| CANADA'S SOURCE FOR HUMOUR, PARODY, AND SATIRE
 by Fubrics Short
Spare me the details
of your sad and sorry life, I don't have time to listen to your whining
and complaining about the hard hand fate has dealt you as I must worry
about my own declining health, hard as it may seem to believe, but yes,
listen to me, I am not getting any younger although I feel the same as
when I was a wet-cheeked six-year-old, fresh from games and playing with
childhood friends along the banks of rivers and in the fields, I am the
same man although now my body is not acting the same, it creaks and groans
as I go up and down the stairs to my garret in the top of this tower,
my fortress overlooking the Rideau Canal--listen to my stomach grumble
as it can no longer digest food but instead lets it rot into a compost
in my gut releasing horrid gasses not dissimilar to the mustard gasses
the huns shot at us in the trenches--my body is failing, my mind is as
strong as iron, but now I am afraid, listen to me I have more to say--I've
always doubted the usefulness freezing a man's head like Walt Disney,
but now they may soon be able to clone me a new gut, one that will crush
the foodstuffs I put inside, the veal and pork, turning them into nutrients
for my body, they will clone me new femurs and lungs, ones that don't
creak and wheeze, I'm afraid of breaking a hip--that's what killed my
own grandfather and now his fate is staring at me from the coldness of
the grave--listen to me--that cold breeze--where is it coming from, I
am not imagining it, kill the zygotes I say, give back my stem cells,
they are mine, stolen from my youth, from the river beds and spring fields,
stolen by those bastards who stole my ambition and joy of life, they did
not--listen to me--they did not take my will to live, I still have that
and I want my stem cells back--the zygotes must be sacrificed--for me
fubrics@thetoque.net
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