Once Upon A Time, a kind-hearted girl came upon a rather Porkly fellow:

Piggly Wiggly likes to play,

Mr. Wiggly can’t find his way,

When the Piggles that Wiggles,

Trickles, Oh Yay!



Piggly Wiggly runs away,

Piggly Wiggly gone astray,

Do not know where Piggles lay,

Rollin’ round, that oozy, mucky hay,

He likes it the muddy, puddly way,

Piggly Wiggly, please don’t stay.



Piggly games and Wiggly frays,

You say Hurray!!

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KARMIC RETRIBUTION: Lonely, bitty baby boy, plays around, pretends fun games will make his day [ain’t no Clint Eastwood]. He lies and nize, but time, time always reveals; everyone sees what’s really inside—not much. Dependency dominates, that insatiable hole pursues, seeking, dream-making, reeking in transient cheapness; he can pretend he’s all that. Too bad, he’s not; the butt of the joke. At the end of an age, looking back on life, taking stock, just what’s left? He’s never loved, no freedom, never really been happy, sad-but-true. The storyteller weaves and spins; oh boy cried wolf, oops, not believed, he’ll just have to learn to be. Laughing stock.

I ordered Chicken Alfredo and had my fill. It was cheap. Bon appetit!

This is when all your games come back to you; in the end, you get exactly what you want.

Thank God, I’ve moved on.