And so Nathan took the case
while the penguin's huskies
held a race
with penguin following
at great pace.

The penguin whose name was Dan
used for deodorant Ultra-Ban
A good thing
the huskies he couldn't outran.

And so to the North Pole Nathan went
in his Model T Ford without a dent
this rare gem he did own
along with a ring tone
on his cell phone.

His cell phone went off
like an Irishman's cough
just as he spotted
Santa's reindeer trough.

To be continued.

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Said the penguin, I am a singer
also a part-time bell ringer
I was to sing at Obama's inaugural ball
day after election, I got the call
my manager nearly hit the walll.

But something happened, alas, alas
I need to take epsom salts for my gas
somebody has stolen my singing voice
over this, my showerhead did rejoice.
Who do you think stole your voice?
Nathan did inquire
while the penguin danced
like his pants were on fire.

Somebody at the North Pole I suspect
a certain elf gives me no respect
He put coal in my stockings last year
which caused a rash in my rear
now I always look before I put on stockings
I'm a Knight of the Garter
isn't that shocking?

Nathan took some aspirin off the shelf
washed it down with water,
"What's the name of this elf?".

His name is Antonio Flavius
certainly a pain in the avius
He works for Santa
sometimes Banta
He makes loads of toys
for good girls and boys.

To be continued.

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Wow! I've been waiting for it all year.
Barack Obama has won the U.S. Presidency!

His # 1 priority will be to set up
a research and development fund the scale
of the Apollo moon project to find a green and
clean alternative to the gasoline combustion engine.

This will help geopolitically in that all those
backwards medieval despots ruling the Middle
East can then go and drown in their oil!

He will probably bring in massive public
works projects on a scale we haven't seen
since the days of Franklin Delano Roosevelt
and the New Deal.

This will be good in that such projects
are done to promote the common good
unlike some of the projects done by
Big Business which are only done
to enrich their own pocket books.

And lastly he will hopefully bring in
universal health care like they had
in Canada prior to the advent of bozos
like then Liberal Finance Minister Paul
Martin and then Alberta Premier Ralph
Klein who wrecked Canada's fine universal
health care system back in the 1990s.

Universal health care means that the sick
will be the beneficiaries of the health care
delivery system and not the stockholders
in big insurance  companies who have
the dollar sign rather than the patient
in front of their eyes.

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This is a poem I wrote today about a polar bear private
eye who lives at the North Pole not far from Santa
Claus and his toy workshop.

Nathan de Burgh was a polar bear
he had no need for long underwear
He lived on a berg made of ice
in a little igloo that was nice.

He was a private eye
this polar bear was
who claimed he was
Philip Marlow's cuz.

One day as he was sitting in his office
reading the works of Thomas Malthus
a penguin knocked at his door
and Nathan hit the floor.

"You're a long way from home?"
said Nathan the bear.
"Indeed," said the penguin
in his tuxedo wear.

From South Pole to North Pole
the penguin had come
accompanied by huskies
and a bottle of rum.

"What brings you here?
So far to so near?"
Nathan drank
his ginger beer.

Swatting aside some whirling dervishes,
the penguin replied,
I'm seeking your services.


To be continued.

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Jack O' Hare is the name I have given a
jack rabbit that lives in my back yard.

Tiny Tim is the name I have given a squirrel that
lives in my back yard.

Although neither my dad nor I have seen Jack
O'Hare for a while, we often see Tiny Tim
leaping from tree to tree hoarding apples
and pine cones.

Jack O'Hare and Tiny Tim

In the autumn chill, trees are bare
still no sign of Jack O'Hare
oh where has gone my big-earred furry friend
with a big tail on his rear-end?

Oh Tiny Tim do you know
as you watch the North winds blow
from your tree so high
from which you observe
ground and sky?

Any sign of a mad hopper
eating the lettuce
cause it's so topper
well Tim as you sit and grapple
carrying your big load apple
say hello to Jack for me
as you guard the yard
up in your tree.

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Here's a poem I wrote in the form
of a rap song as it would be sung
by a nasty gangsta rappa ghoulie! ;)


It's Halloween quite the scene
as demons roam
outside your home
kinda sends a chill to the bone
but the cat is dead
as you lay in bed
zombies rule
their head a ghoul
He'll slice you in half
with a sword for a staff
such is voodoo witchcraft.

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As the PETA protestors set themselves upon the
fur-coat wearing Britney Spears in this blistering
heat, Miss Spears screamed, "I'm not crazy. I tell
you I'm not crazy."

I walked down a back alley way.

Well, Mr. Mush's horse was gone.

And I was partly to blame.

The last clue we had to the whereabouts of Mr.
Mush according to the tight skirt wearing dame
(who was now getting her marshmallowed covered
skirt cleaned at Mr. Lee's Drycleaning), Mr. Mush
was last seen on a horse before he was kidnapped
or killed or whatever had happened to him.

And now the horse was no more.

It was my good fortune that I happened to
walk by a Sri Lankan restaurant.


The proprietor directed me down to the
wine cellar.

I guess he thought I needed a drink.

When I was down in the wine cellar, there tied
up and sitting next to a bottle of chardonay
was the missing Mr. Mush.

I turned and there stood... the ancient demon
Ravana a notorious demon king of Sri Lanka
who had kidnapped Princess Sita the fiancee
of Lord Rama the ruler of the ancient Indian
kingdom of Ayodhya millenia earlier.

The Hindu monkey god Hanuman had helped
Lord Rama rescue his beloved Sita from the
clutches of the demonic Ravana.

It was a good thing I had taken that course
A Comparative Study in World Religions in
my first year of University or otherwise I
wouldn't have recognized the strange entity.

"You're Ravana aren't you?" I asked as I helped
myself to a bottle of German Reisling.

The demonic entity belched, "Excuse me."
And then bowed, "Yes, I am Ravana."

"And you've kidnapped Mr. Mush?" I popped
the cork off the Reisling, "has living in the
state of California changed your sexual orientation?
You're going after guys now instead of princesses?".

Ravana shook his head, "Mr. Mush here is a well
known writer of romantic love poetry. I thought if I couldn't
win Princess Sita's heart through abduction, I thought I
might win her heart by sending her some of Mr. Mush's love
poems saying that I had written them."

"May I see some of Mr. Mush's poems?" I asked.

Ravana handed me a whole bunch with his clawed
hands.

After reading the first half-dozen, I was rolling
on the floor in great gales of laughter.

Mr. Mush's face turned bright red.

It couldn't have been the wine.

As having a gag in his mouth probably prevented him
from imbibing.

"You were planning to win her over with this mush?" I roared,
"tell me, Ravana, how does it feel to be an idiot?".

Now it was Ravana's turn for his face to turn red.

"Just one thing," something had occurred to me,
"I thought Lord Rama had slain you. How is it you're
alive?".

"I was brought back to life by a Hollywood film producer,"
Ravana explained.

That was plausible. Hollywood film producers
were bringing ancient demons back to life all the time.

"Let Mr. Mush go,"  I told Ravana.

"No," Ravana shook his head.

Ravana had had his chance. I always carried a bottle
of Holy Water with me ever since I was attacked by
the ancient Aztec serpent god Quetzalcoatl while making out
with Jessica Alba in the back of a red Corvette in Hollywood
years ago.

I sprayed Ravana with the Holy Water. He quickly
disintegrated into mush- almost as mushy as Mr.
Mush's love poems.

I untied Mr. Mush.

He quickly ran upstairs and out the door.

I gathered up the scraps of paper on which were written The
Collected Works of Mr. Mush.

I thought I could use them for a bon fire to roast
marshmallows later as the evening heat seemed to have
died down.

As I walked out the door of the Sri Lankan restaurant,
I noticed Mr. Mush was run over by a car driven by
Lindsay Lohan. After running over Mr. Mush, Lindsay
Lohan then wrapped her car around a light pole.

Well two mysteries were solved tonight.

Who kidnapped Mr. Mush?

The ancient Hindu demon Ravana.

Who killed Mr. Mush?

Alcoholic airhead drunk driver Lindsay Lohan.


HAPPY DIWALI, EVERYONE!

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So I entered the restaurant.

Gov. Schwarzeneggar was attempting to pay his bill,
"Anyone know where I can get some extra credit?
The banks are locked up like a tight end on a gay
football team!".

The lounge singer was singing the latest Hardy
Drew and Nancy Boys song, "There's no one as
Irish as Barack O'bama."

The French maitre'd directed me to a table.

What was a French maitre'd doing working in
a Chinese restaurant?

"Tonight's special, Monsieur, is Roasted
Cheval in an Orange Duck  and Marshmallow
sauce," he handed me a menu.

"I'll try the special then," I answered him.
I had never had Roasted Cheval before.
Although it had been a few years since
I had taken High School French. I couldn't remember
what cheval was.

I looked around the restaurant.

There were a bunch of men (they all looked like
hairdressers) who wore t-shirts that said, "Vote
No to Proposition 8." I noticed they all seemed
to go to the men's room together. On the table,
they were sharing a large fruit salad between them.

But no sign of a horse.

"Your Roasted Cheval in Orange Duck
and Marshmallow sauce, Monsieur," the waiter brought
me the plate.

"Thanks," I ate it. It was delicious.

I paid my bill in dimes and nickels which quite discombobulated
the cashier.

I walked out the restaurant door wondering where that
horse could have possibly got to.

It was then that I remembered what cheval meant in English.

"Murderer," a group of protestors from PETA shouted.

Were they talking to me?

Or to Britney Spears who was walking down the street wearing
a fur coat in this hot muggy sultry weather?

To be continued.

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So she took her skirt down to the dry cleaner's
and I went out to buy a new bag of marshmallows.

It was a stifling hot night.

Some guy wearing a lone ranger mask was
frying an egg on his bald head in the middle of
this heat wave.

A lone ranger but no horse.

What had become of the horse?

Mr. Mush was last seen on a horse.

The horse was the answer to everything,
I thought as I observed the huge piles of
manure going down the street.

I followed them to a Chinese restaurant.

No horse but California Gov. Arnold
Schwarzeneggar was inside the restaurant.

To be continued.

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It was a hot sultry night, the kind which sends people
skinny dipping into fountains and ordering buckets of
Tequila Sunrise at sunset!
I was sitting in my private eye office, my fedora off, my trenchcoat
on the floor and my suspenders down.
I was wiping my brow, the fan was going up and down
like Paris Hilton's dress on a ferris wheel
(even when the wheel's not in operation!).
It was then that this dame walks in- tight blouse, tight skirt and spiked stilettos!
She sat down on the chair right in front of my desk right
on top of a bag of marshmallows!
I had planned to roast the marshmallows later by sticking them
on a stick and holding them out the window in the stifling night air!
"I want to know who killed Mr. Mush?" she spoke in a voice as sultry as the night.
"Speaking of mush, you might want to check the back of your skirt,"
I handed her a business card with the address
 of a neighbourhood dry cleaning establishment.


To be continued.

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