Member-only story
Childish Rhymes
When the past wont stop screaming in your weary ear…write it up…
It’s mid-afternoon on Friday and I’m bedding down to call it a cycle. As it happens, this annoying little rhyme from my elementary school days starts running around inside my head like a kid with ADD who’s missed his morning pill… So I’m going to put it out into the ether and then see if I can’t get some rest… Of course, it’s been a bus day and I had to go a lot of places, so it makes sense that my brain would go a little loopy… Also, keep in mind that this was the 80s, Reagan was president, and we were all hopped up on the excess of popular culture being thrown at us by the toy marketers and clergy of the High Church of the Sacred Saturday Morning…
On a side note, they always told me there was one weirdo on every bus, but to this day I’ve never been able to find the fucker… <shrugs>
On top of spaghetti, all covered with cheese,
I shot my my poor teacher when somebody sneezed.
So I took her to the attic with a German automatic
and now she’s not my teacher anymore…
I went to her funeral, I went to the grave.
They all threw flowers, I threw a grenade.
I opened the coffin, she wasn’t quite dead.
I grabbed a bazooka and blew off her head…
Cue the politically correct tar and feathers…
