So I was sitting on my parent's john flipping through the only available reading material, Country Woman
magazine. I've never gotten so angry on a toilet. You would not believe the garbage they print. A few nice "reminiscence" articles about how great life was before penicillin
, a well-worded advertisement for backhoes, and the rest is asinine, poorly-thought-out fluffy scraps. Prose that stumbles around a bit before it topples over and dies
in a big stinky heap. Plodding, kindergarten-level poetry that insists on rhyming and is almost
as challenging as a nice brief nap. I said to myself, you can do better than this. OR . . . you can do worse
And oh yes, someone is paying me for the right to publish this in an actual magazine, glossy cover and all, circulation two million.
See the scarecrow in the field
Scaring off the crows?
Where'd he get that awful hat?
Bet your grandpa knows.
And the gaudy shirt he wears -
Orange as a carrot!
Ask your father why it's there.
He certainly won't wear it.
Checkered pants in blue and green,
Colorful and bright.
Earrings, gloves, a spotted tie,
And not a crow in sight.
What's the secret - how to shoo
Those birds upon the fence?
"Very simple," Scarecrow says,
"Offend their fashion sense!"