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."]