TATI’s & TONY’s DEAD POET TOUR // The Garden Patch by Paul Cameron Brown

Gourd was taken to task when she understood the limitations the garden patch had placed upon her people.

It was early fall and the dancers of the vegetable kingdom paraded their charms in bright, full regalia. Across the earth in splotches of colour, the tomatoes scented a good fall. So, too, the kingly husks of corn and the melons, spinach and cucumber in turn eyed the approaching season in growing faith. Each had a succulent function and dangled their inviting flesh to the beholder.

But, alas, what did gourd promise? She was deeply conscious of lacking the forward brightness of tomato and pumpkin. She lacked leafy greens so evidently prized and when her fellow vegetables covered the brown soil in preparation for the fine day they would bask across a kitchen table, it was almost too much for the sensitive gourd to stomach. Why even squash, which she felt closest to, had more of a function than she. So versatile did the big neighbour seem in comparison to herself, the ugly dwarf.

She was on the verge of casting herself in despair across the rickety fence or joining the long, black embers of a dead fire young boys had prepared months back. Surely, she was the outcast of the plant world. How grotesque her features were, so hard and unpliable seemed her flesh. Even her skin tones were half-caste. No recipes called for her presence. A mood of growing helplessness seemed to envelop her.

A boy, the earlier fire setter, is describing an odd vegetable, tubular and often misshapen, that was excellent for all sorts of childhood pursuits – making paperweights, building scarecrows and decorating mantles.

“If only people knew,” he bubbles.

“Still more success stories,” the little gourd cries on hearing the child’s comment.

“At least I won’t have to be humbled in her presence,” the gourd thought, her self confidence shattered.

And with that the little gourd approached the Vegetable King and asked to use her remaining wish. For in those days all living things were handed one means for improving themselves.

“I resolve to be a new edible,” she sighed, “something other than a gnomish gourd. Make, O King, a glorious . . . pumpkin.” But the Vegetable King decided not to abandon his earlier invention and so gourds live on. Distant relatives of the bright, new pumpkin, but their inspiration nonetheless.

by PAUL CAMERON BROWN (?-?)
Public Domain Poetry

SPAM® Sushi #19

Don’t disregard to factor in the costs and benefits to your loved ones close-mouthed friends and classification as amply as deal with associates who are feigned by way of your baleful behaviour.
— SaturasIntagorgo

Dear SaturasIntagorgo,
There are certainly benefits to using our loved ones and close-mouthed friends to cover up our baleful deeds, and we never miss an opportunity. We always wear gloves with their fingerprints on them, and carry samples of their DNA (they’ll think twice about spitting in our faces next time!).
Right now we’re going to sneak into the kitchen and commit another crime of the century—pick the chocolate chips out of all the cookies—and none of the proof we leave behind will point to us. (Of course, we could do this after our loved ones and close-mouthed friends unlock the closet where they’ve detained us because they’ve decided to overlook our baleful behaviour.)
— Tati & Tony (Two Astonished Miscreants Who Cannot Believe That a Close-mouthed Person Can Even Spit)

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2021

TATI’s & TONY’s DEAD POET TOUR // A Short Hymn To Venus. by Robert Herrick

Goddess, I do love a girl,
Ruby-lipp’d and tooth’d with pearl;
If so be I may but prove
Lucky in this maid I love,
I will promise there shall be
Myrtles offer’d up to thee.

by ROBERT HERRICK (1591-1674)
Public Domain Poetry

TATI’s & TONY’s DEAD POET TOUR // Fringford Brook by Violet Jacob

The willows stand by Fringford brook,
From Fringford up to Hethe,
Sun on their cloudy silver heads,
And shadow underneath.

They ripple to the silent airs
That stir the lazy day,
Now whitened by their passing hands,
Now turned again to grey.

The slim marsh-thistle’s purple plume
Droops tasselled on the stem,
The golden hawkweeds pierce like flame
The grass that harbours them;

Long drowning tresses of the weeds
Trail where the stream is slow,
The vapoured mauves of water-mint
Melt in the pools below;

Serenely soft September sheds
On earth her slumberous look,
The heartbreak of an anguished world
Throbs not by Fringford brook.

All peace is here. Beyond our range,
Yet ‘neath the selfsame sky,
The boys that knew these fields of home
By Flemish willows lie.

They waded in the sun-shot flow,
They loitered in the shade,
Who trod the heavy road of death,
Jesting and unafraid.

Peace! What of peace? This glimpse of peace
Lies at the heart of pain,
For respite, ere the spirit’s load
We stoop to lift again.

O load of grief, of faith, of wrath,
Of patient, quenchless will,
Till God shall ease us of your weight
We’ll bear you higher still!

O ghosts that walk by Fringford brook,
‘Tis more than peace you give,
For you, who knew so well to die,
Shall teach us how to live.

by VIOLET JACOB (1863-1946)
Public Domain Poetry

SOAPBOX TNT // Twinkle Tush

TATI: Tony, are you ashamed of your anus?

TONY: Say what now?!

TATI: It’s this little thingy between your buttocks that you use fo—

TONY: Are we talking about buttholes or little thingies?! Those are entirely different body parts, you know!

TATI: Tony, I am aware of male anatomy. Could you please be serious for a moment?

TONY: Sorry.

TATI: So… are you ashamed of your anus or not?

TONY: Oh, so this is what you call being serious, huh? Well, anyway, I’m not ashamed of my anus. But I don’t go flashing it about in public either.

TATI: Well, that’s because you just don’t know about a certain something that can make your butthole flash, twinkle and shine bright like a diamond!

TONY: Why would I want my butthole to go off like fireworks at a Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade? That sounds pretty tacky.

TATI: Tony, you’re so old-fashioned. Now even cats wear it!

(Tati takes something small out of her pocket and tries to place it in Tony’s arse.)

TATI: Boom! Twinkle Tush!

(Tony, quite naturally, jumps away in surprise.)

TONY: Winkle what?!

TATI: You’re welcome! Now you can bathe in the warm rays of fame and hero worship!

TONY: More like in a river of shit! Yuck!

TATI: You’re so hard to please! Just look at this cat. It looks so happy! You can be happy too!


TONY:
I’m not a freakin’ cat!

TATI: Well, it’s not my problem if you don’t want to be shiny and famous.

TONY: Okay, real talk here. Don’t you think it’s a form of animal abuse to be plugging up kitty bungholes? I do!

TATI: It’s not a butt plug! Just an elegant ass pendant. Do you think that is more abusive than a leash or a flea collar?

TONY: Oh! I thought it was something they were inserting in them. My mistake…

TATI: So, does this mean you change your mind and that you would like to own this shiny thing after all?

TONY: That’s a hard NO. Even if it’s not strictly abusive, it’s still as tacky as hell! And do you mean to tell me that you applaud something like this?

TATI: Honestly, I think it’s way better than piercing or tattooing animals, for example. Or docking their ears and tails for the sake of weird breeding standards that people invented for want of something better to do.

TONY: Look, since you put it like that then I have to agree. But I do think that an animal needs to have its dignity too. Is the sparkly anus cover really for its benefit or for the owner’s vanity?

TATI: Funny, the manufacturer of the Twinkle Tush says it was made exactly for keeping cats’ dignity, because they are supposedly ashamed to exhibit their naughty bits to public view.

TONY: Well, that’s not been my experience. Every cat I’ve ever met couldn’t wait to show me its anus. I never knew whether they wanted me to take a sniff or just be offended. And anyway, do cats ever think of their ‘naughty’ bits as something to be ashamed of? Isn’t shame purely a human construct?

TATI: I actually agree with you. Maybe they’ve never owned a real cat?

TONY: Perhaps not. Anyway, I think we project far too many human traits onto our furry friends. They don’t want our tattoos. They don’t want to wear cute little clothes. They don’t want anal bling! They just want to lick their genitals then go about their day.

TATI: Amen to that! Hey, where is the twinkle tush thingy?

TONY: How would I know? You were the one holding it!

TATI: You took it, didn’t you? Don’t tell me you’re not fond of tiny shiny things, Tony! I’ve seen your perverted collection!

TONY: Those are MARBLES, Tati, not glittery sphincter covers. There’s a pretty big difference, you know!

TATI: Then where is it, smarty pants?

TONY: Oh, look! See that magpie up on the roof there?

TATI: Hey! You feathery thieving freak! Bring that back right now! I paid a whole six bucks for it!

TONY: Wow. Such a wise expenditure of precious pocket money there, Tati. Bravo.

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2021