beep beep go the cars
beep beep go the SUVs
beep beep go the trash trucks
beep beep go the busses
beepeeeee beepeeeee go the fire engines
beepeeeee beepeeeee go the ambulances

beep beep go the shovelers
beep beep go the snow trucks
beep beep go the Fed Ex guys & UPS ers

beep beep go the watches
beep beep go the alarms
beep beep go the microwave ovens
beep beep go the washers & dyers

beep beep go the beepers
that are driving me beep beeping insane

beep beep

beep beep goes the Road Runner
but that one does not
drive me beep beeping insane!

beep! beep!

beep! beep!

beep! beep!

beep! beep!

Okay, now, really,
you have driven me beep beeping insane.

dear kind reader,

humor is a very personal,
a very individual thing,
so,
i beg your pardon,
i never promised you a rose garden,

if the parlance of the street,
offends your nature so sweet,

i beg your pardon,
i never promised you a rose garden.

but this much i will confess,
funny i find much of this mess.

and i'd rather go to my grave,
with hearty laughter,
milk spilling laughter,
screaming ' yer killin' me!"
than any other way!

the new shirt arrived in the mail today.

compliments of the United States Postal Service,
and i thank yew fer the speedy service.

thirty four dollars.
and i wonder...

should that have been better spent,
on
martinis for three?
food for the poor?
money for retirement?
sent to Nepal?
food for the dogs?
hard working aspiring slumdog millionaire?

the package
lies unopened....

the big fat bus,
with the big fat yellow bootay
was racing along
the country,
shore to shore,
sea to shining sea,
gulping in every sight.

as she flew through the west,
she caught sight
of a handsome young brave
sitting not far off the
side of the
road,
sharpening the blade of
one mother,
of one huge mother,
of a huge mother ******' knife.

and she thought she caught sight of
another huge shiny blade.

silhouetted against the backdrop
the light blue cotton sheets
gently swaying in the warm wind
on this sunny day,
filling them with fresh sweet
scent of fresh
sun dried air.

he intently focused
on the blade,
holding it up to the sky and
slowly,
very slowly,
drawing his thumb over
the edge
over and over,
'gettin' there'
'gettin' there'
he must be thinkin'
she was a thinkin'.

speeding along,
she glanced quick right,
and thanked the good lord
she was born without a head.

nor any tufts of fine locks on
her big fat yellow bootay.

for she had no hankering’
to be gittin’ no scalpin’.

better leave those up
to those oh so annoying
two-legged humans.

note to self,
she did make,
one to herself,
that if ever she passed this way
agin’.
she would give this
fellow one wide berth.
as he’s a lookin’
like a fellow
she didn’t want,
with to be,
messin'.

YET...
thought she.....

meanwhile, way over yonder
the manly cowboy
felt a chill grow,
shivers crept up his spine,
just as he felt a cool breeze
caress his scalp.

'hmmm that brave lad
can’t still be a ponderin’
if’n he’s awantin’ to be scalpin’ me?
he can’t!
can he?'

'nah!'
thought the manly cowboy,
pulling his wide-brimmed hat
ever so firmly down on his head.

now a gal on the run
needs a little scratch
to live on
so
she quick pecked out a book
with a perky little ditty.

one that could be sung
one that would run
over and over
in your head.

sales took off
quite briskly
soon her tune could
be heard along every
school corridor.

kids of all ages
chanted and screamed
walking or riding
her very own call....

Hey!
You!
Yeaaahhh
you!
i say
you big fat bus
with the big fat yellow bootay
you’re in my way

i say
go on now
get outta my way.

get outta my way.
you big fat bus
with your  big fat yellow  bootay
get outta my way
big bootay
outta my way!
yellow bootay!
hey
hey
hey


now this refrain
quickly got old
for all the drivers
of the big fat busses
with the big fat yellow bootays.

it wasn’t long before
they were on the warpath
pitch forks and shovels
tire irons and more.

these enraged drivers
were out for blood
and broken bone,
which in her case
certainly meant
dripping oil,
broken glass and
twisted metal.

Some days she cried
why, oh, why,
did i ever
write that?

Other days
she didn’t give a hoot
not a single second
stinkin' thought.

but she still skirted
the cities and towns
right before
and right after
school was in session.


the money flowed in
and rather than gin,
she stopped for a sip
of high test
premium
fuel.

no margaritas
for this little senorita
with the Big Fat Yellow Bootay.

some afternoons late,
she would  just set
a spell and wait,
sip that ole
high test,
watching the sun slide
below the horizon,
colors galore,
a magnificent painting,
different each
and
every
night.

still on the run
but having loads of fun,
she kept a keen eye out
for the man with the badge
and the gun.

reports abounded
about a bus that had
disappeared
one that had
absconded.

now no one thought
it could possibly
be,
only she,
all on her own.
so the lookout
was for some thief
to be caught.
a thief of the kind
with two hands
two wrists
and ten fingers.

hiding out
during the day
she would slip away
come the passin' of
the sun
most times.

rolling along
one
afternoon
between fields so wide,
she pulled in
by a shrub
and found a motorcycle
waiting.

"my pig’s gone
to take a leak.”
said the little motorcycle,
nodding to the trees
not far away.

(aside: the little motorcyle
referred to his pig in only the most
affectionate way.  
which brings one to
wonder, from where did it arise
why is another word
synomous with cop,
pig?

pigs are so cute,
darling and sweet
and very intelligent.  
makes no sense to me
when you are a looking
to be insulting,
to be calling a cop
a pig.)

she glanced on over
at the copse of trees
and set herself
in reverse gear.
"i owe you one
new little friend”
said she,
and as she rolled back onto
the road,
she gently did pat him
on his tight firm little  
motorcycle
bootay!


"It’s a good day to die!”
she cried
as she sped off,
"not to mention
drive!"

and it was,
one fine day to drive!