NaPoWriMo #30: “What is Fun?”

I had diarrhea of the brain a couple of years ago and kept building this monstrosity. It’s like when Gene Wilder exclaims in Young Frankenstein: “It’s Alive!!!” The poem kept growing and building. I think the movie version of this poem is probably shorter. If you dare read the entirety of this poem, you are a much braver soul then most. Thanks to all of my new friends who made NaPoWriMo a very enjoyable experience! Best wishes to all of you and perhaps we’ll meet again as we write off into the digital sunset along creative digital streams. Until then, I give you…

What is Fun?

It’s the first three letters in “funeral”.
And the second three letters in “dysfunctional”.
It’s promo-sapiens in the wild
And the adverts marketing style.
It’s bungee jumping from an airplane.
And then trampolining on cellophane.

It’s agoraphobics at conventions.
And inflated egos in suspension.
It’s auctioneers with narcolepsy
And bidders with itchy gavels.
It’s an epidemic of trash TV
And how fast ignorance travels.
It’s waxing poetics
And watching the wax melt,
It’s holding up religion
With a loose Bible belt.
It’s Miss Appropriate and Miss Demeanor:
Twin sisters laundering at Mr. Cleaners.
It’s Xena battling xenophobics,
And sociopaths on psychotropics.
It’s calling my spirit guide without a busy signal,
And entrails of sit-coms with writer’s drivel.

It’s the Headless Horseman and the Mad Hatter.
It’s blue skies and grey matter.
It’s Auntie Em’ meets anti-matter.

It’s putting lampshades on luminaries.
While digging up old dignitaries.
It’s a three-piece suit and Rolex watch.
It’s Armani in a Ferrari shifting up a notch.
It’s a sentence hearing by James Joyce.
It’s a Pinto engine in a Rolls Royce.
It’s painting scenarios with sketchy memories,
And drawing conclusions about the Dead Kennedys.
It’s ordering double entendres three or four times,
And walking in circles and standing in lines.
It’s truth going out and rumors innuendo,
And erogenous zones creeping crescendos.

It’s a tele-marketing tele-kinetics,
Tele-evangelists and tele-pathetic.
It’s Santa Claus when he’s feeling bi-polar,
And a sadistic tooth fairy extracting a molar.
It’s a metaphysical stroll down memory lane.
And Waiting for Godot again and again.

It’s a Fuzzy Navel and Sex on the Beach,
And a White Russian slurring his inebriated speech.
It’s Silicon Valley and Silicon Mountains.
It’s Silly Puddy and youthful fountains.

It’s William Wordsworth running out of himself.
It’s Longfellow reaching for a very high shelf.
It’s shooting blanks after sweating bullets.
It’s a mortician cutting some very scary mullets.
It’s a mortarboard and mortar shells.
It’s buying a round for the sinners in hell.
It’s e-pistol-more-logical for the NRA.
It’s shooting off your mouth with nothing to say.

It’s a stream of consciousness leading to rivers.
It’s an ocean of notions that peptides deliver.
It’s an extended visa to the Imagi-nation,
And a black market for green cards and creative inflation.
It’s obsessive compulsive on how words are used.
It’s the English language stretched and abused.
It’s silly syllogisms and water logarhythms.
It’s opening doors with metaphors
And making iffy decisions.

It’s the gymnastics in linguistics.
It’s the logistics of pragmatics.
It’s similes gone spastic.
It’s a dangling modifiers and hanging participles.
It’s the fallacy of an analogy that only cripples.
It’s the Dialectics of Surrealism,
And the Dianetics of Hubbardism.

It’s Toulouse Lautrec when he’s all wound up,
And Jackson Pollock spilling his guts.
It’s real sarcasm
Meets a fake orgasm.
It’s a dominatrix with fuzzy handcuffs.
It’s the S&M&M guys who can’t get enough.
It’s the Keebler Elves doping their cookies.
It’s the Unlucky Charm owing his bookie.
It’s Kafka running from the Orkin Man.
It’s Porky Pig serving an Easter ham.
It’s Daffy Duck in a speech class,
And Elmer Fudd kicking some ass.
It’s Kap’n Krunch getting milked by his lawyers,
And the Turning Trix Rabbit looking for voyeurs.

It’s Colonel Sanders getting court marshaled.
And General Dynamics out for the hustle.
It’s Betty Crocker and Duncan Hines,
Double dating divas snorting up lines.
It’s fear today for the Pentagon tomorrow.
It’s a laugh track backwards
That only brings sorrow.
It’s extending Happy Hour
To Happy Hour and a Half.
It’s sidesplitting stocks
And he who laughs last.

It’s Twelve Angry Mennonites convicting Lars of Arson.
It’s trans-Atlantic transvestites who appeared with Johnny Carson.
It’s transcendental transportation.
It’s hieroglyphics and higher education.
It’s alliteration taken literally.
It’s figuring out “figuratively.
It’s hooked on sound bites,
And hooked on phonics.
It’s reeling in phrases,
And learning Ebonics.

It’s the right side of the brain laughing at the left.
It’s the troubling song’s trembling treble clef.
It’s speaking in tongues with Pro-Life Savers.
It’s being Born Again with Biblical flavors.
It’s Bible Biscuits with fortunes inside.
It’s Apocalypse Now and the Survivalist’s Guide.
It’s antiperspirant for the anti-Christ.
It’s aftershave in the afterlife.
It’s taking my inner child out for a walk.
It’s teaching inner grandchildren just how to talk.
It’s therapy for the humor impaired.
It’s comedically challenged for those who split hairs.
It’s anal retention for the sarcastically disabled.
It’s sleep walking through the American fable.
It’s a Wonderful Knife before Mr. Smith Gets Life.
It’s A Confederacy of Dunces and a Bewildered Nation of Idiots.
It’s audiophiles in deaf denial and the twelve steps for vidiots.
It’s dropping me a line so we can pick up the fun.
It’s the whole world laughing when the human race has run.