A crooked little crickets'
nose ran. He ran to pick it;
slid on a peel--banana.
They wound up in Havana
until Casto picked his nose.
"What horrid, little creature
has 'this' thing as a feature?"
Crick was unknown in Cuba--
threw it into a tuba.
When 'it' played, the nose rose, blew.
The musician had to run
(they though him rude, makin' fun)
and, Shirley, the nose, ran too.
The little cricket then knew
he had no choice -- got tissue.
He caught Shirley a runnin'
but was tired of a chasin'.
Ketched her! Then came vacation,
high-jacked, went to Havana
until Castro blew his nose.
Stories Worth Wiping Your A** With
Whether you're making a deposit at the stank bank, dropping a return at the squat shop, or conducting a brown business meeting, these perfectly timed tales provide the literary fragrance your privacy deserves. F
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Leland