Here bygynneth the Book of the Tales of Library
When blanketing blizzards flop like a mop
Down on February, with the book drop
Even blossoming forth shiny dime fines,
Which each bit in city pockets puts lines;
When customers sad, simple and dreary
Speaketh of lives wan, wistful and weary;
When DAN pisses and blows his goddamn nose
And acts like a mothertrucker at Lowe's;
When JOREL complains and croaks like a toad
About her hooptie that will soon explode;
When tramps either dead or snoozing demand
More PC time, shaking fistfuls of Rand
Rants..... We dream of white sands and people, grins
Growing-- But here comes that lady again
To yell spitefully and/or spitfully
About the outrage that parking's not free.
"Get my book!" she goes on. "I want your help!
Or by God I'll give you one star... on Yelp!"
The sad dark grim wet cold day just tears us
A new one. And while we won't have Paris
Any time soon, at least we have our BREAK
To soothe dreams of being on a beach nake
The clock strikes and we glad take pilgrimage
To hot coffee and Sarah Lee, the bridge
To span our dreadful day. But, oh Jesus--
Who standeth in righteous way before us
Be none other than JEFF, blowhard butthead
Who has never just once asked for the head.
While not telling tired tales of Chile
He talks of his dreary dismal screenplay,
Talking and talking until we near faint:
His talk is the equivalent of taint.
"Great news!" he declaims. "I've a new title!
Causa y Efecto." Smug not little,
He leaned back and dully outlined the plot...
We looked off but he never stopped his rot.
"See, the 'y' will make white people ask... why.
You see?" "C?" we say. "Si!" he barks and cries.
"But this is a very drama juicy,
Nothing like Gaucho Brothers or Lucy."
At least his references are fresh, we think,
And gladly break free of his garlic reek.
But at the doorway to promised land's path
Is none other than THE WIFE OF NO-BATH.
With cerebral sneer, she claws at her head
And rains down flaky biscuit bits, fetid.
She spastically yells since she came two
Minutes late she'll take two less lunch, or sue!
It's then that we wend our way for the couch
Only to find DAN snoring, oldly slouched.
"All right, I give up," we shout, and the next
Day we find ourselves fully tourist dressed
At the airport with one-ways to Paris,
Bags with Rick Steves' books. That's right, all of us.
Please Oh God Zeus Buddha Marduk spare me
From Causa y Efecto! If you free
Me from this reading torture I will feel
E'er grateful and not mock you hard here, deal?