Intermission: The Last Dance of the Ninja Pineapple.

or,
This is what happens when I proof too much poetry.

or,
A Tribute to Chef Brian.


It is a widely believed fact that frogs and small children can cause holes in the fabric of the universe when applied to each other with enough force. This is why you should always carry suggestively-sized sausages in your handbag, and never go out except on days starting with O.

And while we are on the subject of elevators, here is a little poem I prepared earlier, entitled Fly Away, Little Biscuit Tin:


My myrmidons may mystify
The origin of oranges,
And toothpaste spread on the ceiling fan.
But blue skies do not last forever, dahling,
And even cream cheese must die.
So put on your sparkliest whypslovens
And dance the tango of slight bewilderment.

Behold!
The moose flies to the west.
It is going to rain.
And yet,
There is still the small matter of
Sugar cubes, painted purple and
Arranged in alphabetical order.

How much longer, mon amour?
The answer, of course, is
Maybe.

--
[1] No footnotes today, honey, I have a headache.