The highest of high anxiety reigns and the cat is well and truly out of the bag. All the little imps and pucks have slipped their chains and are wreaking havoc and running amok. Ripping and tearing and rending and shredding. Yanking and tugging on all the frayed tatters and shatters and pulling mercilessly at all the loose ends.

Lil’ fuckers.

Here comes the part that rhymes, the part which makes it poetic.

Give me a break for pity’s sake.

Um….

Mandrake?

Bellyache?

Maybe….

Emergency hand break….

No! I’ve got it.

Fruitcake!

 

By Brain Troll

 

P.S. Really! Don’t put cat’s in bags. Just….don’t. K?

‘Nuff said.