Turns out most of our country's foremost poetry experts agree that the poem performed at the inauguration yesterday wasn't very good. Whew. I felt like I was the only one who didn't understand. But THESE people are educated and got degrees and stuff.
Helen Menzel-Gonzalez, the president of the Harvard Poetry Review, put it best, describing the inaugural poem as, "a turd sandwich."
I've been encouraged by many
of you to give "non-rhyming" poetry a second chance. I shall. Not today. Maybe next year. Or when things aren't so hectic and crazy what with all the hectic and crazy things there are to do.
And now. The conclusion of...
HOW I CAME TO BE IN JAIL (with two surprising twists...)
So there we were hiding behind the fryer at Burger King. The three of us squeezed closer together so we wouldn't be found. Chuck, the unemployed director of photography, was shaking nervously. Edna, the former hair dresser to Bing Crosby, was as cool as a cucumber. "After working with Bing," she whispered to us as she smoked, "I ain't frightened of nothing. Sometimes he'd point a gun at me for no reason. Just to see what I'd do. He was like that. Sweet as hell. But sometimes he'd turn on ya."
The Whole Foods employees on their Segways got closer. They were right there. Right in front of us. Chuck started whimpering. "They're gonna find us. Gonna get us!"
I was sure we were dead meat. They were so close we could hear the Segways' batteries humming. And then, just as they were about to discover us...just as they were about to look behind the fryer...they stopped. Strange, red lights on their belts began flashing and a bizarre beeping could be heard. The Whole Food employees immediately stood up straight and looked at each other. "Come," said one of them. "It is time for regeneration."
They turned their Segways and briskly rolled toward the exit. (It took another 15 minutes for them to figure out how to get the Segways out the exit.) Then they rolled across the parking lot and returned to the market.
As you can imagine we all breathed a sigh of relief. But we knew we couldn't leave yet. They'd be on the lookout. We had to hide out a while longer. We were also getting quite hungry. The kindly Burger King employees offered to feed us. It had been a very long time since any of us had eaten any fast food. Still we took their food happily. Whoppers.. Fries. Whoppers with cheese. More fries. Double Whoppers with cheese. We ate. And ate. And ate. And then, having nothing to do but hide, we ate again. Triple Whoppers with double cheese. We engorged ourselves.
And then...suddenly...we all went into digestive arrest. The noises coming from our innards were horrifying...like a bear was mauling a puppy. But in our stomachs. Understand? Not that there was a bear nearby mauling a puppy! I'm saying that the bear was mauling a puppy in our stomachs! Inside!
And then, it occurred to us. That's why we had all been shopping at Whole Foods Market all these many years. The food was good. Nothing there would make your stomach sound like there was a bear in there mauling a puppy.(Not nearby. Inside.) Yes. YES. It's more expensive. But it's fresh and wholesome and grainy. WHAT HAD WE DONE?! How stupid could we all have been.
Our stomachs continued their urpy gurgling. We needed help. And I knew where to get it. Whole Foods sells a wonderful homeopathic Tummy Sedative. We stood up.
We ran across the parking lot and into the Whole Foods. I lead my team to the homeopathic aisle. Ironically, it was the only aisle that hadn't been destroyed in the riot. I found the tummy sedative and we took it. Ahhh. Sweet relief. However...
The police arrived. We were arrested and charged with "Not Being Nice."
When I got to jail, I used my one phone call to blog about what had happened and wasn't allowed to make another phone call to contact a lawyer. So there I sat. I lost hope. Hours clicked by. Then minutes. And then, suddenly (after a another minute) I heard the guard say, "Rugg. You can go."
Shocked, I walked out from behind the bars. "But...how," I asked the guard.
"Your lawyer," he sneered. "He got ya off."
My lawyer? But... But...
I heard a high-pitched voice with a thick Spanish accent. "He means...me." I turned. Standing there in the hallway was a little man. A dwarf. A Cuban Dwarf. It was Alfredo Ruiz...the man that had left me the scathing message after my first post about Cubans.
He walked up to me. Strangely, he was wearing regal robes as if a member of some royal family. I have since found out that he's known in Miami as the "Grand Lord Of Lawyers." It's his gimmick, I guess. I dunno. Weird. But...
He told me that when he read about my plight on the blog, he caught the first flight and decided to come to my aid. I asked why?
"Because, " he said. "I'm wanting to show that we Cubans are not insane. We are righteous and noble and good stuff like that. And even when we are being made fun of...we still always do the right thing. So I'm here to save you, Jerk Face man who I hate."
I asked how I could repay him. He said that he didn't want money. He just wanted me to put his portrait on my blog (from his business card) and that he'd like to advertise on my site from time to time. I agreed. So, here's his portrait.