Just because a person looks like me doesn’t mean that they make chocolate the way I do. This is serious business here, I can’t have false chocolatiers parading around my territory unless they’re willing to fight for what they love. Usually they fold right when I confront them about their lack of true chocolate admiration, but every once in a while I get a sucker who decides it’s worth their time to embarrass themselves in front of the whole neighborhood as I make the perfect fondant right under their nose. I never let those losers sample my creations.
The Whole Kit ‘n’ Caboodle
A Faithful Fonz
I’ll heave a hefty bag at the situation
and tell my dentist that I really don’t want
anything to do with these Fonzie imitators anymore.
They’re all so obsessed with having
a good time and donning leather jackets
that I’m just getting sick of it all!
How tired a custom is this, where you’re reduced
to spouting cliché catchphrases at gunpoint?
Remember when you took that loan from the mafia,
and they told you that they would be expecting
a favor in return some day? Well, your bell’s been rung,
buddy. All you can do now is pray that you get
in touch with Henry Winkler, for the purpose of
delivering a faithful Fonz to your brutal overlords.
I mean, otherwise, they might end up breaking
your fingers and toes. I wouldn’t consider that
situation to be 100% ideal, would you?
Those Tennis Ball Eyes
I think sticking a shinbone
into the belly of a live lemur
just happens to be one of the cruelest acts
a person can commit. Sure,
there are plenty of crimes
against humanity that could be
considered as somewhat more intense,
but lemurs are primates too. I think
crimes against animals are worse anyway,
because animals don’t know
what any of our justice system means.
If someone is tried for that heinous act,
do you think the lemur knows? No,
of course not. Even if you told
the lemur that you’d bring it closure,
it would just stare up at you with those
tennis ball eyes, unaware of the social context
(or indeed the language you speak).
The Apocalypso Festival
Put it all away,
and what you end up having
is a sign of the impending apocalypse.
But you know what? It doesn’t
have to be all that bad if you’ve
prepared for it in some shape or form.
You could think about it in terms
of the novelty that one might associate
with such a fantastic set of circumstances,
giving it a kind of a game-type theme.
Maybe The Apocalypso Festival,
where we spin the end of times
into a fun night of rum drinks
and steel drum music. Those zombies
won’t know what the hell is going on
(not that they ever know anyway), and you’ll
have the satisfaction of knowing
that you did everything you possibly could
to ensure that the rest of your existence
on this planet is at least somewhat enjoyable.
Interminable Waiting Room
You can bet on a downpour of rain in our interminable waiting room this afternoon.
It’s been sunny for seven straight days here, and my elbow never acts up like this when good weather is on the horizon (if we could indeed see the horizon from here). Cover up the magazines, we don’t want those National Geographics to lose their sheen after so many years of being in near-mint condition.
Three Throws Over
So I’m standing over on first base after taking my base on balls, and the pitcher just keeps eyeballing me from the mound. He’s looking over at the leadoff I’m taking for at least fifteen seconds before the umpire has to call time and remind the pitcher that the man on first base is not supposed to get into his head. But it’s too late, the pitcher is already coming up with ways to have me picked off, and I can see the thoughts swirling around up there. He makes three throws over, each one getting closer to nabbing me. Of course, the pitcher doesn’t know that I’ve been designing this scenario to make him think that I’m taking too many liberties.
Next thing I know, a snake comes out from the first base dugout and slithers right over to me. All it does is hiss and make its way to the pitcher, who steps on it, picks it up, calls time, and tosses it over to the dugout. Nobody knows where the snake came from or how it got onto the field without being detected, but I don’t really care so much. Just before the next pitch, I take off for second and steal it neatly.
Prepared to Trudge
Sitting in a crowded coffeeshop
makes one think of the common cold
and how best to avoid its clutches.
Touching any surface just screams
“Infect me, damn you,” at the lovely
bacteria surrounding all of us here.
If you think hand sanitizer
will keep you clean, you’ve got
another thing coming. Just be prepared
to trudge around your place
with a bathrobe and a box of tissues
for a few days, making excuses not to do
anything other than drinking
plenty of fluids and finding
new streaming movie services
that won’t cost you anything
but your naĂŻve soul’s opposition
to the piracy of digital media.
WHARVED 