Toudle-Lou & Toudle-Lee

June 10, 2002

In your travels, should you find
some oddball children, pay no mind.
But if you do, and you have learned
that they love candy recently turned,
it behooves you to flee at once.
And don't come back
that way for months.
For you have wandered
to a land forgotten,
where the children like
their candy rotten.
And this might not sound so terribly bad,
perhaps only slightly, or only a tad.
But I assure you, once I've filled you in,
you too will avoid these rotten children!

Avoid like the plague or like measles or beets.
Avoid them like odd-colored stains on your sheets.
Avoid them like murder and dandruff and stink.
Avoid them like things moving under the sink.
For this is the behavior I would strongly advise
unless you'd like a sandwich of mustard and lies.
You think I'm kidding? You think this is a joke?
Brother, I'm as serious as a mouthful of New Coke!

Their loyalty's shifty, their morals are loose.
They'd eat the heart out of a chocolate moose.
Their bedtime is no time their naptime is "GO!" time,
And they have never once heard of "The Answer Is No!" time.
They wipe their hands everywhere and belch like fat chickens
and after they're done, the buffet is slim pickins.
They'll throw a wild tantrum just to pass an afternoon
and then hide your car keys on the back of the moon.
They're nasty, dastardly, pompous and rude.
Oh, did I mention they're sick of Thai food?

Their rotten teeth are made to slide
out moldy, curdled, rotten lies.
They insist its gospel, but otherwise
is seen deep within their rotten black eyes.
They cheat at hopscotch, they cheat at darts,
they have no love for culture or arts.
They're dirty, nasty, selfish and mean.
They'd sell their own mothers for a black jelly bean.
They don't do lemonade stands and they don't mow lawns.
They'll ransack your rec room for something to pawn.
They'll name a dog kitty and they'll name a cat Rover
and they'll watch Disney videos over and over
until you scream "That's it! Enough! I am quitting!
This is the last time I agree to babysitting!"

Milestones

2003: The infamous "Battle of the Bulge" breaks out at when office wench Ivana Folger-Balzac mistakes Ramrod Hurley's beerbelly for a birthing alien larvae and sets into the Acting-Editor with a can opener. The skirmish and resultant standoff lasts 18 hours and claims the lives of several Crochet! magazine staffers, for whom the commune observes a moment of near-silence.

Now Hiring

Sexecutioner. Why does everybody keep laughing when we say that? We need a dude who can kill some fucking people in an official capacity, okay? What's so funny about that? You guys are sick. Anyway, pay commensurate to experience. Must provide own mask, axe, electric chair, whatever floats your boat.

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