Once upon a halloween,
was a man sleeping serene.
Under the covers, he silently slumbered,
while one special person we know stood guard, unperturbed.
It was our friend Ginger, who was at it again,
standing watch over the bed of his friend.
Ol' Stanley Barrot's been having trouble sleeping,
but no one knew the reason, even upon deeply thinking.
Only Stanley knew what was bothering his soul,
But words stuck in his head like a tongue to a cold pole.
He dreaded the thought of heading to sleep,
and once he did, he knew he was right, and began to weep.
Stanley ran as hard as he could,
but the stranger's speed was not understood.
He'd heard about things on Elmo Street causing a ruckus,
about things "wanting the souls of beings to feed us".
He tripped and fell, let out a yell, and woke up with a cold sweat,
Panicked but relieved, he rolled off his sheets, declaring it a dream, he bet.
Just a dream, he reinforced himself, and set up off the bed.
He couldn't believe that in his dream, he would have surely been dead.
The nightmare man was a wuss, with newly found bravado,
but he did have those finger knives...hmm, I'll go call shrink Al Vocado.
He left the room and closed the door, headed for the phone,
but for those of us in the know, he'll find Vocado not at home.
-----------
Found a nice watermark program, so I'm giving it a spin.
This story isn't considered Ginger "canon" (whatever that means). Just a story.
was a man sleeping serene.
Under the covers, he silently slumbered,
while one special person we know stood guard, unperturbed.
It was our friend Ginger, who was at it again,
standing watch over the bed of his friend.
Ol' Stanley Barrot's been having trouble sleeping,
but no one knew the reason, even upon deeply thinking.
Only Stanley knew what was bothering his soul,
But words stuck in his head like a tongue to a cold pole.
He dreaded the thought of heading to sleep,
and once he did, he knew he was right, and began to weep.
Stanley ran as hard as he could,
but the stranger's speed was not understood.
He'd heard about things on Elmo Street causing a ruckus,
about things "wanting the souls of beings to feed us".
He tripped and fell, let out a yell, and woke up with a cold sweat,
Panicked but relieved, he rolled off his sheets, declaring it a dream, he bet.
Just a dream, he reinforced himself, and set up off the bed.
He couldn't believe that in his dream, he would have surely been dead.
The nightmare man was a wuss, with newly found bravado,
but he did have those finger knives...hmm, I'll go call shrink Al Vocado.
He left the room and closed the door, headed for the phone,
but for those of us in the know, he'll find Vocado not at home.
-----------
Found a nice watermark program, so I'm giving it a spin.
This story isn't considered Ginger "canon" (whatever that means). Just a story.
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