A Little Collection of
by Scott Emmons
illustrated by Chris Harding
Weird but True
E-Z Weight Loss Plan
(Special thanks to Wendy M.)
A diet is always unpleasant.
It's a pain, a vexation, a chore.
But though it's a hassle at present,
It was easy in '74.
Back then there were marvelous dishes
Refresher" in jelly.
There were "balls"
from the leanest of fishes
And something they called "Mackerelly."
There were salads like "Rosy
The big guns in the war against fat.
One look at this gruesome selection
Would squash any appetite flat!
In Kokomo, deep in the land of the Hoosiers,
The mood has been recently somber and glum.
The town is renowned for an unexplained sound
That's known to the press as the Kokomo Hum.
Hummm, Hummm, the Kokomo Hum,
The weird and mysterious Kokomo Hum.
Some say it's a sound like the idle of engines;
To some it compares with a bull moose's call;
Some say it's a tone like a bumblebee's drone,
Though many report they hear nothing at all.
A few are afflicted with headaches or fever.
It renders them dizzy, dyspeptic and numb.
Enlightened physicians say chronic conditions
Can often be traced to the Kokomo Hum.
Hummm, Hummm, those who succumb
Are sapped of their strength by the Kokomo Hum.
Now, no one has offered a sound explanation.
Authorities haven't been eager to try.
Perhaps it's a secret defense installation,
Or possibly little green men from the sky.
It could be a sinister plot by the Masons,
But those in the know have been keeping it mum.
A conspiracy buff will find more than enough
To busy his brain in the Kokomo Hum.
Hummm, Hummm, where is it from?
What genius can fathom the Kokomo Hum?
There's a rare, exotic coffee bean
whose praise is widely sung.
It grows in Indonesia
Where it's found in wildcats' dung.
The coffee experts call it
The most precious bean around.
It fetches at a minimum
Two hundred bucks a pound!
So when you're at the coffee shop,
You'll surely be a hit
If you simply tell the waitress
That her coffee tastes like shit.
At the end of the day, when your labors are done,
When your energy's waned with the rays of the sun,
Just curl up in comfort, extinguish the lights,
And try to forget that you're sleeping with mites!
Too tiny to see, they've infested your bed.
They're there by the millions, both living and dead.
They creep on your belly, they crawl on your head.
They feast on your oils and the skin that you shed.
Your pillow's replete with their droppings, it's said,
And they don't give a damn, for they're very ill-bred!
Now it's likely to give you a case of the jitters
To think that you're sharing your bed with such critters.
So rather than suffer through long, sleepless nights,
Relax and forget that you're sleeping with mites!
All written content on this site ©2002-2003 Scott W. Emmons