Chuck
. . . was inspired to write a poem about it. I shall post it here for all to enjoy.
Storchy Street
by Rod McKuen
Oh, Storchy Street is a magical place
where ravenous insects bite off your face
And Arbor Day lasts all the year 'round
And toast comes up thru' a hole in the ground.
It's just at the end of Daisy Dog Road
Come along with me, and thence shall we go!
We'll eat quail eggs from a can, with a spoon
'til our big blue bellies turn round as the moon!
Then we'll dance to the Bee Gees and shout "Holy
Balls!"
'Til Sweet Lizzie Borden puts an end to us all.
Ain't that a beaut? I weep every time I read it.
Would that I had the time to spend gushing about Chuck's many excellent qualities. In the interest of brevity, however, I will just point out that, 1.) Chuck and Rod McKuen are actually the same person (you heard it here first!), and, 2.) Chuck is a fan of Terry Anderson and the Olympic Ass-Kickin Team.
Those two things alone make Chuck cooler than Elvis. Hell . . . props to Chuck, too!
4 comments:
Chuck, Chuck
He ain't no schmuck
Why, he'd even give you
His last sawbuck
Full of vim
And verve and pluck
One thought of him
And I'm awestruck
If you even implied
That he did suck
Right up your rear'd
Be my mukluk
So here's to Chuck!
Yes, here's to Chuck!
Meeting him
Was our good luck!
But... but... but...did this outpouring of admiration stifle your creative muse? We were getting practically one blog a day there for a while. Since this ode to you, nuthin'.
Or maybe it's the Percosets.
Can't . . . write. Listening . . . to . . . '80s . . . music.
" Listening . . . to . . . '80s . . . music."
Now, THAT will stifle creativity!!!!
"Don't stop belieeeeeeevin'..."
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