Gibberwocky

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Once upon a kettledrum, a little man called Moke was startled by an earing fish who pigged them in a poke; the idiom meant little, much or somewhere in between, to this poor yak from Wormington, whose hair was painted green. Beware the Gibberwock, my son! The jaws that moan, the screaming gap! Beware the Textext-bird and shun the frumious Book-o'-crap! One, two; two, one! And fiddledy-dum! His vorpal hair went snickety-crump; he left it read, and with its bed, he went a-twiddly bump. 'Twas bilgey and the slimy texts did gyre and grumble in the quag; all grungy were the Borodins, and the mauve clothes outslog. "Mine's a Moppo!" "What's your poison?" (startled) came the words, but Carry On was carried off, and locked away with noise on. My rhymes are getting worse and worse, there's still no end in sight, although this biro's running out, except it's not — all right?