29 June 2012

Adventures in Nationals: The Tale of Frazzy McToots

This Mother's Day I was planning make something sweet and innocent.

I also planned to gallop into Iraq and establish myself as world dictator.

From experience, my plans don't usually work.

I was going to make an artsy little design on a grocery bag, but I ran out of gold-glitter, and with only Sharpies at my disposal, I conceded myself to writing a poem about a rooster who wanted to fly. However, the plot seemed painfully unresolved by the time I had reached the bottom-right corner, so I forsook my grocery bag in favor of a second Epic of Gilgamesh. It was actually completed at Nationals with my friend Nathan and performed for the first time before the Washington state (dinner's entertainment). Nonetheless, this one is for my mom. HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY MOM, LOVE, YOUR SON.

The Implied Birth, Childhood, Adolescence, Marriage, Divorce, Life, and eventual Death of Frazzy McToots by Raymond Dokupil and Nathan Quick

Just last week in the land of Galoots
Where everyone wears shiny brass buckle boots
There ticked an old clock
Wherein lived a cock
Whose name was called
Mr. Frazzy McToots.

Now Frazzy was special
No conventional cock
He wore a green satchel
With a seven-pound rock
Every morning he dropped
That rock down to the town
To make sure that it stopped
When it came to the ground

Now the old rooster hoped
With eager expectancy
That the rock would revoke
It's response to the gravity
He was always distraught
As the rock careened down
That it fell like it ought
Instead of flying around.

"Floobit!" cried the rooster.
"Why, Newton was right!
If I don't get a booster
I don't get a flight!"
For Frazzy knew well that as long as it fell
His hopes would be heaven, his tears would be hell.

One one fine autumn morning
There walked down the street
A large man adorning
Six pounds of bear meat
He carried a broadsword
With a dragon-head hilt
He was a Mongolian Warlord
Named Kazzahdavadilt.

His muscles were bulky, his senses were sharp
His nose was like iron, his voice like a harp
He started World Wars three through seven
Let us just say his home is not heaven.

He stormed madly down the red cobblestone road
He cursed like a sailor and looked like a toad
As he stomped on a cricket whose name was Pristine
Frazzy was starting his daily routine!
He white-washed his molars and slicked back his feathers
Chucked a rock out the window and began his endeavors

Frazzy wolfed down his toast and his eggs
He pulled on his sweater and gold-plated kilt
He slipped pink knit stockings over his legs
And then crossed his chest with the cross he had built.

He swooned down the stairs to check on his stone
He prayed fervently his mineral had flown
As he reached the bottom, his heart wend Ker-Thump
His rock was sitting on a Mongolian lump.

He chewed on the bear skin and checked the man's pulse
He did CPR as his body convulsed
But beaks are not made for this type of affection
He began to have doubts of the man's resurrection.

Then Kazzahdavadilt shot up with a grin
He crossed his chest and became a Christian!
With fervor he said, "I've been born again!
The loving Lord Jesus has pardoned my sin!"

Frazzy never flew but his he discovered
The cruelest of Warlords can still be recovered
As for Kazzahdavadilt, he became a landscaper
He liked to eat mangos and chew purple paper.
This story has something in it for you too
The events of this tale are actually false.


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