The Unnamed Lake

I'm no poet. I've tried to write a funny limerick or sonnet in my day, even tried my hand at the more emo-spewing free verse so common in the notebook of a teenage girl. This morning, while wading through my emotions and - even more disgusting - wading through my basement, I hoped a funny poem might spring to mind (something to do with Spring, actually) that I might blog this event and feel "funny" about it. And not I'm-going-to-scream-and-be-committed-to-an-asylum-funny, Just the regular, Isn't-that-girl-a-breath-of-fresh-air-in-a-musty-basement- funny. I know, silly to hope that the rusty tools that were only lubricated by the constant flow of teenage angst would come in handy now.

Perhaps instead I should try and name the lake in my basement. Then I could refer to it as something like "Loch Nibble" instead of "The Watery Monstrosity That is Sucking My Soul Dry of Joy While Over-Moisturizing My Furniture."

Here are a few possibilities:
Lake Tickawawa - nah, sounds like an old summer camp in a teen slasher movie.
Lake Nimbletoe - Perhaps, because we do have to be of 'nimble toe' to get around . . .but then it really just reminds me that I have to be 'nimble toed' while going down my stairs to get around the huge hole in the ground that keeps filling with water and spilling said water into my carpet. Nope, Nimbletoe is out.
Lake Winnapisaki - I like that one. It makes me think of the old classic, "What About Bob?" It also has the word "Winna" in it, which inspires the thought that I might win out emotionally over this moment!
Loch Sareer - Try to combine Dune with Scotland and what do you get? Not the name of my basement lake, I'll tell you that.
Lake Soledad - That would mean "Solitude Lake." And that's sort of like saying, "The lake and I are alone together", which is a contradiction . . . and it would mean that we were discounting the presence of the thousands of unknown germs and microorganisms that have found their way into the carpet through the tributary river. The river also needs naming. But really, one disgusting and wretchedly unwanted thing at a time.
Nelson Dam - that implies that the water is being stopped. Which it's not. It's running freely and unrestrained. But I would get to say "Dam" every time I referred to it, which might be therapeutic in it's way.
The Lake of Continual Sucking - C'mon! It's sort of Anne-of-Green-Gables-ish. Better than her stupid "Lake of Shining Waters!" What lake ISN'T a lake of shining waters? I mean, there's the lake and the sun and together they make shining waters . . . brilliant, Anne.
Loch Miranda - Now that's pretty. It takes my mind off of things. It makes me feel pretty and reminds me of my picture upstairs as well as of Serenity which is a good thing.
Lake Palpatine - That might be it. It's disgusting. It's evil. It has a ring of authority to it - and seeing as how this puddle is taking over our lives, it fits rather well.

As for the river . . . I might just call it the Dark Side. So I can say, "The Dark Side flows into Palpatine, creating big, stinky, muddy mess."

But before I order the roadside tourist plaque, I open it up to my readers: Any ideas?