Preppy Rabbit Caricature

Butterfly collars popped up to here
Layer upon layer of Izod veneer
Tall grey fuzzy ears still dripping with beer
How this Halloween went wrong is far from clear

It could have been the costume choice
That of a fluffy grey bunny rabbit
Complete with white cotton tail and overlarge feet
A head to toe furry suit that smelled funny
And white prosthetic real faux ivory buck teeth

That combined with the choice of overwear
For this was not just a grey furry rabbit getup
This was a very preppy grey furry rabbit getup
With fashion sense to match
All those multiple three button shirts
The horror of the embroidered alligators
The smell of Calvin Klein
Seen through smoked lens Ray Ban Wayfarers

This wet rabbit is run out of time
An Eighties refugee who failed to moonwalk out of here
Gotten in a fight and gotten the better of
Another costumed cartoon critter in a full coat
Pounded down the Preppy Rabbit Caricature
Then finished him off with the dump of a pitcher of beer

The Fright of Approach

Moonlight flickered off the shallow cups of wavelets upon the surface of Lake St Gunnigan
Giving a light twinkling effect
Like the mirrored dance ball at a low rent club
With some of the mirrored facets missing
Having fallen to the old wooden dance floor over the years
Ground to silica dust by thousands of hard heeled shoes
Out on the town for a good time
Not mindful of anything else

Grim dark eyes ahead were a marked contrast to the lake behind me
Pasted crookedly upon a crumbling red brick facade
Advertising terror it would seem
Since the peeled white paint of the door between those black window eyes
Resembled nothing as much as a pale mouth ringed with jagged misshapen teeth
Inviting me in with no sweet reassurances
An RSVP that I will not send back

A small sign next to the slightly weed infested gravel drive pointed to the left
Proclaiming that the "New! Main Building Around Back!"
Was a-thataway


With one eye watching the over the top frightening looking building
Which was directly in front and far too close now
I gently veered left
Passing through a veil of weeping willow branches
Which slowly performed a gentle scrub upon the roof and sides of the car
I was reassured to see the glow of lights ahead
Telling me that there was someone here after all

Just as I was about to clear the side of the haunted front building
My one eye that was still keeping a close watch upon it thought there was movement
A ghostly undefined shape flitting along the wall

Foolishly I stopped the car to get a better look
The gravel giving a final half hearted crunch sound as the wheels stopped

But my foolhardy action was a reward for the skunk that crossed my headlights a moment later
With zero regard for his or her well being
Sporting an inverted color pattern of mostly white fur with narrow black markings down the back

Pausing at the edge of my illumination
I got a brief glance of skunky contempt
Accompanied by a tail flick
Which seemed to be the equivalent of flicking a booger at someone
Since the smell the wafted in soon after was definitely a fairly rude gesture

With a dainty retch I dropped the car back into gear and continued around the building to a central path to that fabled new building around back

I was not comforted by not having the flickering moonlight off the lake in my rear view anymore
Nor by the abandoned junk cars haphazardly parked along the road

The cars I first encountered were mostly late models
The grass beneath them was still alive
The grass immediately surrounding them was not terribly long
But the further I went
The more the opposite became true

The cars got older
The grass under them became bare dirt
The grass around them was wild and tall

I stopped dead again at the sight of a familiar car
An early Seventies Chrysler
Dark green in color
Looking almost like it had been parked there a few weeks ago

The road was a foot or so higher than where the car was sitting
And I could just see over the window and into the car
There seemed to be a set of keys hanging from the ignition

What a find

If I could conclude my business on a good note
Perhaps I'd inquire about it
Maybe work it into the deal

I looked up and ahead
There was someone standing on the porch watching me
Still probably sixty yards away
Their details were a bit fuzzy to me it seemed
My eyes felt a bit strained

Right hand reaching for the gear lever one more time
The movement seemed to take forever
As I went right past the handle and stubbed my fingers on the center floor hump carpet
"Ow!" I mumbled into the steering wheel
Which was currently smashed up against my face
Making my nose take on incredible silly putty shapes

This just doesn't seem right
I thought to myself

Then I dreamed
A long dream of cream cheese bagels
And the wolves that always chase after me

Trick-Or-What-Was-That-Now?

This Halloween I'm going as a smile
No masks or fancy get-ups
Just teeth and a grin
Every costume contest I'm bound to win

I'll go as naked as the day I was born
With six pounds of silly putty strategically placed
To smooth out the naughty bits
Like a nude Ken doll about to be shot into space

And just like that I've changed my mind
As an astronaut is what I've always wanted to be
Endless cartwheels inside the station
Sleeping strapped to Velcro and re-learning to pee

There'd be all the astronaut ice cream I could eat
If I were a trick or treating spaceman
Strawberry is my absolute favorite flavor
I'd be my own biggest fan

So scrap that astronaut idea and paste some airfoils to me
One big one on each arm and leg
Balance me upon a post and spin me around
Spreadeagled I'm now the biggest ceiling fan you've ever found

Maybe part of an off beat circus act
We could walk around town as you spin me like a plate
Upon a wobbly wooden rod at ten thousand RPM
Though now that I think on it the time is getting late

Since I'm forty-three years old these days
And I got such stares last year when I dressed as a toddler cowboy
Which you'd think was okay
But maybe it was the oversize Toy Story diapers that got in the way

Okay
I'm resolute
To try something new I'll stay home this fall
I'll hand out candy like a normal person
I'll.......oh holy crap that giant sphere would make a great giant hamster ball!

Now I just need to find a furry outfit

Fat Bear Blues

The great fat bear played guitar all night long
Picking notes with his long nails
Dragging down the wound strings with force
And trying to sing with a bellow and wail

I was trying to sleep of course
Stuck behind walls of fall leaves within my house
Looking like a child's leaf fort after eating Alice's cake
With a crunchy rustle I opened the window ready to grouse

The noise was worse now coming in the open air
Inhaling sharply I called out crossly
"Just what in the Sam Hill are you trying to do Bear??"
In response he just seemed to try harder

I could feel the wood of the neck flex in the notes
As all 800 pounds of bear tried to play
But it still just wasn't great
It was unrhythmic and harsh all the live long day

There was just one thing to do
So open went the access to the attic
Into the spider-webbed darkness I plunged
Returning with a battered old Ludwig Junior drum kit

Gathering a few sets of sticks and tying the kit to my back with bungee
I steeled myself for a leafy assault be the front door
Sufficiently pumped up I threw the door from its hinges
Diving into the dead deciduous solar receptors with gusto and gore

Making my way to the clearing battling autumn all the way
I found the great fat bear still on his log trying to play
And he never stopped to wonder why I was there
But he stared as the drums dropped from my back
Accompanying my movements with sick notes from his axe

Set up and ready I started to pound
Until a sort of rhythm was found
Revealing a stink that was nothing but rude
That fat bear farted then fell into the groove

All night long we sawed and we hacked
Notes flying about like wood from a drunken lumberjack

But it still wasn't quite right
And we both knew it
Though we kept right on playing our fingers and paws to the bone
When just as the dawning sun started to break
Just what we needed appeared in the clearing

A cool blues gazelle carrying a silver saxophone

[Silence On The Line]

The sound was deafening
Cutting through me like one long pin
Piercing skin and maneuvering past bone
Straight through my left ventricle
Penetrating spine and nerve bundles
Electrically shorting me out
Till I hang from my puppet strings limply
The will to listen to it anymore long gone
All I want is words
But all I get is

[Silence On The Line]

Slamming down the old black receiver
Ma Bell's best outsourced handiwork in Bakelite
I contemplate ripping the dialing wheel from its face
So as to wipe that sneer away
That smug 'Oh look at me, I'm a fucking telephone' attitude
But I shouldn't blame the phone
The phone didn't call me and not speak
Leaving naught but random clicks and taps
I'd kill for some heavy breathing
To break the monotony of the

[Silence On The Line]

Sinister in an old glossy coat
The model 500 called out with tinny bell
Rang incessantly by tiny electric hammers
No doubt run by even smaller electrical gremlins
And so I stared
Watching the almost imperceptible quivering
That was the soundless accompaniment to the sound
Wishing that the little rubber feet on the bottom were not there
So as to see the infernal machine vibrate across the table and onto the floor
Where no doubt it would land unscathed
Courtesy of an overbuilt undercarriage and shell
But that wouldn't happen
Nor would the ringing stop pinging throughout the room
I grasped the receiver once again
Putting it to my ear
Ready for the painful

[Silence On The Line]

Before I even heard the nothing that came through loud and clear
My physical form imploded into dark matter
Sending the now untended receiver clattering to the floor
Allowing me a moment to take advantage of my new form
Condensing into dark matter impulses
I dove into the microphone input end
Through those sexy circular holes
That have seen hundreds of lips brush them by
Imprinting their feel upon everyone's brains
Even if we have consciously forgotten
I chased down the spiraled copper wires
Into the Western Electric stamped frame area
Then back out the backside
Into the wall plug
Using dark matter instilled senses
Which nobody can prove do not exist
To run a hunt and a chase upon the

[Silence On The Line]

Down the wires I flew
From pole to pole
Riding the roller coaster arcs
Point tension to gravity sag
Disturbing the directory assistance
Dropping long distance calls
Coming at last to the central exchange
Where my search ended at last
With the sighting of a bio-electric switchboard operator
Moving ghostly hands and fingers
Connecting calls that were never made
Open lines of silence
Clicking and ticking
To a symphony of cries
"Hello?  Hello!  Is anyone there?"
Sung to me like a choir
Drawing my microscopic ire
An anger that must be quenched
With a dark mattered limb that formed as I thought it
Moving at near light speed
To tear into the living electrical gremlin
Shredding its being
Begetting a roar of triumph from deep in my compressed soul
Sounding more like a near imperceptible squeak
As I murdered once and for all

The [Silence On The Line]

Awaiting #2

"And now

In the center ring

Comes 

-The Thunder From Down Under

-The Brown Streak You Thought Was Just A Leak

-The Log That You'll Blame On The Dog..........!!!"

From within the white porcelain bowl

A pitiful sound echoes quietly

~pthfffffffffffffft!~

You hold the box of ExLax in your hand

Reading the label once again in disbelief

At this taunting tease of relief

"Fast Acting, Guaranteed"

You snort disgustedly 

Throwing the box into the corner of the bathroom

To mingle with the refuse of a small trapdoor spider who made his nest there months ago

Pull up your pants to resume an uncomfortable pose on the couch

With a marathon of Breaking Bad to keep you company

Waiting for Number Two

Fritzy's Sock Puppet Theatre Presents: The Ebola Tour 2014/15

CONTINUING ANNOUNCEMENT TO THE TOUR GROUP:

"The Ebola virus is an uncommonly large and rare life form
Much too large to be spread through the aerosoling of bodily fluids
Such as when one sneezes
Or pees into a spray bottle
And spritzes one's mates for laughs

The Ebola is a sickly flu-carrying parasite
That actually attacks the host organism
Through the use of both tooth and claw
It is thus that the signature profuse bleeding is produced
As pointed out in your Ebola Tour 2014/15 vacation brochures

Thankfully
After a short period of time
(The typical store bought Ebola)
Displays an ignorance of its surroundings
Quickly drowning within the blood and other fluids
That it has caused by its very actions

Now
Those of you who signed up for the Platinum Package
Please follow me through door number one
As we will get you fitted for your HazMat suits

Everyone else
Follow Eloise through door number two
Where we have piles of dust masks and cheap rubber gloves
Remember you were supposed to supply your own eye protection

We'll all meet back here in half an hour
For finger sandwiches and hand squeezed lemonade
Courtesy of Ramone over there"

~Ramone waves and quickly covers a sneeze with the other hand~
"Achoo!"

"Bless you Ramone
Get going on those sandwiches and juice!"

Fifty-Nine

Ensconced within your ruddy '59 Cadillac
A chariot to the stars of old
The Cleopatras of Hollywood
On their way to The Bowl

But this four-wheeled carriage's best days are behind it
With fenders flapping
Edges ragged with brown rust
Not the ideal complement to the faded black paint

Peddling a tattered three inch thick screenplay
Going from door to fancy door
Agents, producers, actors all backing away saying "No Thanks"
Leaving you to drive away topless in a rainy downpour

Oh the poor old Biarritz tries its best
But a power convertible top
That consists of scraps of white fabric clinging to black metal frame
Can only do so much to keep the weather out

And so the water soaks into the premium leather
The kind that they just don't make anymore
But bringing back that faded black paint just a bit
Now looking a bit less like a dirty garage floor

Same as it soaks into you
Your flannel shirt and white tee
Long black beard and dungarees
Giving you that shiny wet look
Sort of clammy ghetto glamorous
Like an old sheep dog's fur that needs to be shook

Quite the pair the two of you are
Both born in nineteen fifty-nine
Still trying to live the good life
And just a little bit past your prime

Anchors Away

In the beginning
Before you knew that you were you

There was you

Floating in the fluid
In the dark
With your own thoughts
An anchor to yourself
Knowing what this world was all about

Then everything changed
What was warm and wet
Was not cold and toweled dry
This was no longer the world you knew
Things had changed

And so it went
From one change to another
Meeting new people
Drifting away from others

There were those you were certain you could not live without
But you found that you could

There were those who said they could not live without you
But they found out they were wrong too

Of phrases heard along the way
"You are my anchor"
Or
"You are my rock"
Are things people sometimes say

But if they are so adrift
You should likely stay clear
Lest that anchor slip free
Or rock shift and crush something dear

In the end there is just you
As eyes close for the final time
Heart stops
Brainiac electricity peters out

You were your own anchor in reality
As it really must be
A rock to built your reality upon
Sailing the open spaces around you
Free to be the finest version of a "Me"

E.XX.X Series Technical Bulletin #4276

Regarding the Gravity Engine Servo System (GESS)

And the Orbital Sensor Tether System (OSTS):

The recent malfunction of the OSTS

And the resultant loss of four orbital Sensors

Cost the Company sixteen hours of downtime

Over the North American quadrant

A relentless root cause committee has determined

That contaminated re-supply containers out of Birdling's Flat Catapult were to blame

As a result

Approximately 112 Vespadelus Vulturnus (Little Forest Bat)

Were unintentionally released in the Central Maintenance Area

Said bats found refuge in the narrow slots along the root anchors of the OSTS

Fouling the mechanism with their guano

Which caused the emergency release mechanism to sense an overload

Releasing the four tethers on that root section

Engineering was contacted and blamed

However

They explained that bat guano was not something that was in the design specs

Therefore blame must be transferred exclusively to the resupply handlers on the ground

This portion of the investigation is still pending

As a stop gap measure

The eatery previously known as Sally's Forth 

Before the disastrous fire from two Christmas' past

Will now be used as a sealed area to receive inbound cargo

Cargo will be moved piecemeal into this area

Blast doors will be lowered

And only then will the Level 1 maintenance crews open the containers

If contamination is found

It can be vented to vacuum easily

With only trivial losses of any perishables within that single container

And one low level four person crew

If you have any further questions regarding this issue

Please reference your employee handbooks

As well as your employment contract's expendability clauses

End of E-XX.X Tech Bulletin #4276

Wishing you a pleasant day

~ Compiled and approved by Bureaucratic Computational System v.64.8734a ~

An Obligatory Poem For Your Wedding

So it's your wedding day

And you are the loveliest bride I've ever seen

Don't let anyone tell you any different

Whether true or a lie nobody would be so mean

What's that?

No, seriously you look wonderful

It's your day so I have to say

There are rules, I checked

Your beau to be

Looks cut out of a magazine

His teeth could cut glass

Not to mention his abs and ass

So don't let yourself go girl

Because he looks to be a player

If the way he's chatting up your bridesmaid there

Is how he thinks is playing fair

Shoo you, now go

The music's starting up!

Oh here comes the bride

With tears on her cheek

A stranglehold upon her bouquet

And a chain wrapped about her feet

I hope you like this obligatory poem I wrote for you

My exquisite white mother requested it

She said if I did it I wouldn't have to buy you a present

Because as we all know

Bad poetry you never wanted is truly heaven sent

Etiam Facere Sanctis

I'll not make the same mistakes
I won't dunk the persian cat in the toilet
Nor will I stuff my homework into my desk undone
I'd do all the hard work
I'd shirk most of the fun
When it comes around again

I'll travel the world
And not just for business
I'll see all the postcard places
Learn some new languages
Explore some Siberian open spaces
When it all comes 'round again

To do all this I'll need a time machine
Or maybe a new religion
One that doesn't just reincarnate into something new
But to do a hard reset back to zero
With a life's experience as a bit of extra weight
When we get to go around again

I'm sure it would just be a niche
Since walking the same path can be a bore
Though exploring the paths not taken could be exciting
Study a different major subject
Don't run from that bee and just take the sting
When I put those smaller shoes on again

Since the thing I need isn't there yet
I think I'll invent it as I go
Our idol will be a god with strawberry hair
With the grand prize for a mostly moral life
A do-over most holy with a breath of young air
When this new path leads me back to me again

St. Gunnigan's Home For The Insane

Oh, at Gunnigan's!

St Gunnigan's!

Here at St Gunnigan's home for the insane

I rattled off me name

Oh I rattled off me worth

But I weren't talking to Christ

I found I was talking to dirt!

(Oy, a great bloody pile of it!)

At Gunnigan's

Oh, St Gunnigan's

St Gunnigan's home for the insane!

It all started one day
As I set out for work
I saw a sad hamadryad
And I started to flirt
Till I thought things were going well
Went in for a kissing spree
But wouldn't you know it
I got a mouthful of bark
As I learned that she was a tree!

Oh, at Gunnigan's!

St Gunnigan's!

Here at St Gunnigan's home for the insane

I built me a castle

It were a home for a king

But turns out I'm no builder

T'was just a wad o'sticky wet string!

(And a fookin' mess it were too!)

At Gunnigan's

Oh, St Gunnigan's

St Gunnigan's home for the insane!

Rolling The Bones Upon Bended Ne

Come on you neon burning light
Tube'o'gaseous excitement abode
We are bathed in your orange glow discharge
Rooted down next to the cathode

Nixie be my pixie
Blow on my dice for a luck most unsound
Count down to the underhanded throw
I'll hold my breath until the rebound

Seven come eleven
Sip on the complimentary Chablis
Count down and blow for all your worth Nixie
Or I'll replace you with an LED

Dichotomous Sea

Have a drink and heave your cares

Just come and sit down with me

As we toast and watch the sun set

On the shores of this dichotomous sea

With a name like that
You'd assume it was split in two
And for once your assumption is right
With one half blue and the other one too

It's hard to see the dividing line
Though I assure that it's there
Just look out to the horizon
It can be shy so try not to stare

Still can't see it?
Let me try to explain then
I'll just start talking
You raise a hand to say when

You've got elephants and oliphants
Tigers and Tiggers as well
Fish dancing with Phish
A turtle doing the hard sell upon his soft shell
All surrounded by swells as crystal blue as a bell