Disclaimer: I don't own Walter Skinner and I believe the story of the portable naval came from someone else. I just made a poem about it for reasons unobvious to anyone (especially me).

In order to understand this story you need to know the following: Walter Skinner has a portable naval (belly button)

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Once upon a time in a land far, far away,

There lived a Skinner and his co-workers (or so they say).

His story is short and probably not true,

And he has nothing in common with me, the world, or you.

One fine day, while walking his navel,

He stumbled upon a legless table.

"Hmm," he said while scratching his head,

"I'd have to say that this table is dead."

Right now your response is "Duh! What a moron!"

Of course, you are right, but just let me go on.

Skinner liked the table a lot.

He liked it so much he spit at it his snot.

The table enjoyed the loogy he spit,

So skinner and Table played with it.

They played and played until the day's end.

Then Skinner left shouting "I'll miss you my friend."

And miss it he did with all of his might.

He missed it in day and he missed it in night.

He missed it so much that he just stopped living.

That's what you get for giving and giving.

So remember, my friend, about this short fable,

About a bald man and his best friend, the table.

And do not forget what happens to ones,

Who ignore their navels, daughters, or sons.

(But mostly their navels)