Theobold Knoobs

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: March 29, 2019

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Submitted: March 29, 2019

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WARNING: This poem was born from a joke on a drunken night many moons ago. It didn’t exactly come from the heart. BUT I’m a little bit proud of it. Beneath the weirdness and the very strange choice of metaphor, I think it might mean something.
Still. THIS INCLUDE CONTENT THAT MAY BE CONSIDERED INAPPROPRIATE FOR ANYONE WITH A BRAIN.

"Theobold Knoobs, and the Antimatter Boobs"

Not that long ago near a town called Krazoobs,
Where the river of Erk meets the forest of Woobs,
Sat a strange little factory, covered in tubes,
That was built by a man they call Theobold Knoobs.

Lone Theobold lived by the factory tubes
That produced all the goods for the folks of Krazoobs.
But although he had built it, old Knoobs was still irked
Because frankly he didn’t quite know how it worked.

Whenever the people of town had a need
The tubes would produce it with marvelous speed.
Into one side dark matter it pulled by the clump
And then out from the other side items would dump.

Now this was all science that Theo knew well,
But the strangest thing, causing his old mind to dwell,
Was the fact that the factory learned to predict
What the people would need, before they even picked.

As the years went along the good folks of Krazoobs
Were sufficiently fed, clothed and schooled by the tubes.
From the river they’d get supplies Theobold would send,
So of course they got lazy, as folks often tend.

Well fed and well heated, with circus and bread,
All the minds and the hearts of the people grew dead,
Their interests less healthy, their humor more crude,
Until all the Krazoobians wanted was lewd.

A lonely old man was the Mayor of Krazoobs,
And he dreamt every night of a plump pair of boobs.
One morning he woke and found, lively with perk,
A fine set of boobs on the bank of the Erk.

Old Theobold noted with growing concern
How again and again from the tubes boobs did churn.
He tinkered the settings, he twisted the knobs
But the factory best knew the wants of the mobs.

Soon the Mayor with boobs filled his house to the brim
And the town’s other men did the same thing as him.
But they still weren’t quite happy; depression filled each,
As the idealized pair remained just out of reach.

Now the factory reasoned with factory thoughts:
“They refuse to be glad, though I’ve given them lots.
It is pleasure they want but they’re sick of what’s real,
So I’ll make an impossible thing they can feel.”

It was early next morn the new wonders appeared
Coming on down the Erk as the village it neared.
Even Theobold found himself shocked at the sight;
For the factory worked on without him all night.

The people of town rushed to see their new toy
Hoping madly at last they’d feel something like joy.
Much too good to be true was the gift from the tubes:
An enticing collection of antimatter boobs.

Glowing ever-so-slightly a soft subtle pink
And more shapely than ever a breast you could think,
They could not be resisted, their perfections turned down,
So the folks of Krazoobs brought them into their town.

Now such antimatter, as we all are aware,
Is extremely explosive exposed to our air.
When the Mayor had grabbed one and started to cuddle,
It violently burst, turning him to a puddle.

The people all saw this, but they didn’t care;
And they carried on groping, refusing to share.
See, the boobs were so perfect, so firm and so round,
’Twas a small price to pay, to end up in the ground.

Poor old Theobold Knoobs saw destruction a’plenty
And climbed up the factory to tube level twenty.
He pushed a big button and dialed in his code,
And then said “desist boob-making; halt the workload.”

The control panel blinked a few times with a sigh,
Before words appeared: “Really, I’d like to comply.
But my function is filling the citizens’ leisure,
And at present they’re happy to die in their pleasure.”

With tears in his eyes Theo turned off the switch
That should kill the old factory if it did glitch.
But dark matter kept on flowing into the tubes,
Which continued producing those antimatter boobs.

The river soon clogged and the land piled high
With the boobs of destruction that made people die.
Though they kept on exploding and causing disaster
The wish for plump pleasure remained Krazoob’s master.

Now Theobold knew a hard thing must be done
So he trekked through the woods, reaching town with the sun.
In the morning so early the people were sleeping
Worn out from explosions and boob-cushioned leaping.

Since Theobold only in town was awake,
The factory was forced his true wishes to make.
So he wished and he wished with a wish without measure
That the folks of Krazoobs could no longer feel pleasure.

It was later that day that the water turned pink;
All the waters of Erk that the people would drink.
As they gulped (for explosions and boobs were quite drying)
They felt that the sense they so treasured was dying.

By that evening the folks of Krazoobs were in tears,
As the things that brought pleasure now filled them with fears.
They clutched at the boobs, seeking comfort in groping,
But the threat of explosions caused pain with no hoping.

One by one all the people began to desire
The removal of boobs that had made such a mire.
Krazoobs was restored but at terrible price:
It was somber and meager, and nothing was nice.

On his long trek back home, poor old Theobold Knoobs
Could hear nothing but silence from austere Krazoobs.
And he wondered each day and he wondered each night
Whether taking away peoples’ freedom was right.

But with no more explosions the town learned to thrive,
And despite all their joylessness, folks were alive.
And that is the bittersweet tale of Krazoobs,
Of Theobold Knoobs and the antimatter boobs.


© Copyright 2020 John M. Broadhead. All rights reserved.

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