Two Flying Farts

It’s possible that you do not give a flying fart about the content here. But what about two? I think your saying there’s a chance, and I like those odds.

I am never in full possession, Of the hive behind my mind. Perhaps it's busy making honey-thoughts, That drip into vats of unconscious wine. Maybe there's a future-telling part, That's busy writing on a scroll. He tells fantastical stories, Of where I'll eventually go. There are other parts of course, One's I'd really rather not say. These parts are not so nice, But they too want to play. I am never quite sure, What to say to these scary folk, The ones that simply do not fit, And then I remember “them” are me, And so I tell them to sit. There are vast arrays of space and time, Just waiting to be explored, Alas, I cannot survive, In just the hive, And mustn't ignore outdoors. And so traveler I tell you, Whilst trekking in the hive, Watch with whom you trust and talk, And take a buddy when you dive, Some places appear shallow, But are deeper than they look, Always bring your trusty towel, And if there's a wait, a book. And so this is where we must part, And go our separate ways. I've told you all about my hive, Yours now awaits....

In this time of war and strife, Let’s purge the modern artillery. For what I have in mind is of more infantile design, And may save us all eventually. Have you ever heard a baby scream? A toddler not getting it’s way? These tots let out the most excruciating thoughts, No soldiers ears could withstand, And so voila, I give to you The “PaciCryer Cannon”. Just point it at those dogs of war, And unleash the nappy time cries from Shannon. 10,000 decibels at least Will ring the ears in pain and grief And scatter hardened forces to the north, south, west, and east. To be sure, other models will follow, But one question must be asked of us, And that one is: Are we so hollow? This tactic, this method of war is great, It will save lives, possibly by a factor of eight! But still, to use this force means there's too much ill will that be, Even if we're quashing it by means of an infantillary.

If there’s ever a good time to Dental, I’m sure I don’t know when. It’s like an executioners march to “the chair”, Just to get you in. They have to take “records” of your visit, Lest litigation should ensue. And never ever directly let you see What they are about to do to you. When the time comes for service You’re supplied with a little gas, To make you think of better days and, OUCH!! WHAT THE HECK WAS THAT! After a bit they let you out, All light-headed and bruised. And with a smile say “See you in 6 months!” Leaving you very confused. Enough is enough! This will not stand! So I’ve hired a bodyguard named Dan. Dan is strong, Dan is mean. Dan has no teeth For the Grim Teether to clean. The next time that Teether tries to attack by appointment, Dan will intervene! But Dan is imaginary, And I am 10. And my mom is telling me to stop squirming again. Having clean teeth is pointless and, Wait? What’s that creek? And why do I feel funny? Like I have to sleep?

The Whemerack is invisible, and sits atop the trees. Fanning enormous fingers among the branches and the leaves. He snatches birds and bats and sometimes squirrels that climb up, up, up too high. He snatched my friend Ben one time Don’t ask. Ok I’ll tell you why. Ben was flying my kite you see, And I really shouldn’t say But the weather was bad and stormy that day. Now generally Whemeracks are peaceful If you aren’t a bird, bat, or squirrel But you mustn’t scare a Whemerack, You really mustn't Or you may find yourself in a bit of peril. Well now you know the kite was stuck, And Ben went up, up, and up Now what Ben saw I cannot say Because Ben never came home that day But between you, me, and the trees I see I think Ben befriended that ole Whemerack And knowing Ben, probably gave him quite the lick’n! I imagine they are up in the trees together now Snagging the birds, bats, and squirrels to eat, I hear they taste just like chicken!

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