Blondicup - A play

[I wrote this for my daughter to perform with her friends on her eighth birthday. The kids were all quite young and the goal was to write something that they could memorize with just one rehearsal. Everyone performed their lines. . . and all had a laugh!]

BLONDICUP

A Tale of Woe that Ends Well

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

The Royal Palace:

King Notagenius
King's Fools, Eatsalot, Fartsalot
Queen Cholera
Queen's Maids, Coca, Cola
Princess: Blondicup
Blondicup's Godmother
Sheriff Rubberdagger
Knight Robin
Guards

Goober Palace:

Baron Von Pickenguber
Lord Billybob
Boomslang Man -  in Snake Costume preferably green

Chorus

******

INTRODUCTIONS

CHORUS:
Welcome to our play,
You’ll see it is small.
But I hope you’ll find it’s not silly at all.
Here is our cast, you’ll see it is big,
Yet not one of us is wearing a wig.
I am your Chorus, though I am just one,
Pretend I’m a hundred - it’ll be a lot more fun!

NOTAGENIUS
I’m King Notagenius. Some call me the King of Hearts.
I have two fools, one who eats, and one who farts.  [Fartsalot toots loudly!]

EATSALOT
I’m Eatsalot. I prefer to be called advisor to the king, on matters of eating! [He chomps an apple!]

FARTSALOT
I’m Fartsalot. My name doesn’t mean a thing. [He toots loudly again.]

CHOLERA:
I’m Queen Cholera. I’m plotting to take over the realm and marry the King.

COCA & COLA:
We’re Coca and Cola, royal maids,
Hand servants to the Queen of Spades.

BLONDICUP:
The King’s my father, I’m the Princess,
My real mother unfortunately, has been laid to rest.

GODMOTHER
I’m the godmother to the royal heir
I am entrusted with her care.

CHORUS:
Far on the other side of the land
A dark castle does stand
The Baron there eats most anything,
He’s known as Pickenguber, an awful name if you ask me,
He doesn’t care - he’s Aristocracy!

PICKENGUBER:
I’m Baron Von Pickenguber, and this is Lord Billybob.

BILLYBOB
Hello!!  I’m getting braces one of these days.

SHERIFF RUBBERDAGGER
I’m Sheriff Rubberdagger.
How do you like my manly swagger?
Wicked crimes I’m meant to stop
But actually I’m just a cop.

KNIGHT ROBIN
I”m Knight Robin, the hero of the land.
I seek to slay the monster Boomslang,  . . . who is half snake, half man.
But I prefer reading poetry, mostly at night
To a lovely princess, all dressed in white.

BOOMSLANG MAN
I’m Boomslang.
My mother was a goddess, my father was a snake.
What a tragedy, when me they did make.

CHORUS:
Enough introductions. Let the play begin!


SCENE I - At the King’s Palace

CHORUS:   Princess Blondicup has been taken from the opera, by men in masks.
Rumor has it she’s in the dungeon at Goober Palace, alas, alas.
They’ve taken her godmother too.
God only knows what they’ll do.

Queen Cholera, Coca, and Cola enter stage left crying.

COLA: I hardly have the nerve to tell our King.

COCA: He’ll die of grief the poor man.

CHOLERA: [In a low voice]  Good riddance if you ask me. That little squirt of a princess was getting a little too big for her britches.

[Loudly, in her normal voice]   Oh No! Our most beautiful princess!

Notagenius enters stage right,

NOTAGENIUS: What’s the fuss about?

COLA: Our lovely princess taken from beneath our very eyes. But fear not - I’ve sent Sheriff Rubberdagger to go and find her.

Weeping, all exit stage left except Notagenius.

NOTAGENIUS:
Our Blondicup more lovely than the stars above
And more peaceful than the quietest dove.
What cruel man or beast
Should now upon my daughter feast

Curtain


SCENE II - At Goober Castle

Baron Von Pickenguber paces back and forth. Next to him stands Billybob.
Suddenly there is a knock at the door.

BILLYBOB: It’s that traitorous sheriff, Rubberdagger.

PICKENGUBER: [hard of hearing] What?

BILLYBOB: I  s-a-i-d  I-t-’s  R-u-b-b-e-r-d-a-g-g-e-r!!

PICKENGUBER: Let him in.

Rubberdagger enters, with Blondicup and her Godmother, held at his side.

RUBBERDAGGER: I’m here to collect my reward, for Blondicup.

PICKENGUBER: Here’s your money, and be off.

RUBBERDAGGER: And, remember your promise.

PICKENGUBER: [loosening dentures] Yes, yes.

RUBBERDAGGER:  [to the audience]
The Queen takes power with evil plots,
She’ll marry the one who eats his snots!

Alas the  king will have to die
In order to keep his daughter alive.
The Princess will be married to the man of no teeth,
With dentures that smell of rotten beef!

Yours truly will become a Lord
And trade this dagger for a sword.                         He exits..

PICKENGUBER: How are the marriage preparations going?

BILLYBOB: Very well your Excellency. You will be married to the Queen as soon as the king gives up his throne. And I’ll be wed to Blondicup at the same time.

BLONDICUP: I’ll never marry you, you horrible man, not as long as there’s a breath left in this frail body. . .

PICKENGUBER: [angrily] What insolence. Give her to Boomslang. That’ll change her mind..

CHORUS: No, not Boomslang!

Somber slithery music as Boomslang man enters stage left, half-man, half-snake.

BOOMSLANG:
Slither hither if you please . . .
It’s your body I’d like to squeeze.
There’s no death that can match
The thrill of sliding down my hatch

BLONDICUP: Oh how horrible. How horrible.

CHORUS: Poor Blondicup. Who will rescue her in this dark hour?

Curtain


SCENE III - The Palace

King Notagenius sits alone on the stage.

NOTAGENIUS:
What should I do what should I do?
Normally I would consult my fools.
Though this sounds absurd,
My fools have less sense than an ordinary bird.

But call them anyway, I’ll listen to what they say.
Then I’ll do the opposite, that way I’ll play.

Call Eatsalot and Fartsalot!

CHORUS: Yes. Call Eatsalot and Fartsalot !!!!

Eatsalot and Fartsalot enter stage left, one lugging his belly and eating a carrot, the other farting prodigiously.

NOTAGENIUS:
You’ve heard the news now pay your dues
Think of a way to rescue our muse.

Fartsalot and Eatsalot huddle together:

EATSALOT and FARTSALOT:
What can we do for you good king. [Munch, Munch!] Yes, [Burrp!] what can we do? That is, besides what we do already? Unrescuable. Yes my lord. She’s un-rescue-able. Nothing can be done. Nothing at all.

NOTAGENIUS:
I thank you for your advice, it may save the day
Good ideas from two lumps of clay.

Get me Knight Robin!

CHORUS:  Yes! Knight Robin. Knight Robin!

COCA: Knight Robin,
that lovely prince,
Is out slaying monsters
That would make you wince.

NOTAGENIUS: Get him anyway.

COLA: When you get him,
Could you have him stay.
And have him say a line or two
In our play?

Eatsalot and Farstalot reappear with Knight Robin.

ROBIN:
My lord. I’ve heard the news and have a plan.
But to execute it I must scram.
To Goober Palace I must go, and save our princess from her woe.

Curtain


SCENE IV - In the Forest outside Goober Castle.

On a road outside of town. QUEEN, CHOLERA, THE PRINCESS, RUBBERDAGGER and BOOMSLANG.

CHOLERA: Now my little princess, you’ll do as I say,
You’ll marry Lord Billybob, or you’ll die today
Boomslang will eat you for his midday lunch
And I’ll drink your blood as refreshing punch.

GODMOTHER: She will not! Her father will rescue her just you wait.

SIR ROBIN: Hark who goes there?

ROBIN: Ahha I should have known
Cholera you have plotted against the throne.
And Rubberdagger, the sheriff of this land,
An assistant to her evil hand.
he pulls his sword . . .
Out sword of steel,  be true,
And cut that knife of latex through.

Rubberdagger and Robin fight. Rubberdagger falls.

ROBIN: Boomslang, you and I finally meet,
And lucky you, you get to sleep.

He kills the Monster.


Notagenius, followed by Guards, who have apprehended Pickenguber and Billybob.

NOTAGENIUS:
Tie them up and take them down.
To the dungeon below the town.

Guards lead the guilty parties away.

Godmother takes her place beside the king, the Princess takes Knight Robin’s hand. 
They are flanked by Coca and Cola. Eatsalot, and Fartsalot.

ROBIN:
Call the minstrels, let’s not debate,
For indeed we have much to celebrate.
Pour the wine, slaughter the ox,
Sing praise to our king, the wily fox.
Let’s remember our queen, who to the dungeon went.
And our princess so sweet, and innocent.                                   Exeunt

 Finis

PROP LIST
Rubber Dagger
Silver Sword - (cardboard & tinfoil)
Knight’s Shield and Helmet
Big Snake Tail
 False Teeth
Crown
Top-hats
Scarves
Money


SOUND FX
Whoopie Cushion
Drums

Land of Sindh

I'm walking to Bharat's salty pans, 

Going to meet my Guju gal, 

I'm walking to the Ranns near Pakistan, 

To the deserts of Kutch and sal'. 

I'm going to the sands near Burton's Sindh, 

Where 'A Thousand and One Nights' was first inspired, 

I'll study him, and see how his women are livin', 

In the lands of sea, snake, and chai. 

I'll wander about Ahmed's souks,

Where shops are the size of a bug.

Spend some time buying cotton threads,

And maybe even spring for a rug.

I'll go to the Sultan's marble abode,

And the temple below his city.

I'll follow the Shah to his Islam below,

And study his hareem's poetry.

The Amir will take me birding,

Out there on those salty pans,

He's got a fast falcon that he's learning,

And an equally fast pair of hounds.

I'll catch me a Nagar tiger

Out there on that salty bog.

Maybe I'll snatch some gold from her fire,

Maybe I'll see a hare chase a dog!

I'll stroll with Amir and Amiri,

By the shores of the Sabarmati,

Then back to old Mumbai,

To visit pals at Merchant-Ivory.

Then stop to watch some cricket,

In the dust of that CCI club.

I'll drink mint tea, and mumble a plea,

To have it in a glass that's been scrubbed.

When I meet my yoginis at Coba,

I'll be Nāgá'd by number one Muse.

We'll go sneaking in tandem for Cobras,

'It will confuse her if I don't bring my shoes.

"Do you reckon I'm a Nagar Tiger?
"You see me naked out here in the cold?
"It's freezing here in Tiger valley!
"My crotch is needing more gold!"

Now I'm the Shah of Ahmedabad,
I've brought over my daughter and son.
But I'm really just a Connecticut Yankee,
Who happened to shoot a hare with a gun.

I'll walk barefoot down by the river,

The women of the desert go there to wail,

They peddle me used tins of cooking oil,

To ship my sculptures back home to Yale.

Scheherazade tells me her stories,
From dusk right through to the dawn.
She's got me ensnared, in the plots that's she's bared -
I'll postpone her execution.

The birds call out time to do yoga,

At first light of the desert morn.

Down his hole goes that old King Cobra,

Singing that ohm-filled song . . . 

"I'm going to Bharat's salty pans!

"I'm going to the Ran of Kutch!

"I'm going to catch me a Nagar Tiger!

"In rolling deserts of cactus and Bhuj!"


[Hindi transliteration , also my Muse comments on this piece, I respond.]

Dance, Danielle Cebilia Duce

I’ll dance a Duce dance,
4 Danielle Cebilia Duce,
U’ll C all I'll dance 4 U,
And C U do a Duce dance 2, Danielle,
In D, A, N, I, E, L, C, U , B,
Danielle Cebilia Duce.

Chorus: "Danielle Cebilia Duce!"

I call Danielle Duce a 'belle'.
Danielle Duce, nice an edible!
I'n a lance Danielle, a dunce,
A banana, an Indiana blade,
A baba, o' DNA.
. . . Eden-ce lucid dude,
An alien Anniellidae!

"An alien Annie - il - li- dae!"

Blend a Cuban dance Danielle,
U decide, u include,
A dance Danielle, in Danube?
Blend a Cuban dance Danielle
In Albania, an Indian audience?

"In Albania, an Indian audience!"

A double bill, Danielle, in Dublin?
Inland in Adelaide?
Dance nine dance'c, in Indiana.
I C U In Cuba, Duce’ll be lauded!
Danielle Duce dance-c bald-ed!
'Danielle Duce dance in balance,'
'In Iceland, Duce danced in abundance.'

"Dance, Danielle n' abundance!"

Bubblin’ bud in Benin!
Bellad’nna nuance’d in Dunedin.
LcD in Lublin! . . . E’ Duce?
Danced in cadence, in Be’lin.
4 ‘en Duce dance’c ended,
Duce and I’ll be bible-banded.

"Duce and I will be bible-banded."

'Ce a bull banana bubaline?
A banded bulbul alaudine?
Duce, I been blinded bad!
I c u cuculine, Danielle Duce,
A biblical linen bible Danielle,
I'll c u bible-banded.

"I'll c u bible-banded."

Danielle Duce, I’ll be candide,
I bubble bud, inbibe LcD.
I need U nice, I need U in’c’an-e
Danielle I cend u a candi-cane,
Nice du be Danielle C-Duced!

"In Danielle Duce I'n C-Duced!"

Lilac and Linden in Canadian land
. . . Dillenia in India,
Albuca, and Caluna,
. . . Uncinia and Cunila
Bulbinella, and Belacanda
Liliaceae and Luculia
. . . . . all Dianella blue!
I bundle all I C 4 U.

" 'E'll bundle all 'e C'ce 4 U!"

I call Danielle Duce ‘belle’,
Danielle Duce, nice an edible!
Oh Danielle, dance nice, be bad!

"Oh Danielle, dance nice, be bad!"

On a bald i’land in Canada, I’ll build ‘e a cabin’
I’ll nail, I’ll build ‘all ‘e need.
I’ll build a den and add a cube,
I’ll build ‘e all ‘e need, Danielle Duce.

" 'E’ll build ‘e all ‘e need Danielle!”

'I ain' Daniel, I ain' lie'n 'n a lion'c den
One nide I’ll lie Danielle nice 'n nude,
Laid in a linen-lace bed,
Danielle Duce, bubie bald.
Danielle, nude, I'll cuddle all!
I'll lie Danielle, on a linen bale,
And laid all 'e need Danielle,
Biblical linen indeed.

"Biblical linen indeed!"

On a bale in Ducie, I'll c Danielle lie . . .
An’ cuddle Daniella nice, do o’ die!
Danielle Duce, nice an edible!
Duce and I do bud’n bubble,
Nice Danielle, nude I cuddle,
In blanc lace, Danielle laid,
A Danielle Duce cub indeed!

“A Danielle Duce cub indeed!”

Danielle and I in'ale a Duce blend.
On cue Danielle! Ideal, in‘c’ane!
An’ ‘en I cuddled Daniella nude in lace,
A bald Daniella dance! Be bad, be nice!

"Oh Daniella! Dance, be bad, be nice!"

Danielle I needed and collided
Danielle Duce and I elided,
And incide Danielle I blended and died!
An’ I’ll be a Dad o’ a Duce cub!

“An' ‘e’ll be a Dad o’ a Duce cub!”

Oh Danielle, dance nice, be bad!
I’ll lied a bale Danielle, in a club
I need u Danielle, I need a Duce Cub!

" 'E need-ce u Danielle, 'E need-ce a Duce Cub!"

An alleale Danielle? A Duce Cub dance?
An alliance, Danielle, a balance,
I’ll n' be clued,
DNA needed, I’ll include . . .

"DNA needed, 'e'll include!"

Blinded, blended, u r undecided?
A clean lab bill liabled,
No aedine blood, no bleed,
Clinic dialed, bled an’ label-eed!
I’ll call a lid o’ DNA on Acid!

“'E'll call a lid o'DNA on Acid!”

Call a cab! ‘n dial a cable!
Danielle Duce ‘ad a bable!
A Duce Dad, I bubble in bud!
I B cub a Duce bundle, a cub Daniel!
I'n a Dad o' a Duce cub!

"E'ce a Dad o' a Duce cub!"

'n a bald Canada i’land,
I’ll build Danielle and Daniel, a cabin.
Danielle Duce I’ll be candid,
In bed I’ll ne b idle!
Nor in nuance, undecided.

"Nor in nuance, undecided."

I’ll nail and build ‘e ‘all ‘e need
‘U undecided Danielle Duce?
A deed I’ll include,
I’ll build a den, and add a cube,
An’ I’ll build all ‘e need, Danielle Duce.

A bible, a Euclid, and Auden.
A bulbul, a dunlin, and a canine cub,
A candle and a bulb, an Aneid, and an Illiad.
A nun in linen, a clue, in lieu . . .
. . . A nannie Danielle’ll need.

“. . . A nannie Danielle’ll need!”

I C Linceed added canned an' blended,
U'll C Aniceed, boiled, blanc-ed and blender-ed,
Cannelli bean, labeled DILL?
Eel ‘n bile, canned, I’n ILL!
U been cucine banned Danielle! I decide!
Danielle ceace! elce I'll die!
Uncinia, nice! Adenia? I'n dead!
Candi-cane 4 Danielle intended.

“A Candi Cane 4 Danielle intended!”

I C U in a band Danielle, I'll C L U a deal!
I C 4 U a label bundled, I’ll du U a CD!
Danielle Duce, and I’ll bubble Cannabaceae!
A Duce Cine Club in Canne indeed!

“A Duce Cine Club in Canne indeed!”

A decade or 3 I’ll abide
I’ll ne dindle in dice,
Ne deal in LcD.
I’ll ne bale, n’ unable be,
Ne abandon ‘e Danielle Duce.
Alibi bi ‘e Danielle, U L C!
I’ll abide bi ‘e Danielle Duce.

" 'E'll abide bi 'e Danielle."

On an I‘land in Canada,
I’ll build ‘e a cabin, and a canine cub.
I’ll nail ‘n build 'e ‘all ‘e need.
I’ll build a den and add a cube,
Danielle can C CNN!
I’ll build ‘e all ‘e need . . . Danielle Cebilia Duce.

‘E’ll build ‘e all ‘e need Danielle . . . Cebilia . . . Duce.”

Poem for Raven . . .

Set a place for Raven Karner,
Tallest daughter of a Texas welder.
She came to model in big New York,
Came to learn the knife and fork.

Raven Karner what a pity,
You think of Texas as a place that’s shitty.
You raise your eyes and talk of God,
Fifth Avenue, and your friends so mod.

Raven Karner, what a shame,
You changed your life, and now your name,
Blame folks and friends back home for acts,
Girl what you need are facts.

Raven Karner, of Dawkins, Texas,
You've got a six-pack solar plexus.
A better body God never made,
But Raven your heart is so delayed.

Raven Karner, Dawkins, Texas
Who pierced your navel with that nexus?
Afraid of love, it let you shine,
When I told you of the love of mine.

Love’s a bitch - bless you girl!
For the avalanche you let unfurl.

I see you walking in your thong.

I see us loving, all night long.

In the bath I watch you bathing,
Went through Hell, but got to Heaven.
Karner, Raven I see the light,
Like or lump it, you’re mine tonight.

You shot me fast to outer space,
Saw the nursery where stars are made.
Saw the galaxies, thank you girl,
You let me see my love unfurl.

I saw you in each grain of dust,
Raven swept up all my lust.
I see the trickster that you are,
Raven girl, you've gone too far.

Flap your wings, let your thong uncurl,
Now I see what you are up to girl,
I tore your feathers off long ago.
You’ll lose more than clothes you know.

Raven Karner you look for blame,

Be a learner, stop playing games.

Take those feathers, throw them away,
Think about your heart someday.

I pinned Raven to my wall,
Raven Karner had it all.
Raven naked, in her feather boa,
Said she liked my protozoa.

Raven Karner wants a Lexus,

To drive her pals from Dawkins, Texas
Come to model in big New York
Come to learn the knife and fork.

Raven Karner melted Texas,

A welder's daughter who dealt in hexes.

Alas that heart God let fade,
Raven's body, God delayed.

Raven Karner of Dawkins, Texas
Who pierced your tummy with that nexus?
Afraid of love it let you shine,
When I told you, of the love of mine.

Pennsylvania Vampire Song

Az Ének a Pennsylvania Vámpír

On a feed through Pennsylvania,
I felt a need for my old Transylvania.
I'm Hungarian now of Czech descent, . . .
It matters not, where my pedigrees went.
To America I came after the war,
Fleeing death, and butchery I abhor.

I feel I owe some transcription here,
Of life abroad, since I turned vampir.
An ache for blood, a thirst for souls,
Makes my curse, much worse than coal.

I'll hunt again, these poems I'll haunt,

So many penned, yet forever gaunt.

Where legions of brave mortals go,

Like me now, lie forever cold.

Who once lived, their souls are stained,

By my lust for fluids, stolen and drained.

Was there a battle I ever won?
Victorious vampires, at bloody Bull Run.
A lover tonight sings a randy tune,
Then dies of fright, 'neath a Brandywine moon.

After the harvest, I follow'd a wake.
My food was blessed by souls I'd take.
On a Presbyterian, I'll soon nurse,
Then swoon her riverside funeral hearse.

From poor Antietam's hallowed ground,
An old soldier bled in Gettysburg town.
The slightest count of lives I've gored,
Crows over that frightful Civil War.

Where Lake Eirie's watery basin ends,
I took a mason's daughter named Jenn.
The next night, giving thanks for fun,
I dropped with fright, then drank her son.
And by the gorgeous Lackawana,
I fanged a lanky gal, named Joanna.

How I yearn for my damp bed in Most,
Where long lies buried my old Czech ghost,
To my home cellar dark and wet,
I won’t go there, at least not yet.
I long to sleep a thousand years,
How I've wept such poisonous tears!

I have mines to visit, shafts of coal,
Towns to blacken, with my cursed soul.
To roam the rainy Allegheny nights,
And see what plain poetry can fright.
Hungry, thirsty, starved for more,
I can't be saved, except by metaphor.

My words are pale, I've drained them all,
By my wolfen howl, and coyote call.
Alas I forage for inspired verse,
Pages dying from my curse.

My wit is sharp, I have teeth like knives,
I can't stop feeding upon these lives.
The tragedy is, I can't drink enough,
Words like me, and I like words, . . . like love.
Through restless hills, on an endless trek,
I caress my fill, from thighs and neck.

Banded trout run on Northkill Creek,
I caught a freckled young one just this week.
Or Schuylkill's waves burst the Delaware,
My depraved thrill is your worst nightmare.
The swift Susquehanna floods at peak,
I'll shape shift my blood, towards the Chesapeake.

Nighttime comes, my heartbeat soars,
Frightening doom with backstreet roars.
I hope and pray I find a cure from God,
But as night turns day, it ends in sod.
Come rosy dawn, I slink to my berth,
Cozy anon, in stinking earth.

To toss and dream with bowels aching,
Or howl and scream at my future staking.
The way to hunt me is to offer a feast,
Of words that stun me, my hope of peace.
But the touch of soil, my native mud,
Brings to boil, my lust for blood.

The Song of Paul

Meet Paul, an octopus with gall,
 . . . a mollusk in a water-filled cage,
He has eight arms and a number of charms,
 . . . now he's a soccer-world rage.

In the wide world of sports, games are often sold short,
 . . . by bookies to collect on their bets.
But predicting the World Cup, that would be unheard of,
 . . . especially by an innocuous pet.

Eight times in a row, this mollusk seemed to know,
 . . . which team would be the next winner.
However it seems, there was no way to dream,
 . . . which flag he would claim for his dinner.

You might well wonder, how Paul knew from down under,
 . . . was he watching TV in the hall?
In all mollusk history, there's never been such a mystery,
 . . . as the predictions of the Octopus named Paul.

He learned all the teams, through a miasma of steam,
 . . . from Chile to Manchester-United,
What surpassed Paul's dreams, was picking eight teams,
 . . . for which he'll likely be knighted!

Paul's often asked, how he pulled off the task,
 . . . of picking eight World Cup winners . . .
"That's easily said, rather than end up dead,
 . . . I'll choose the right clam for my dinner!"

How should one choose, if eight cannot loose
 . . . no matter how one's bribed for seconds.
Put it like this, why didn't you miss?
 . . . Yet ate well, however you reckoned!

"I'm not playing for clams," sage Paul began,
 . . . "I'm playing for the ultimate boon!"
Paul stretched one limb, around the nape of his chin,
 . . . and let loose with this octal pantun:

"The things that I seek, are food for my beak,
 . . . Though I'm expert in octal math.
They call me a Buddhist, though I'm really a nudist,
 . . . I practice the eight-fold path.

"You see me here, a prisoner of fear,
 . . . caught in my little glass coracle . . .
If I tried to escape, I'd dry like a crepe,
 . . . my future's in becoming an oracle!"

"I'm locked up in this tub, with glass walls to rub,
 . . . and the TV to watch in the hall . .
Please take some pity and remember this ditty,
 . . . even octopi need something to ball!

“I’ve learned flags to bet, by vessels that drag nets,
 . . . from my home on the sea-floor-bed.
After life on the bottom, one easily gets sodden,
 . . . by flagships that sail overhead.

"Now I don't swig much booze, nor as such do I lose,
 . . . my record speaks for itself.
I picked eight to win, by my direction of swim,
 . . . not bad for a wise little elf!

"Stay for a moment, as I share this small comment,
 . . . about salt that's used in this age . . .
As a creature of the sea, it means nothing to me,
 . . . but you're deficient in salt, as in sage!

Your bodies are weak, your blood has gone meek,
 . . . you lack good salt in your stew.
The salt from the sea, is what nourishes me,
 . . . but you humans are decidedly blue!

"I'd rather eat fins from a dead sea urchin,
 . . . than mess with salt below ground.
Fish without ocean is the blandest of notions,
 . . . but you sprinkle on salt from a mine!

"Whatever you claim, one can't pre-ordain,
 . . . my picks were decidedly easy.
Not remain quiet, it was because of my diet,
 . . . on the mollusks that make you so queasy.

The semifinalist eight, have a good fishery take . . .
. . . the losers ubiquitously ate meat.

Eaters of fish got achieved dreams from their dish,

   . . . Flat fins beat out four feet!   

"Flesh from sea water beats mammals from slaughter,

  . . . the lesson you take from this rhyme,

You get closer to God when you let go of sod,

. . . . Go enrich yourself with wet brine.

"One final thought, unless you claim I was bought,
 . . . education's such a daunting task:
Turn out the lights and I'll sing with delight,
 . . . Stories behind my cephalopod mask."

The lights dimmed down, the creature of renown,
 . . . with eight arms took up the squeak of a tune:
"Please don't stab me, or eat me like crab meat!"
 . . . . So the keeper heard Paul's octopoid rune.

"Please grant some solace, in my life as a mollusk,
 . . . I’m an cephalopod that’s looking for fun!
I’m not just a network that’s a clamoring for bet-work
 . . . Eight for eight is a pretty good run!”

 “Though an oyster's cocaine to my cephalopod fame,
  . . . I’m hungry for that clam metaphor!
 Lift up the hood, but please no more food!
  . . . Put a gal through my octopus door!”

"I'm not being witty when I plead for what's pretty,"
 . . . Our Paul so eloquently sang.
With eight limbs that all played . . . "I need to get laid,"
 . . . He picked out this octopoid rag:

"I'll pick the next winner if you make me a sinner,
 . . . And dump in an octopus dame!"


This is part I of 'Song of Paul', for Part II go here.