Moose facts you can dance toScientists call him Alces alces,He goes by elk to those up north.But in my heart he has one nameand alone or plural will go forthas Moose, Moose, Moose, MooseRaise your hands he's on the looseStomp your feet, shake your cabooseAnd tip your hat to the one we callMoose lives up in Canada, Eh,in forest, tundra, taiga, or bush.Also in Eurasia and the upper states?Yeah, you can bet your toosh!Moose populate the coldest placesat the top of the EarthBetter stay in it's good gracesand give it a wide berthbecause it's Moose, Moose, Moose, MooseRaise your hands he's on the looseStomp your feet, shake your cabooseAnd tip your hat to the one that we call Moose!Those rustling leaves and snapping twigsLet us know he's hereWith that big ol' head, those lanky legsand that funky little beard.He's got giant antlers toothat are slightly flat on topHe might seem docile, he might eat plantsbut you know you just can't stopthat Moose, Moose, Moose, MooseRaise your hands he's on t
Eat'em: chapter 1CHAPTER 1“Jacob is not the monster you’ve been told about.”The culmination of all I’ve done landed me here. My every action is under the magnified glare of countless eyes. They’re emotionless gaze judges without compassion and without remorse. And for the first time in my life I’m not so worried about what I see as I am about what they see.Them… The people… The State of Texas vs. Jacob Brook… The State of Texas vs. Me.My past is a public autopsy and my future is dependent on a paunchy lawyer paid by the state.“A lot of words have been thrown around about Jacob. You’ve been told he’s responsible for countless atrocities. Atrocities committed over the span of several years. Violent. Reprehensible atrocities.” My first look at the fifteen people on whose shoulders my life rode on and I knew immediately… I’m screwed. I spent the last two and a half years in prison – presumed inno
Eat'em: a story about postponing the apocalypsePROLOGUEI wasn’t a weird child. I wasn’t awkward or abnormal. I ran track and played baseball. I liked to draw. I had friends. My family cared about me. I was an average student and did my best to stay out of trouble. I certainly wasn’t a social outcast. Truth be told, I failed to stand out in any way whatsoever.Things changed when I met Eat’em. Eat’em’s an impish blood-red demon with porcupine thick hair, cold blue eyes, and a prehensile tail. His gait is a cross between a man and a spider monkey. His voice sounds like any number of elementary-aged children, with an easy-to-ignore “Mom look!” kind of cadence and a vocabulary equivalent to a coffee-shop philosopher. Eat’em is my not-so imaginary best friend.When I was ten years old, I woke one morning to the little red demon on my end table. He stood no taller than my table lamp. He held a bottle of Pepto-Bismol antacid tablets my mother left me for an upset stomach.
DEAR CHILD: a poem I wrote for my daughterDEAR CHILDLest you have an objectionI would like to have your concessionI have a confession, need indiscretion for this sessionNot a lessonSo don’t question my messageI’m not asking you to be like me so don’t take this as a vestige.And I immediately apologizeIf you feel I ostracizeBut I can’t legitimize a compromise for anyone whom can’t repriseI… I can’t can’t stand… stand stand those that stam stam stammerYour voice is a nail to the eardrum. I only hear it cuz you’re shit with a hammerAnd for wa wa when you st st stutter or mutterDon’t know if you mess with us or it’s hydrocephalus but you’re making us shutterDon’t let my words cause too much frictionI’ve got a conditionIt’s not nice, my vice without restrictionMy addiction to dictionSure, I might regret that I upset a few folks to whom words are a threatYou betBut don’t fretIf they have something to s s say I