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Epic poem about a bunny

STILL THE BEST POEM EVER, I LIKED IT BETTER THAN HOMER'S ODDESSY, I'M GOING TO SEE IT AGAIN AND AGAIN.
 
And Clive couldn't believe it, a hat was he,
Worm on the head, of a child aged just three,
Clive could still think, inside he was the same,
But he couldn't move, being a hat was lame,
Clive yearned for freedom, for revenge on his foe,
The phantom who had cursed him, and his army of cats to this woe,
But where was no mistake, and the years went by,
Clive was still a hat, and he wanted to die
 
Centuries later, the Clive hat lay,
Old and abandoned, its owner had been gay,
He had died of AIDS, his favourite hat forgotten,
His house was sold, to a family mostly rotten,
But the youngest girl, had a heart of gold,
She was looking for a hat, because her head was cold,
She found the Clive hat, and put him on,
She could hear him speak, their thoughts were one!
 
And Clive's will, strove with that of the girl,
He took control of her body, and murdered a squirrel,
Clive was back, and he wanted to kill more and more,
He ran out of the house, slamming the front door,
The girl's father saw him, thought it was his daughter,
He asked where she was going, she said it was getting hotter,
So she was going out, to cool down,
Then kicked him in the balls, and it did make him frown,
 
Clive was back, as a young lass,
He ran the streets, he rollled on the grass,
People would stare, because the girl was acting strange,
But Clive didn't care, he wasn't going to change,
He decided to kill, his bloodlust was back,
He stole large knife, from a man who was black,
Then he lay in wait, hiding in some bushes which were his new lair,
Ready to kill the first person, unlucky enough to walk there,
 
But while Clive waited, suddenly he felt cold,
Then he was amazed to see, that spirit of old,
It had come back, and it shook its head,
"Clive," it said, you should be long dead,
"You cursed me spirit!", said Clive the girl,
"I should kick your ass, throw you around with a twirl!"
And Clive made a grab, at the spirit he hated,
Of course he passed right through it, and the spirit masturbated,
 
CaptainWacky said:
A long time ago, when the world was young,
Lived a bunny named Clive, he was well hung,
His ears were long, his tail white and bushy,
He danced in the field, he rested on his tushy,
He lived the girl bunnies, and they loved him back,
Bunny sex was his passion, except when on the attack,
For the mighty bunny nation, of which he was a part,
Was at war with the cats, a war with a forgotten start,

TO BE CONTINUED


I HOPE THE BUNNY GOT HIS FUKIN HEAD CLUBBED IN JUST LIKE THOSE GOD DAMN BABY SEALS
 
Will Clive ever win?
 
"You're such a disapointment," said the spirit to Clive,
"Without me, dear bunny, you would no longer be alive!"
"WELL KILL ME THEN!" screamed Clive irate,
"It's better than living in the soft body, of a girl aged eight!"
"Maybe I will," said the phantom, thinking
"I haven't been myself lately, I've done a lot of drinking."
"You're a ghost!" said Clive, not hiding his disgust,
"How can you drink, the full story tell me you must!"
 
"I don't have time," snapped the drunken ghost!
"WELL KILL ME NOW!" said Clive, it was what he wanted the most,
"I won't kill you," said the Phantom thinking hard,
"I'll send you back in time, back to your old back yard,"
"You'll be a baby bunny again, with no memory of your evil deeds."
"And your loving mother and father, will provide for your bunny needs!"
"If I have no memory I'll do it all again," said Clive not liking this plan,
"Yes, that's a risk," confessed the phantom, then the spell began!
 
Cive awoke in his mother's home, a bunny again was he,
He tried to remember what had happened, but he needed a pee,
He went to the toliet, and looked in the mirror there,
He saw himself as a little girl, and was confused beyond repair,
Young Clive had a nervous breakdown, his mother called the doctor,
Clive needed to be rushed to hospital, in a bunny helicopter,
The doctor said he was crazy, with no hope of ever being sane,
His mother said lock him up then, raising a crazy bunny would be a pain!
 
Poor Clive!
 
Clive lived ever more, in the mental ward,
He dreamed he was a general, armed with a sword,
He dreamed killing foes long ago, and he liked how it felt,
But when he woke he felt guilty, and wished to repent,
He told his therapist all, that he used to be a dictator,
The therapist took it in, then turned up the radiator,
What are you doing, asked Clive for it wasn't cold,
I'M PUTTING YOU OUT OF YOUR MISERY, SAID THE THERAPIST WHO WAS VERY OLD

THE EDN
 
I had almost forgotten about Clive.

BEST EPIC POEM ABOUT A BUNNY EVAR!
 
I never intended him to become an evil warlord when I started.
 
These things just happen.
 
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