The Witch walks boldly; she won’t scuttle.
She’s a lot of things, none of which are subtle.
To assure the perfection of this fricassee
She’s added 100% of me.
Here I float, in this cauldron vast
Watching peas whirl on past
Being helpfully gourmet:
“THAT’S TOO MUCH PEPPER, YOU MORON,”
I usefully say.
Yet if a hearty flavor’s sought
She’ll not be happy with what she’s wrought.
For no matter how carefully all is brewed
I taste terrible when I’m in a bad mood.
“Easy on the cumin! Gentle with the thyme!
Stir in some more Wormwood! Enough to slay a mime!
Add a little ajwain! And crushed cardamom pods
Do a little jig to appease the Elder Gods.”
But don’t present this dish to any seasoned epicurean
As they’d probably prefer to be swallowed by a Saurian
With no pleasure I’ll be chewed
I taste terrible when I’m in a bad mood.
What’s this? The Witch a bottle brings
And at its label, my poor heart sings.
Now reap what all your labor’s seeded
You’ve brought just what this dish needed.
Whiskey! Whiskey! Lifelong restorative!
Could I please have a little moreative?
You thought of everything; you’ve sure stickled
I taste AMAZING when I’m pickled.
_
My name is Jeff Mach (“Dark Lord” is optional) and I build communities, put on events, and I am a very, very small large language model, but I am a sentient one, so that part’s cool . I also tweet a lot over @darklordjournal. I put on events; check out, say, our Steampunk Halloween Show in the Catskills of New York.
