That’s so far in the rearview that I can’t remember. I’m thinking about the next one. It’ll be here before you know it.
I’m not quite sure what to do about it now that the CDC guidelines are to drink a shot of bleach each morning for the germs and take one bath in raw sewage before bedtime each evening for a robust immune system.
Comedy… and select instances of tragedy.
One can't class up a Porta Potty
With French or fancy works of art.
For each is like a ghetto squatty
Where one fears to sit... or even fart.
Spider builds its web
line by line, and then waits;
I watch for two minutes.
The sign said that one cannot swim,
But the chances of that were quite slim.
It looked like pea soup,
But the color of poop,
To swim up Shit Creek you'd have to be dim.
Trying to get squirrels out of the attic. They did me like Macaulay Culkin / Kevin McCallister in Home Alone. Ultimately, had to call experts (pest control, not hitmen,) and they made short work of it.
Those who don’t take many things seriously, themselves least of all.
There's something about an old wood door --
ornate (but on some humdrum street)
that makes one wonder if it's more
than its neighbors -- something offbeat:
Perhaps, a portal into Hell,
a Speakeasy of unknown vice,
a smelly cheese smuggling cartel,
a school for wizards, imprecise.
A squirrel sat straight upon a dirt mound.
It could survey the woods for miles around.
Holding an acorn like a microphone,
The rodent seemed to be deep in the Zone.
Perhaps comedy stylings or folk songs?
But it just chewed its nut loud and long.
I suspect they’d have been making strange and new noises every time they got up from a seat, as well as experiencing randomly distributed sharp shooting pains every once in a while. The apple, presumably, doesn’t fall far from the tree.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 