My father in law became bitter.
The station was hopelessly dirty,
Th' attendants were both far from purty.
This tale has no moral or ending
Nor odor that might be offending.
If you like, he can whine for hours,
Casting a critical glance on every last thing,
And summoning Midas-like powers,
Disparage them all exhaustively. He's the king
Of turning upstanding milk sour.
Give him some random meteorological thing...
And moping shall result! All dour
He will say, "This darn warm/cold/wet/dry/windy fling!"
Oy, what a whiny, windy bore.