Welcome to the con!  The con starts with the author, Dr. Seuss.

He's no doctor.  And that's a fact (and no it's not the only truthful

thing in this diatribe of mine).  He used the doctor moniker to

sell more books!

       That guy in the book pestering the other guy to try "Green

Eggs and Ham"? Turns out to be the ham and egg salesman,

Sam I Am.

  It's a motivational selling "won't take no for an answer"

how to sell book disguised as children's literature.

    And Sam I Am is psychotically relentless in his pursuit of a

sale.  He needs a restraining order slapped on his ***.

                   "Would you eat them in a box? Would
                    you eat them with a fox. Would you eat
                    them with a goat.  Would you eat them on a
                     boat".  Would you eat green eggs and ham,
                    would you eat them Sam I Am?     

                                                       ­            Dr. Seuss

And on and on. Sam I Am goes stalking him from page to page.

  

    I had a friend of mine, Mustard Joe, ex war veteran with more

than twenty kills (you don't even want to know the things he's

seen) take a look into this green eggs and ham food source that

Sam I Am is pushing so hard.  Here are some of the ingredients

he may or may not have found.
                  
             Ham   --        30 grams of sugar (questionable )
                         --       15 grams of caffeine (untested)                               
Green eggs   --          Trace amounts of nicotine ( not verified)
                        --          Handfuls of ******* (rumored)

As you can see, It's not an exact science.

People. When eggs turn green, that's mother nature trying to

warn you that your food has gone bad.

   But in the end, Sam I Am gets the fool to finally try the green

eggs and ham and he absolutely loves it.  Maybe the books lesson  

is about to not be afraid about things you don't understand or

never tried. But I still believe there is insidious deception and

evil in the book. I have to think that way.  Because after all -- I'm

Willoughby !!

Sorry sir, there's a 15 minute wait for a table.  "I'm Willoughby **** it, I wait for no one"!

    Sorry mister ,we're all out of that item.  " I'm Willoughby, I write poetry on All Poetry".

   Sorry, we're closed. " I'm Willoughby, I'm insulted.  I've killed for less".

That numbers been disconnected.  " Don't you know who I am? I'm Willoughby.  Willoughby!!  Do I have to spell it out to you?  I have a pet rat, collect garbage and live in the basement of a luxury high-rise building.  Doesn't that account for anything"?

We're the I.R.S.  You haven't paid taxes in five years.  "Who in the hell do you think your talking to?  Well I'm Willoughby.  That trumps everything and all.  Away with you"!

Your sentenced to five years in prison for not paying your taxes.  Court adjourned. " How dare you judge me judge me judge me... judge.  After all, I'm Willoughby".

...and you'll stay in solitary confinement till you behave.  
Sob, cry... but I'm Willoughby.. moan...Willoughby...cry...Willoughby...

Coming soon, the Willoughby gift shop featuring tee shirts with the thumbs up logo on front for only $89.99.  Made from 100% fabric like material.

  Also a novelty flammable plastic oven mitt from Mustard Joe called," ***** catch-up, I want Mustard"!  Made in Vietnam as a friendly gesture, to the very people he used to shoot, maim, ****. You don't even want to know the things he did over there!

  Anyway, stop by the gift shop. Pendulum Pam works there and she's worth the price of admission on her own (that reminds me, the price of admission is 25 dollars to the gift shop).

   Willoughby is absent this week with an STD which I think stands for "some kind of transmitted disease".  Like the flu or something.

   Subbing in is me, Creepy Ray Ray (Mustard Joe wasn't available due to an appointment with his lobotomist - You don't even want to know the things he's seen or what's inside his head).

                           Creepy Ray Ray life tip #1

   When eating human flesh, and I'm not admitting that I ever have, braise quickly on both sides and let simmer in a light sauce as it tends to be tough to chew and somewhat gamey.  I lost a crown off a tooth chewing it once.

The newsman said there was a lot of angst out there. I'm gonna

break apart the word angst, rearrange the letters leaving "ants"

with a "G" left over.  I'll put the ants on display at the San Diego

Zoo and use the G as a nickname for the punk kid who lives up

the street from here, as in " hey G how's it going".  A few ants and

a nickname and just like that,  no more angst!

Your welcome America.

Mustard Joe told Pendulum Pam that Creepy Ray Ray was

purchasing a human kidney, illegally, on the black market.  We

didn't even know Creepy Ray Ray was sick.  Sick in the head

maybe, but physically sick? We had no idea.

   You may think that it' not right that I should call Creepy Ray

Ray sick in the head but I think you'll agree with me when I tell

you what happened.  Creepy Ray Ray told Mustard Joe who told

Pendulum Pam that he wasn't sick. Good we all said.  We heard

you were buying a human kidney, thank goodness your not. "Oh

I'm buying a human kidney", said Creepy Ray Ray. " I'm buying

it to eat it"!

To my followers ( though the numbers be few) I weep crocodile tears for you (dry as they may be) that you unfortunately didn't get to read my latest poem, "My Wife is a Sheep".  It was barred.  Censored.  Monitored. Deleted. Not posted.  
Oh the humanity! 
  
    Again I crossed some line.  So I'll begrudgingly
acknowledge it, in a gun to my back sort of way, and apologize to the Hello poetry monitors.  Why apologize?

    I don't want the sensors, monitors - **** overlords, here at Hello Poetry to be angry and on a warpath out to get me. So I'm sending them each a box of happy chocolates telepathically to mentally stupify their minds and sooth them in their misunderstanding and assure them that my writings inflict no harm to them or to Hello Poetry. I'm a good buddy. I'm a friend... Love you!

 Give us a little freedom of speech for heaven sake.  After all, freedom of speech is an amendment guaranteed by law.  Your not against laws, freedom, the Constitution, America are you?    
  
I'm one of the world's last remaining shock poets and even I'm becoming extinct. You wouldn't want that to happen would you?
I'm an endangered species!

    How can I reach full realization as a writer if I'm censured. How can I blossom and flower as a poet, and let my stamen dangle in the wind for the bees to land on and take away my gooey nectar (uh oh, could be a ****** reference -- Let's barr it, censor it, delete it, not post it). 

    Ultimately, how can I be the "go to guy" shock poet if I can't be shocking? When a reader wakes up and feels like a dose of shock poetry to start his day, and I'm not around, what will they do?

     My advice to you Hello Poetry monitors is to go out and do something shocking!  Feel it's rush. Roll around in its essence. Revel in its pump.  Then  you'll see. you'll be like me. Liberated.  So free....now relax and repeat after me. I love shock poetry...shock poetry......shock poetry....

Not figuratively, but literally.  It's called zoo. Inter species

coupling.  My wife is a sheep.     But let me tell you how it all

began...

    When I was ten, I knew I was attracted to animals when I put

lipstick on a pig and we made out behind the barn.   Later that

year my uncle started hiding his dog Sadie whenever I came by

because I had to go to the hospital when I put peanut butter on

my ***** and instead of licking it off, Sadie bit it.

Later when I was 12 I couldn't help but admire the hind

quarters of my uncle's donkey.  Such a fine ***, I mean donkey.

Hee haw.

I still keep in touch with Sadie, if a dog can keep in touch.

Needless to say we don't play fetch the stick, too many bad

memories. You know dog spelled backwards is God? So that

helps justify my love for Sadie.

Any way, when I was 14 I got arrested for fence hopping. That's

when you sneak into someone else's property and  f*ck  their

animals.

And it was only later when as an adult, I met my wife the sheep,

who is named Angelica, because of her white angel- like wool.  I

met her on a animal *** farm up North called "Loving Nature".

It's a ranch where there is a whole sub culture going on. Like a

**** Noah's Ark.

A guy on the internet married us so it's bound to be legal.  If she

ever has baby lambs, they will end up with my Irish nose. Just

kidding, ha ha.

So that's how I came to love animals and married  my wife

Angelica, the sheep. PETA doesn't understand  me but I think the

animals like it. I never heard one say no or stop.