Jonah Winter




A Dilemma


Somehow, the Baroness had mixed up the box scores.

Where it said "Oakland," it should have said "Pittsburgh."

Count Wichnowsky, flummoxed, perused the Sports Section

compiled by the aging dowager and diehard Mets fan.


"Obviously," said the Count to his mistress, Shaneel,

whilst she allowed his pitching arm

to voyage into her loosened robe,

"obviously the Baroness von Helgenburger needs must watch Sports Channel


with greater, how shall we say, 'alacrity.'"

"Ay, my Count," said his mistress. "Dennis Eckersley

won 37 games and not, as stated the Baroness, 42."

"Umph humph," said the Count, and this being said,


the couple sat silent in their little cottage

deep in the Black Forest, awaiting some word

from the Duke, due to return from the Crimean War

just in time for the playoffs.



Pre-Raphaelite Cowboy Ballad #17


Someone said something to him

like "this is the unabridged version"

or "Mein Gott, Mein Gott,

I’m justa passin through"


and the tulips that hung from his hip

fluttered like pneumonia in the evening

wind that was tumbling the tumbleweeds on

to the steps of the Villa d'Este…


"There is one story and one story – "

He was rudely interrupted

by the absent, black cut-out shape

that had assumed a rather


symbolic position in the cantina.

"Ma'am, I'll have an order of

'Huevos Ex Nihilo'–

Make that two orders…"


Here you go, and here's that lighthouse

you ordered. And here's a sign that says

"No Vacancy." And here's a fragment

of conversation: "Gordon,


you don't know my nosebleeds!"

That's from the airport in Atlanta –

I had a layover – I was bored –

I was singin a song


about a cowboy and a mirror,

about how one day he woke up

and looked at himself and saw only

a caribou sky.





Moosehead's Day in Court


Warning: The Moosehead You Save Might Be Your Own!


Isn't it true, Mr. Moosehead, that you deliberately

and with little or no attention to the laws

of good taste and common sense, replaced your own human head

with that of a moose?


Your honor, the state requests permission to treat this

witness as a hostile moosehead.

Request granted. Mr. Moosehead,

do you understand the questions you are being asked?


Counsel, approach the bench.

I think what we have here is a moose.

That is to say, he has the body of a man

but the head of a moose.


Your honor, this man with a moosehead for a head

obviously had enough intelligence to replace his own human head

with that of a moose.

This moosehead is completely competent.


All right, then. Counsel, proceed.

So, Mr. Moosehead, you hacked off the bloody head of a moose

with a common handsaw, the same handsaw you then used

on yourself, defying the laws of medical science and morality.


Then, using your skill as a taxidermist

you proceeded to surgically attach the head of this innocent moose

onto your own human neck, which was by this time

bleeding profusely. What I don't understand is:



I’ll tell you why: You're a freak!

You hate humans! You hate the side of yourself

that was human. So what did you do?


You attacked yourself – and a moose!

AND A MOOSE! You killed 2 people

and one of them was a moose! Now look at you!

You’re not human! You’re not a moose! What are you?!


[Tune in next week for: "MOOSEHEAD SPEAKS."]