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Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!Originally Posted by Landy Smurf
and just when you think you are done.. oh what is that down stairs too
---I feel now is an appropriate time to apologise to Banjo Patterson for what I have done to his poem, "Lost"
IKEA - OH DEAR!"He ought to be home," said the old man, "without there's something amiss.
He only went to the IKEA — he ought to be back by this.
He keeps riding that number 41 wheelie trolley, he would have his wilful way;
And, here, he's not back at sundown — and what will his mother say?
"He was always his mother's idol, since ever his father died;
And there isn't a trolley within the store that he isn't game to ride.
But that number 41 trolley is vicious, and if once she gets away
He hasn't got strength to hold her — and what will his mother say?"
The old man walked to the sliprail, and peered up the dark'ning track,
And looked and longed for the flat pack shopper that would never more come back;
And the mother came and clutched him, with sudden, spasmodic fright:
"What has become of my Willie? Why isn't he home tonight?"
Away in the maze like store, at the foot of flat pack fake wood -light and dark,
The allen key master laddie was lying stiff and stark;
For the number 41 trolley had smashed him against a leaning display,
And his comely face was battered, and his merry eyes were filled with dismay.
And the dangerous number 41 trolley, the flatpacks stressing her flanks,
Was away like fire through the ranges of goods and smashing balsa wood predrilled wood look planks;
And a broken-hearted woman and an old man worn and grey
Were searching all night in the two storey store till the sunrise brought the day.
And the mother kept feebly calling, with a hope that would not die,
"Willie! where are you, Willie?" But how can the dead reply?;
And hope died out with the daylight, and the darkness brought despair,
God pity the stricken mother, and answer the widow's prayer!
Though far and wide they sought him, they found not where he fell;
For the playroom ballpit held him precious, and guarded their treasure well.
The painted clouds above him, and the blue balls so close by,
And the leaking brown balls buzz the secret, and the punctured red balls sing reply.
But the mother pined and faded, and cried, and took no rest,
And drove each day to IKEA on her hopeless, weary quest.
Seeking her loved one ever, she faded and pined away,
But with strength of her great affection she still sought every day.
"I know that sooner or later I shall find my boy," she said.
But she came not home one evening, and they found her in “Bedding section” lying dead.
And stamped on the poor pale features, as the spirit homeward pass'd,
Was an angel smile of gladness — she had found the boy at last.
So heed my timely warning, ignore it and results may be dire,
If you enter an IKEA, take lots of supplies or you may well expire!
Using an allen key to cut through the deep jungles of Swedish chattels and goods
May be much more dangerous to tackle than the evilest and roughest of neighbourhoods
If you can not get away and enter such a place you must,
I beg you to be wary as like Willie you may die and turn to dust,
Please think hard before you go, put yourself right through the mill,
And at least before you try the meatballs,-- Update your bloody will !!!
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