Monday, December 26, 2005

I tripped over a penguin at Walgreen’s.
I was getting my passport photo.
So was he.
He came out of no where
Like a fart at a dinner party.

I almost smashed the little guy
But I did a faceplant into the candy instead
It was sweet.
He looked at me on the floor
Like he wanted to kill me with his stubby penguin arms

I asked him where he was headed
As he dusted off his built in tuxedo.
He acted strange.
Like no one had ever tripped over him
And then questioned his destination before.

I guessed aloud that he was going to Antarctica.
All the penguins I’ve ever met were from there.
He spat at me.
Like I had inadvertently used
Some kind of penguin racial slur.

I wiped the spittle from my face
And wondered how many people have ever tasted penguin saliva
It’s quite thick
He then started cursing the Antarctic penguin
Like a crazy with a score to settle

I heard him say he was from Tierra del Fuego
It seemed like someplace a smart ass penguin would make up
of Fire

Like a penguin could actually be from someplace
That was either made of or somehow on fire

I told the Walgreen’s Photo Technician
That this penguin was out of his mind
He laughed at me
And said that Tierra del Fuego is an archipelago in Argentina
Like a penguin gets a passport just to go to Argentina

I knew right then that the penguin was a liar
He was probably some kind of terrorist dirty bomber spy
It was perfect
Like a flight attendant could stop a penguin
From high jacking an airplane

I stared deep into his beady bird eyes
Wondering how I could hand cuff him due to his lack of wrists
It was useless
He was going to escape no matter what
Like a rich man on the Titanic

I stood in front of the generic photo background
And asked the WPT if I could hold the penguin in my passport photo
He said no
Like my wife is going to believe me now that
I tripped over a penguin at Walgreen’s

Monday, December 12, 2005

Gypsies and Goats

I like to shoot at gypsies
While I roast a fatted goat
On an open campfire
Down beside my moat
That winds around my castle
And won’t let the gypsies in
Because the lion’s share of gypsies
Never learn to swim.

If by chance a gypsy
Decides to brave the rapids
Just to lick the drippings
Off the roasting goat I’ve fatted
I take my double barrel
Gypsy shooting rifle
And fire at their gypsy head
Missing by a mile

See I’d never kill a gypsy
If it came right down to killing
I shoot at them for sport
And it never costs a shilling
All I have to do is
Roast a goat out on the fire
Then gypsies will come running
From over on the Shire

So my castles free of gypsies
But my moat is full of bullets
And every day and night I feast
On roasted fat goat cutlets
I live the life that others dream
But never can achieve
Sitting in my castle
Shooting at gypsies