SATURDAY, 11 DECEMBER, 1999, PHILADELPHIA
I am fascinated by Mother Goose rhymes — the original ones, written about 100 years ago now, and the lesser-known ones in particular. Those things be whacked. My brother Pschtÿckque and I ‘re-wrote’ several Mother Goose-isms some time ago and I tell ya’, these really aren’t so far off from the horror and complete and utter nonsense involved with the originals…
Squishing little bugs, busting out their brains. Dinner’s on, dinner’s on. Children wash your feet.	Aunt Bess, Aunt Bess, what a mess. Wandering the corn rows one by one. What will she see? What will she find? Probably nothing but sheep. …or corn
Little Ralphie, short not tall. What have you done? What have you done? I’ve talked to the vicar. I’ve talked to the priest. Who still cannot find their sons. Run, Ralphie, run.	Riddle me, riddle me ree. When it’s wet, it’s wet. When it’s dry, it’s dry. As round as an Altoid and big as your eye. What is it? answer: a rock. a very specific rock
Hey flitter flitter, dad’s with the sitter, negotiating wages so fair. I don’t know what the hollaring’s about but they’ve been quite an hour in there.	Whang doodle doodle, what’s up with that? You fondle the dog but ignore the cat.
Trucker Bob, Trucker Bob, why do you swear? Do you kiss your mother with that mouth as you drive by with your finger in the air? If you go north, I’ll go south.	Mother, Mother, have you seen Paw? He’s out in the back with the sheep. Is he fleecing or milking or just making cheese? No Betty, your father’s just Greek.