Greasy, Grimy, Gopher Guts

I wish I would write more. I hate pulling up my blog to check my favorite links for things to read and seeing how lazy I am. Sometimes I'm even too lazy to read, like today. It's funny, though, on an episode of The Office, which I watch less and less and I'm quite behind, and I don't like nearly as much in the later seasons as is always the case, BJ Novak's character says that blogs are "out."

Is that true? I know that skirt lengths are getting longer, but that's about as current as I get. I know that I like reading blogs more than I like watching TV.

I'm sick, though, and even for a current post, I'm really too out of it to write much. But isn't that the way it goes? I tell you what, though. Please help me out by posting your ideas or knowledge of what should go in the following poem:

Great green globs of greasy, grimy, gopher guts,
mutilated monkey feet,
chopped up baby parakeet,
blah blah blah blah
rolling down my dirty street,
and I forgot my spoon!

Fill in the answer or what you think the answer to the blahs are and you will solve the mystery of the song that I have running through my head since I saw all the worms on my dog-walk-hike that I never wrote about.