posted: October 4, 2002
Nursery Rhyme Land puts on her well-scrubbed face and shows her polished shoes and her pretty belles all in a row, but off the Road to Candyland, away from the March of the Wooden Soldiers, crime walks her mean streets.
Don't believe me? Let me give you the real dope. Let's start with the Owl and the Pussycat.
They were wanted in six states for forgery and honey laundering, which is the real reason they had the "honey and plenty of money" on board that "beautiful pea-green boat" which they used to evade pursuit by crossing the night river. The boat had originally belonged to a trio of fisher-boys, called Winken, Blinken and Nod who used it for trolling stardust for the dream factory. They'd worked their way up from herring-fishing out of an old wooden shoe, which they had only recently traded in for the pea-green beauty with the twin turbo diesels. But did the Owl and his skirt care? Not likely. They were as hard as they came.
They snatched the boat and sailed it to the Land Where the Bong-tree Grows. They were getting out of the honey-laundering business and this was going to be their last big score: a chance to set themselves up in the ganja trade by buying out the Bong-tree suppliers with their crooked honey and funny money.
But a complication reared its head. The Bong-tree-territory was run by a consortium calling itself Cat and Fiddle, though the real power behind the throne was a mysterious figure only known as "the little dog". Cat and Fiddle twigged to the Owl and the Pussycat's scheme p.d.q. and they moved to put an end to it as quickly as possible. So the consortium sent a crooked cop they owned down to rumble the couple on the grounds that unmarried cohabitation was illegal.
A trumped-up wedding was hustled up, presided over by a turkey, which should have clued the crooked couple, but they were under the influence of the Bong-trees by then and didn't have a prayer.
They had the wedding at the Owl and Pussycat's place. At a pre-arranged signal--a cow jumped over the moon--all hell broke loose. The nuptial couple didn't even get a chance to finish their dinner before they were face down in the baklava.
The guests spread out through the house and ransacked the place. It's reported that the little dog laughed to see such sport--he's one sick puppy. Not a straw nor a stick was left to tell the tale. Cat and Fiddle had brought in a specialist from Fairy Tale Land, an ice-cold demolitions expert called "Big Bad" Wolf. Everything which wasn't blown away was stolen. Right down to the runcible spoon with which the ill-fated couple had eaten their wedding dinner of mince and slices of quince.
It was the dish who ran away with the spoon. And what a dish she was--hey, diddle-diddle! A dish to make an epicure kick a hole in a copper bain marie. She had a surface like the finest porcelain, but underneath, she was pure melamine, with a heart as cold as freezer wrap.
The dish had learned her trade at the knee of Taffy "The Welshman", a thief who specialized in bringing home the bacon--as well as the beef. For a while she'd been working with a yegg called Tom-tom, but she'd recently become a free agent when Tom-tom got popped for pig-stealing. He could have gotten out of it with restitution, but, by then, the pig was eat and Tom was beat and the dish needed a new stake. So she scooped the spoon and legged it.
She got a pretty good price for the runcible spoon off of a collector named Lear. But it all went just as fast into rings for her fingers and bells for her toes and before she knew it, she needed another score. She took a job at the palace as a maid, chasing blackbirds out of the kitchen, and waited for a chance. She looked sweet as Little Miss Muffet, but she was as false as a prune in a plum pie.
And it was a plum pie that caused her downfall.
It seems that one morning, the Queen of Hearts--a former farmer's wife who'd covered up her unsavory past and the mysterious death of her previous husband--baked some tarts, but they were stolen by the Knave of Hearts, who took them clean away. Or so he thought.
The dish cornered the Knave and confronted him with his crime. She said that she'd cover up for him, if he'd give her a "plum": the goods on the Queen's secret dealings with Cock Robin. The Knave promised to have the plum delivered to the dish in a pie by that evening.
But, the queen was no fool and her spy, a pussycat who happened to be the cousin of the Owl's twist, had heard the whole thing and headed straight to the throne room to report. The cat had just about finished the tale, except for revealing the name of the maid, when she heard a noise and frightened a little mouse under the queen's chair. The mouse ran up the clock and the cat followed it. But, hickory, dickory, dock, the clock struck one.
The cat was laid out cold and the queen was on the rampage. The mouse lammed it into the house of his three blind brothers, retired legmen for the King, who created a diversion while their brother escaped. They kept the queen hopping, even at the cost of their tails, which the former farmer's wife cut off with a carving knife.
Meanwhile, the mouse, ratted out the queen to "Old" King Cole. He was a merry old soul, the poor sap, and he demanded proof. He ordered all the house staff to go outside for a while and sent another agent, one "Little Jack" Horner, down into the kitchen to keep an eye out for the pie.
Hiding in a dark corner, Horner spied the Knave and, later, recovered the pie. He rifled it for its "plums" by sticking in his thumb. Then he carefully refilled the pie with four-and-twenty blackbirds he rounded up from the kitchen rafters. They weren't nothing but stool pigeons and it was easy to get them to roll over on the maid, but King Cole wanted proof, so into the pie crust they went.
When the pie was opened, the birds began to sing. The Knave of Hearts threw himself on the King's mercy, but the Queen, fearing her crimes would would come home to roost, took a powder. The dish, still disguised as a maid, had been eavesdropping by pretending to hang out clothes in the yard near the window. She tried to get away clean, but along came a blackbird and snipped off her nose. She wasn't such a dainty dish, now, but she still managed to give the dicky-birds the slip.
The old king's heart was broken, so he crawled into a pipe and a bowl and stayed there a long time. Eventually, a team of fixers who were known as "the Fiddlers Three" and had been hired by Jack Horner, ran down Cock Robin, but someone had beaten them to it and smoked the old bird.
His one-time partner, a hop-head called "The Sparrow" copped to the crime, but we all knew he was lying. He said he'd done it with a bow and arrow. But, I saw the body and I can tell you, that was no arrow wound. They fried Sparrow for it, anyhow.
So, who killed Cock Robin? I don't know, for sure. Could have been the Queen of Hearts, or the dish, might even have been Jack Horner. My guess? Blame it on his girl: Mistress Mary. She's just contrary enough to have done it.
And all of this because of an Owl and a Pussycat and a runcible spoon. But what's it matter, in the end? There's a hundred other sordid little tales in this town.
posted: October 18, 2002
We walk past the Fin and Feather Pet Shop and observe a long row of lizards, snakes and turtles, a few birds in the background. Near the end, there is a cage with a guinea pig in it. A sign on the cage reads "I need a good, safe home."
Next door we observe a sign which says "carnivorous plants"....
I think I know why the guinea pig wants to move.
I'm terribly disappointed that carnivorous plants aren't more interesting. The word "carnivore" always seems to imply something so much faster and sleeker than a Venus fly-trap or pitcher plants. As a kid, I always envisioned large, hungry things along the line of Audrey II in Little Shop of Horrors or at least something which moves a little quicker. What disappointment to see a Venus fly-trap in action, slowly closing up on the confused fly, mired in stickum.
Why aren't they faster? You'd think that with all the protein they are taking in, the plants could afford a little more speed. Something more along the line of those ferns which curl away from your finger when you touch them. Why don't they just curl up on their prey like a grasping hand and whip those insects into their maws? And why settle for insects? Really, if all they eat are insects, they should be called insectivorous plants, 'cause there ain't much "carne" on your average fly.
Carnivorous plants should be gulping down small mice and goldfish. The Discovery Channel should have a Hallowe'en special on the horrors of carnivorous plants on the loose. Giant pitcher plants seen uprooting themselves and trudging off, like triffids, to the nearest bus stop in search of a nice burger and a side of flies.
Imagine the rustling, waddling, giant plant mounting the steps....
"Hold up a minute," says the driver. "Are you a carnivorous plant?"
Pitcher nods.
"Ah, all right then. Half fare, but you have to ride in the back with the rest of the stinkers. And there had better be just as many homeless bums getting off at the end of the trip as got on, or you pay double."
Pitcher nods and shambles to the back of the bus, where he is entranced by a very seductive giant Venus fly-trap. The two get chummy and decide to stop off at Fin and Feather for a quick snack of guinea pig....
No wonder all those signs in the botanic gardens warn you to stay on the paths: the carnivorous plants might get ambitious and swallow a small child or two. Or even a couple of dogs!
Please do not feed the Sundews. Keep hands and arms inside the path until the Venus Fly Trap has come to a full and complete stop. Thank you.
This is the real reason they had to stop publicizing and encouraging Arbor Day. Too many well-meaning tree-planters vanishing in the groves near suspicious-looking pitcher plants.
Flight of fancy, you say?
Hah! You've obviously never heard one burp....
posted October 26, 2002
They looked up high
they looked down low
they couldn't think where it would go.
They even looked beneath the bed.
"It isn't here," the werewolf said.
They searched the house
from roof to cellar
they checked their pockets, bags and sweaters
"It can't be gone, that isn't fair!"
wailed the Thing beneath the chair.
Their headless uncle
racked his brain
and tried to think through all the pain.
"It wouldn't be in the garage
among the Psycho's hodge and podge."
The kitchen witch
boiled up a stew
and threw in a newt or two,
but though they tried to call the thing,
her potent brew did not it bring.
"It's disappeared
for good and all!"
mourned the Creature in the Hall.
"We'll disappear and fade away
if we can't find it by today!"
They went and roused
the devious ghost
who lived inside the newel post.
"Come help us search or we are doomed!"
begged the household in the gloom.
The ghost got up
and flew up high
he circled quickly in the sky
and met up with a friendly bat
who said he might know where it's at.
The ghost and bat
flew down to see
what hung beneath the gallows tree.
The hangéd man said not a word
but pointed to a big, black bird.
"Nevermore!"
the raven said
and winked its eye and cocked its head
and led them to the home of Jack
where pumpkin pies cooled on a rack.
The monsters
all were most aghast
when they saw what must have passed.
"You've turned to pies our Sabbath god!"
Said Jack: "I thought they tasted odd...."
They trussed him up
and dragged him home
and turned him over to the Gnome
who fetched up the dreaded trunk
mired in ancient dust and gunk.
From the trunk
came ropes and tools
for making short, sharp work of fools
and though Jack cried, begged, protested,
far from his shoulders his head rested.
They scooped
and emptied out his head
and put his body in the shed
and carved his face and plucked his eyes
for turning pumpkins into pies.
By nightfall
Jack was quite a sight;
his face would give a strong man fright.
From by the door this vision rose:
Jack with a candle up his nose.
The monsters
had the best revenge
upon the man who'd stole from them.
He lit their Hallowe'en feast, you see:
the scariest Jack-o-Lantern there could be.
Yes, yes... I'm a sick puppy.... Have a happy Hallowe'en anyway.
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