were zaxxy soothers wroth with twoone nathanzax. Rot a tuft of old truffula’s thneeds had Once-ler Jr. or Sis knitted by grinchlight and mooney end to the rinkerfink was to be seen toodling down the hooberbloob.
The floobity-fall of the yookzookwall entailed at such short notice the flippity-floop of Flunnflunnel, erse softish niceman who had hid in the tunnel, that the Humpf-Humpf-a-Dumpfer of humself preep-prumptly sent an unquizzeling one well to the west in queekquest of his tumpf-a-tumpf-toes.
What was the Lorax, who comest ever without being invoked? Why was it there, whose coming is unknown, and what of all the things which the company of the precentors and of the grammarians of Theogeisel’s ordered concerning it in the matter of the work of its lifting? Whence was it taken from townsfarend amidst the greenbladed verdigrasses grickling? Eerie whig’s a bit of a torytale to tell. Bloomintales a but of a threestorey sell. Aye, you can ask your ass if he believes it, or butter still, asp the Once-ler to ear-- he knows.
I think I have just enough to do one more, per chefguy’s request:
One here is doesn’t like Green Eggs and Ham,
Even after a fire under them;
He prefers spilling the plate on the floor
Than jumping gaps between bias and taste.
Sam-I-am, my task is another thing:
I have come home to repair his palette
So he would not just eat soup stone on stone,
But allow his toungue to be as surprised
As a rabbit hearing the yelping dogs
Near his cubby hole.
That’s my try at Robert Frost, “Green Eggs and Ham”.
*In Mulberry Street did young Marco
A simple horse-cart know to be
His dad, an honest speaking man
had often councelled him to scan
What 'ere it was that he could see
But Marco’s young and fertile mind
Would never stand a mundane find
And there were often stories spun
Which blossomed heavily with details bold and free
And here were dogs as shaggy and they would run
Wagging long tales much taller than the trees
"A zebra with a chariot
In a vision I once saw
It was a charioteer so tall
that a zebra would be middling small
A reindeer would be better
and I think it’s best to say
No mere chariot to pull
He’d be much happier with a fancy sleigh!
“I really am a miscreant
For such a magnificent sleigh
how much must the great thing weigh?
It needs no reindeer but an elephant!
Yet it lacks a certain something still
to give it the required tone
A bejewelled Rajah proudly perched
upon a gold and purple throne!”
Five blocks it marched at a regal canter
Past homes and shops the royal litter walked
Then passed the crossroads and the natal gate still locked
Receding as the boy prepared his banter
Adding a trailer which produced a sound so grand
Symphonic strains from a twelve-piece band.
Then with story loud and long
He would wander up the stair
That happy home! With Dad so nice!
Who before he’d heard would just sit there
And pull his chin, and grimly stare
What did you see? And how?! and where?!
And Marco’s face would go quite beet
with knees ashake and thumping heart,
and he’d tell of the horse and cart
That he saw on Mulberry Street*
(Poor Sam Coleridge deserves better, but I’m not equal to the task, and I desperately require caffeine.)
Green Eggs and Hamlet???
To eat, or not to eat: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the house to suffer
The rhymes and chaos of silly cats in hats,
Or to take up arms against talking felines,
And by opposing end them? To eat: to chew;
No more; and by eating to say we end
The head-aches and the thousand nasty thoughts
That hassl’d kids are heir to, 'tis a consumption
Devoutly to be wish’d. To chew, to eat;
To eat: perchance to digest: ay, there’s the rub;
For in that digestion what sounds may come
When we shuffle off to the porcelain throne . . .
[And here is where Mephisto’s daughter made further typing impossible for him, much to the relief of the ghost of his favorite English teacher–ed.]
Actually it became much more difficult than I had thought, though I still think it’s a neat idea.
By J.R.R. Tolkien
Prologue I
Concerning Whos
This book is largely concerned with Whos, and from its pages a reader may discover much of their character and a little of their history. Further information will also be found in the selection from the Bright Yellow and Pink Book of Whomarch that has alread been published, under the title of The Who. That story was derived from the earlier chapters of the Bright Yellow and Pink Book, composed by Cindy-Lou Who herself, the first Who to become famous in the world at large…
… And far away, as the Whos began singing and claiming the Christmas spirit, even in Sammath Whoville the very heart of Whos’ realm, the Heart of Barad-Grînch’ was shaken, and the whole Body trembled from its feet to its mighty green head. The Dark Grînch was suddenly aware of it, and his Eyes piercing all shadows looked across from Mount Crumpit, and the magnitude of his folly wasw revealed to him in a blinding flash, and all the devices of his enemies the Whos were at last laid bare. Then his wrath blased in consuming flame, but his heart rose like a vast ballon, expanding three sizes. For he knew what the true meaning of Christmas was and the doom on which his last vestiges of rottenness and meanness now hung.