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The Raccoon Killer

by Violet Tiara
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November 24, 2003
On golden gilded lapis lazuli
the gnome was homely, old and plain.
Byzantine tattoos on his brain
made him think the world insane.

"Lichens liken to Vicodin dreams…
rolled oats, old goats, matriarchs."
A Chicano girl named Rosa Parks
mumbled something in the dark.

"I am the Duke of lukewarm duke,"
he tried the title on for size.
Mercury tears welled up in his eyes,
round and hot like blueberry pies.

"I am the size of the simpleton skies?"
he ventured a stab at identity.
A raccoon laughed down from a tree
remembering something he saw on TV.

"It is no use, I have no use,
I'm decidedly uninteresting."
Bees flew by, to sting something
more interesting than he.

The sun went down like a hooker on a clown
and the night gave the gnome no relief.
He sat in the dark with his lack of a spark
as the raccoon teased "Where's the beef?"

And the morning was the same as the frogs called his name
and the dragonflies dragged things about.
The crickets sang a song and the raccoon hummed along
as the gnome thumbed all of his nose hairs in doubt.

By the noontime it was bright as the land was drenched in light
but in darkness the gnome sat darkly in despair
The raccoon said while yawning the gnome held no hope of spawning
"And by the way you are losing your hair."

Something snapped and in the shock the gnome bent and picked a rock
which with a mighty flinging fling he flung it.
And when all was done and said the raccoon was stone dead
before the gnome had really realized he'd done it.

Seeing the raccoon lying stiff though did not cause a tear of whiff
inside the gnome who rather felt quite cheery.
For he'd found it, don't you see? Finally found a thing to be.
"Raccoon Killer? Now that doesn't sound so dreary!"


Quote of the Day
“Don't run if you can walk. Don't walk if you can stand. Don't stand if you can sit. Don't sit if you can lie down. Don't like down if you can sleep. Don't sleep if you can be put into a medically induced coma. Don't be put into a medically induced coma if you can kick back in an iron lung and have machines shit for you. Don't do any of that if golf is on TV.”

-Lazy Larry Lisbaine
Fortune 500 Cookie
You're gonna die this week. Sorry we couldn't put a more clever spin on that. In the meantime, try pouring sugar on your cereal instead of milk. Fuck it, what's anybody gonna do about it now? If it's any consolation, almost everyone in the world doesn't know you're alive anyway. This week's lucky coffin models: Dirt Rocket III, Econo-Sarcophagus Jr, The Spruce Moose, Office Max Moving Box Model 223117, The Bobsled to Hell, Spring-Loaded Jokester's Delight, Seventh Generation Biodegradable Grandma Sack, foot locker in your ex-boyfriend's closet.

Try again later.
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