Yesterday I was lucky enough to Guest Post on one of the most awesome Sadistic Clown Websites on the entire interwebs (second only to The Mighty Clown Army, but that’s because they have a larger budget for shiny noses). Anyways, I invite you to check out the post here and send over your love to a much-maligned (with spritzer flowers and pies to the face) guy come this time of year (he continually gets confused with Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer), Le Clown.
And to those who migrated over here from the bozo’s lair, Welcome!
And now for today’s poem:
In first grade or so,
at the Saint Squeaky School
For Educated Mice
if memory serves,
The Laboratory for
Genetically Modified Rodents),
my name was Brain.
It wasn’t my given name,
and really I should have been called “Brian”
but every time I came across that word
in the pages of a book
I’d mispronounce it,
so I became Brain.
I tried to earn the title
by eating up science books;
unfortunately, that caused more
indigestion than actual knowledge
being absorbed, so I gave up.
I would hang out with
another mouse at the time,
and even though he wasn’t
as gifted in the mind department
as some, it seemed like our tails
were tied together by gene splicing
and I could not escape him unless
I tried biting my hind legs off.
Now this was right around the days
when the Warner siblings next door became
quite famous. They would hang
from their water tower throwing money
made of construction paper
and make up songs about geography
to ace their social studies tests.
Needless to say,
I craved their attention.
This was in the days before
Stewie Griffin, mind you,
where I was the only
character with the annoying habit
of failed world domination,
hellbent on making the
Manic, animated crazytown
my personal dictatorship.
Maybe it was a waste of time,
the days I spent trying
to take over the planet.
But even though we all
end up behind the gates
of that Great Mousetrap in the Sky,
at least I can say I spent my life
running after more than just cheese.