Tag: music

Wheels on the bus

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The wheels of the bus went round and round.
Right over the skateboarder.
Sure, he had pads and a helmet on, but the bus crushed his chest and killed him.
The pads, helmet, and skateboard gathered dust in the garage until they got sold at a garage sale.
That kid flew out of a half-pipe and was impaled on a fencepost.
Once again, the gear was passed along.
Kid after kid, the bodies started to pile up.
Until a restaurant bought the stuff as wall decoration.
Nobody else got hurt from using it.
But the restaurant burned down, killing ten.

One Blow

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The Angel Gabriel sat on the curb and wept at the destruction and misery he’d witnessed over the centuries.
“It’s all my fault,” he moaned. “If I hadn’t lost my trumpet, I’d have ended this a long time ago.”
He’d backtraced his steps many times, but they all led back to a pub where he’d drunkenly pawned his horn for a bottle of whiskey.
The curb he sat on was in front of the skyscraper built where the pub used to be.
Sighing, Gabriel pulled out a handkerchief and blew his nose.
The skyscraper wobbled, and Reality began to fade.

Baroque Bach Mountain

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Johann Sebastian Bach was known for his prowess with a pipe organ.
Johann Cristoph Bach was also a master organist.
Pretty much every Bach was an expert with an organ.
Especially Elton Johann Bach, but I think that’s a different kind of organ, okay?
Elton would frequently vanish to the Schwarzwald mountains with a rather dark friend for fishing trips.
He never did catch any fish, but he caught plenty of diseases.
On his final trip, his brothers showed up at the cabin.
They saw everything.
“Why?” they asked.
“Once you go Black Forest,” Elton wheezed, “you never go back.”

Biggest Fan

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Hundreds of millions of people adore Guitarman’s music, and every one of them claim to be “Guitarman’s Biggest Fan.”
You see, that’s the title track of his number one album: “Guitarman’s Biggest Fan.”
Would they swallow a snake for him? Hell yes.
Would they jump off of cliff for him? Oh, hell yes.
Some of Guitarman’s fans take the title literally and eat themselves into a bodymass competition.
They keep score online, constantly updating their weight.
Wait… Two-Ton Tommy’s gone? Dead?
Heart attack. The funeral’s Sunday.
That puts me in second place, Mom. Second place!
Pass the mashed potatoes.
Please?

Argentina

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I told Argentina not to cry for me, but Argentina cries so easily.
Argentina cries during sad movies.
Argentina cries when it stubs its toe.
Argentina cries when it might rain.
Before, it was cute. But now, I’m sick and tired of Argentina crying.
People are staring to stare. They think it’s because of something I’ve done, but it’s really all in Argentina’s head.
“You’re leaving me!” cries Argentina.
“No, I’m just going to the store for some wine,” I say. “Would you like to come along?”
Argentina then cries some more.
I knew I should have stuck with Bolivia.

Chadwick

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Baron Chadwick stood at the parapet at sundown and serenaded the moon with the strains of violin music.
For hundreds of years, the moon rewarded him with restful sleep and another day of life.
He keep the arrangement a secret, quietly changing servants every decade or so.
But one morning, Chadwick awoke to find his violin and butler gone.
He watched the creases reappear on the backs of his hands throughout the day. As the sun went down, he felt the telltale aches and pains.
Chadwick pulled his the spare violin and played… with the same old ancient magical bow.

Written In Rock

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Don’t believe Rick Springfield’s lies when he sings “Nothing’s written in rock.”
Some things are written in rock. And they do last forever.
It’s when things are written in ice cream that they don’t last.
Sure, that gigantic two-ton fudge sundae that says “Happy birthday, Morty” on the side looks like it could survive a Japanese invasion fleet, but the truth is that it can barely withstand the coordinated assault of a kindergarten class armed with nothing but spoons and their appetites.
In fact, that’s what Pearl Harbor was supposed to be, until the Japs realized that children don’t explode.

It’s hard to be a pimp

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Sure, it’s hard these days to be a pimp, but not in the ways you’d think.
PETA keeps protesting my fur hats. Also, the fur hubcaps on my pimpmobile.
Ever since I pimped my ride, it gets lousy gas mileage. Gas ain’t cheap these days.
Every John wants to pay with PayPal. Or credit cards. My pimproll is just a bunch of receipts.
See these gold teeth? Do you know what it takes to keep them clean? Colgate doesn’t exactly make Grill Paste, you know.
On top of all this, I bet iTunes delists this pimpcast.
Shoulda been a doctor.

Ulysses With A Sneer

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They left the gates open, and the guards all stayed home.
The mansion had never been a home. It always felt like a hideout, although the drugs sometimes made it feel like a slide under the world’s microscope.
Or a prison.
“Welcome home,” he muttered.
He’d been gone for almost 30 years, but his key still fit in the lock.
Maybe they switched the old lock back in the door, just for him.
He wandered around the mansion, which had become a sterile museum. Signs everywhere, saying what he’d done, where and when.
But never why.
He shrugged and left.

Jesse’s Girl

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Ever since he first heard the song, Dr. Odd has been working hard on getting Jesse’s girl for Rick Springfield.
At first, he tried pheromones and hypnosis. That just made her confused and somewhat psychotic.
He considered violently removing Jesse from the picture, but that would just get the girl worried about Jesse.
Finally, he decided cloning was the correct route. Using accelerated growth tanks, he produced a perfect biological replica.
Without any of the emotional or intellectual experience of Jesse’s girl, of course. Her mind was a complete blank.
As for Dr. Odd, well, success hasn’t spoiled him yet.