Category Archives: 12/2010

The Puppet Master

Written by Orin Vee

(The author’s take on the devil. To right of poem: picture of the Devil from Codex.)

Lurking in the darkness
Hidden from your view
Awaits the Puppet Master
To pull the strings for you

Your conscious mind assures you
You are still in full control
For it knows not of the Master
That lies within your soul

All those funny feelings
The ones you can’t explain
Merely gentle tugs of unseen threads
Woven in your brain

A self-made man you’ve made yourself
A fortune and a fame
But you’re really only a playing piece
In the Puppet Master’s game

So if you’re feeling lucky
Remember, nothing’s left to chance
For without the puppet’s master
The puppet would not dance
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©Copyright 2000
Orin Vee
all rights reserved

A Martin Mulled Christmas

Written by Ye Olde Scribe

Gather round boys, gulls and all you Martin Mull wannabes out there. Ye Olde has a Christmas tale to tell you, if you care.

Twas the night the fat Dude dives down a chimney, by giminie. No, not that guy you caught with your wife from Bimini. You did bury him in last year’s toxic gift wrappings imported from China, right? No worry. Scribe won’t tell. At least not tonight.

All through Martin Mull’s pad there nary a sound. Not even the drunk mouse who did pound. Pound what? Why the wine Martin thought just Wiki Leaked out of the package. Then Mouse-y went home to the Misses whom he did pound with his tiny Christmas-y sackage. That twere the sound Martin heard that did peak with a meek, yet scream-like, squeak, squeak, squeak.

Then the house shook. No small matter. One very fat Dude’s team landed with a splatter. Just as Scribe did fear. Why it’s almost as if the night sky started to rein… deer.

Santa was blue.

With dead deer, what to do?

What to do?

Santa left at home his other team of Barney-purple gnus.

Down the chimney went who? Santa, of course. But what was in there Santa never knew. Down to deliver Martin’s gift Santa did climb. What was that awful sound he heard, a pack of swine? Nah, that couldn’t be what it was. Unless a pack of swine can buzz.

Out of the chimney Santa flew. Bees on his butt. Bees in his shoes.

But wait, a sudden Christmas miracle appears! The bees took the place of those mange-y reindeer!

“On Honeycomb! On Bumble Bee! Need I get out the whip? OK, Santa will shut up. Stop stinging his lip!”

As they flew away from here, it doth appear, they replaced the reindeer. Wonder what was the reason waz? Well, since Christmas is magical, Scribe supposes just… bee… cuz.

To this day Martin wonders why he didn’t get any gifts, as does his dog Rover. But they both have had plenty of time to… MULL… it over. Even the mice thought it had to have been some big heist, not a bee stung geezer. Guess they all thought it was some Grand… Mull… seizure.
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©Copyright 2010
Ye Olde Scribe
all rights reserved

From Jerry Seinfeld’s Bee Movie. Source: blogs.theage.com.au (Martin Mull picture from IMDb.com)

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