We all have bad days, and on these days many of us choose to poor out our sorrows upon paper. Even the whimsical writer Theodor Seuss Geisel, more popularly known by his pen name of Dr. Seuss, did, on occasion, compose a verse which so poignantly described his soul's anguish it was never released to the public. There was good reason behind this decision--his fans, most of whom were young children, would be exposed to the gruesome and horrific creations presented by these writings, and a parental boycott of Seuss' books would most likely follow. It seemed as if the unpublished works would die an unheralded death.

But that was not to be. When Dr. Seuss' publishers instructed Theodor to rid himself of the manuscripts, they couldn't fortell that he would give them to his decrepit grandmother as a birthday gift. And I'm sure they did not count on someone breaking into the old folks' home, stealing the volumes, and then posting them on the internet.

Well, surprises happen (as do occasional forays into the unarmed community of the elderly--let's keep it on the down low). Here is just a sampling of Mr. Geisel's zany, creative, and horribly deranged mind.

Kill He Will

Happy children everywhere,
They multiply like rats.
To think I've caused such happiness
Gives me an awful rash.

I'd like to take their happiness
And stick it in my shoe,
Then walk across a bed of nails--
My, what fun things I could do!

My pain is sweet if they endure
The slightest twinge or seer,
I'd throw myself in a sea of acid
To only cause one tear.

That little girl who smiles at me
I'd like to tie up tight
And dangle over a pit of nasties--
Roaches, snakes, and mites

My dying wish I want fullfilled
Is to rid the world of lil'uns
Oh happy day--so bright, so gay!
A marvelous time for everyone!



Jimmy Learns a Lesson

Come here little Jimmy,
Open yer mouth wide,
And let me poor in
Some of Daddy's Cyanide.

It'll go good with those bruises
I put on your head.
Quit whining, you bugger,
I wish you were dead!

Oh, cry for your mommy,
She ain't gonna hear.
I gave her a bowlful
of poisoned reindeer.

Now go get yo' Daddy
His big, old, grey gun
And we'll play a game
That will be oh-so-much fun!

You stand in the corner
And close your eyes tight
And say "bye-bye" to Daddy
'fore he takes his own life.



Womble Goes Out On a Walk

Womble the Marvelous, out on a walk
Paused only for a moment with Herbert to talk
He told him the weather, the sports, and the news
Then beat him with a pool stick, 'till he was all black and blue.

Here are some Dr. Seuss idea's that never made it past the drawing board:


Its a shame really, I'm sure these would have been great childern's classics. . . .in hell

OK, this was originally under "The Unpublished Works of Dr. Suess", which was a nodeshell until The Custodian snatched it away in the wee hours of the night. Probably both of us were too sleepy to realize that the reason it was a nodeshell was because "Seuss" had been spelled wrong. My response to his filling the original was as follows:

Why didn't anybody tell me this was a nodeshell? OK, repeat after me:

I will not fill this little shell
I will not snatch it back from Hell
I will not write a single thing
(Though if I do, perhaps a Ching!)
Moral: never node Seuss in the middle of the night. This rescue-after-the-rescue has been brought to you by the letter Z, and the number 6

YAWN. What clarity a good night's sleep can bring. Now for some actual material:

There, that's better.

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