Mumbo Jumbo Makes a Watery Stew (with Reading Instructions for Easy Enjoyment)

Though this is a poem, not a song, it is best read to the tune of any Rammstein song, out loud, in a crowded room. With a German accent. And, of course, lots of weird facial expressions.

Glockenspiel...
Glockenspiel...

Hocus pocus, glockenspiel.
Riki Tiki Tavi makes me squeal.
Hey this pickle, is it dill?
My testicles they feel unreal.

Ixnay on the Obi Wan!
{My best friend's dog is Genghis Khan.}
For a Star Wars theme now mention Han...
The Falcon, she's an ugly swan.

Mumbo jumbo hullabaloo.
Did you know my love is true?
It's not my fault. I'm rubber glue.
I bounce around but stick to you.
DO NOT SAY THIS LINE JUST POINT AT RANDOM PEOPLE:
[And you.} <And you.> |And you.|

Can you taste the atmosphere?
Feel the heartbeats getting near?
WHISPER THIS LINE IN A SPOOKY VOICE:
Do you know the thing you fear?
NOW SCREAM THIS LINE AT THE NEXT PERSON WHO WALKS BY:
Harshest pain or warmest beer?
FOLLOW THE PERSON WITH YOUR EYES AS THEY RUN AWAY.

Don't ask questions. Live the lie.
And if you question, don't ask why
That angry man he had to die.
I love the glow of a napalm sky.

Some random object...
Some random object...

Cadavers dance upon the throne.
Bill Bixby has an ice cream cone.
LICK SOME RANDOM NEARBY OBJECT AS IF IT WERE AN ICE CREAM CONE.
Who built the Arc? Hey, was it Joan?
NOW LOOK AT OBJECT YOU LICKED AS IF DISGUSTED THEN LOOK AROUND BLANKLY AS IF TO SAY, "HEY, THAT WASN'T ME THAT LICKED THAT."
Now suddenly I feel alone.

Porky Pig likes barbecue.
I wonder how he'd season you?
Paprika, just a pinch or two?
He thinks you'd make a tasty stew.
LICK YOUR LIPS AS CONTEMPLATING A TASTY PLATE OF PORK.
VEGANS AND VEGETARIANS SUBSTITUTE... OH, NEVER MIND. I'M SURE I LOST YOU AT BARBECUE...


LOOK AROUND AS IF PARANOID.
Someone out there's watching me.
Or could it be insanity?
But I'm not crazy, don't you see?
STAND UP AND START PLAYING AIR GUITAR TO A RANDOM RAMMSTEIN SONG. (NOW YOU SEE WHY I SUGGESTED SINGING AS A RAMMSTEIN SONG TO START WITH.)
It's just my mind is finally...
DRAMATIC PAUSE... THEN IN A REALLY HIGH-PITCHED VOICE WHILE STRIKING A DRAMATIC ROCK STAR POSE:
FREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!

Freedom is an ugly curse.
DISPLAY PICTURES OF AMERICAN FLAGS, PICNICS AND SMALL CHILDREN PLAYING. (HOPE YOU CAME PREPARED FOR YOUR PRESENTATION.)
But tyranny is even worse.
NOW SHOW IMAGES OF HITLER, STALIN, CASTRO and BUSH (EITHER ONE)/OBAMA DEPENDING ON YOUR POLITICAL LEANINGS. FLIP A COIN IF YOU THINK THEY ARE ALL THE SAME.
Either way it fills the purse,
YOU ARE PRETENDING YOU HAVE A DISPLAY IF YOU DID FORGET TO BRING ONE, AREN'T YOU?
Fills the tank and fills the hearse.
IT'S IMPORTANT.

The kid that gets to play no game...
The kid that gets to play no game...

I know the rules but play no game.
SHAKE HEAD "NO" WHILE LOOKING CONTEMPLATIVE AS IF REMEMBERING A TIME WHEN YOU DID PLAY THE GAME.
I know the face; forget the name.
You are not the one you claim.
POINT ACCUSINGLY AT SOMEONE IN "AUTHORITY".
Your secret safe within your shame.
WINK AT THE PERSON YOU POINTED AT AS IF YOU SHARE A SECRET.

Spirits that are tempting you
Mesmerize you with voodoo.
HAVE YOUR BACK-UP POETS SHOUT "BOO! HERE AND GENUINELY STARTLE YOU. DO NOT LOOK AT THEM YET, HOWEVER. THEN THE BACK-UP POETS NOD WHILE RECITING THE NEXT LINE:
You are a pawn of you-know-who.
It isn't AIDS, it's just the flu.
BACK-UP POETS SHOULD COVER THEIR MOUTHS WITH THEIR HANDS WHILE LOOKING SHOCKED. THIS SHOULD BE THE POINT YOU NOTICE BACK-UP POETS WHO HAVE, OF COURSE, BEEN THERE ALL ALONG.

TURN ACCUSINGLY TOWARD BACK-UP POETS.
Who are you weirdos mocking me?
Get out of here, now go quickly!
SHOO AWAY BACK-UP POETS BUT THEY DO NOT MOVE.
Oh wait a sec, who has my key?
THIS IS BACK-UP POETS CUE TO RUN AWAY. OR MAYBE THEY SHOULD SKIP. YEAH, THAT WOULD BE BETTER. THEY SKIP AWAY.
So this is how it's gonna be?
START THROWING THINGS AT FLEEING BACK-UP POETS. WHEN YOU PICK UP THE RANDOM OBJECT YOU LICKED EARLIER, PAUSE AND LICK IT AGAIN BEFORE TOSSING IT AT THE FLEEING BACK-UP POETS.

Guess I knew it all along.
Before I even wrote this song.
I meant "poem"! Ban ping-pong!
Google this: (PAUSE) Falun Gong!

Hocus pocus, glockenspiel.
You must have had some time to kill.
You made it through, hey, what's the deal?
My testicles still feel unreal.
REPEAT LAST LINE A LITTLE SOFTER EACH TIME FOR ABOUT A DOZEN TIMES LIKE A RECORD FADING OUT. FOR BEST EFFECT ,HAVE SOME CRINKLE PAPER TO GIVE IT THAT ANALOG / VINYL SOUND

The End. Or something much like it.

What do you think of this poem?

  • It must be removed for the sake of national security. This cannot go public!
  • It whispers sweet nothings in my ear while drawing lines on my wrist with a razor.
  • It haunts my dreams though I no longer sleep. I am as one with these words.
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Comments 1 comment

theMag 5 years ago

Performance art in written form. Dig!

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