On the twelfth week in Bako,
cruel fortune sent to me...
Twelve toxic dust storms,
Eleven flies a-swarming,
Ten kilt-ers tilting,
Nine waiters prancing,
Eight neighbors glaring,
Seven lawns a-swimming,
Six freaks a praying,
Five Hooot-ers Grrrls,
Four pious scolds,
Three dense fogs,
Two witless hicks,
And a cockroach in bed beside me.
So we're bailing on Hooterville later today. Not a moment too soon.
I didn't ask for much this Christmas. Just to
N O T
C O M E
B A C K.
I'm not holding my breath on that one.
