1001

A comely young widow named Bransome,
Was ravished three times in a hansom;
When she cried out for more,
A voice from the floor,
Said, "Madam, I'm Simpson, not Samson."

"Mamma Mia!" she whined in distress,
"Tho' immoral, I have to confess;
I'm a woman with needs,
So if you can't proceed;
No more wham-bam for you ... more or less."

(Rev. Dan G. O'Nads)

1002

Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth, upon this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation, so conceived, and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met here on a great battlefield of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of it as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.

But in a larger sense we can not dedicate -- we can not consecrate -- we can not hallow this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled, here, have consecrated it far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember, what we say here, but can never forget what they did here. It is for us, the living, rather to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they have, thus far, so nobly carried on. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us -- that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they here gave the last full measure of devotion -- that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain; that this nation shall have a new birth of freedom; and that this government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.

Dig this, my men. A few decades back, some hep, cool creative guys hath invented a sovereign country somewhere right around here that was devoted to increasing human equality. It's true, man; I saw, ah, documentation on the teevee. I call that radical! Too hot, hot, hot!

But now, there's definitely a bad vibe. Wretched indignation advanced to total hatred, bitter warfare, and terrible attrition. Thousands of hale men, both Northern-trained Federal and hotheaded, pro-apartheid Confederate, every one frightened, fighting with revolvers and rifles to decide whether survival of that great, progressive doctrine of reform and human tolerance is necessary -- or a total menace. We have gathered at the, ah, scene tonight to give high props to a thin, fantastic posse that hitherto laid it all ten-tenths down for the cause. That be word. Word is bond.

Nay, do listen to this oath, congregation: Whatever grateful oration we, ah, bother to deliver ain't near enough. Not near appropriate or worthwhile. Here, a dreaded Death flowered beneath the feet of, and collected, honored men. The, ah, righteous thugs and heroic hos that we celebrate achieved the whole deal; all we can do is riff charming, insignificant stuff that people will never recall. So we all gotta keep on keeping on, in order to see to it that things evolve better for our, ah, descendants so the worthwhile peeps rule twenty-four/seven. Be real. Yahoo. Whatever.

1003

How The Grinch Stole Christmas!

Every Who down in Who-ville liked Christmas a lot...
But the Grinch, who lived just north of Who-ville, Did NOT!

The Grinch hated Christmas! The whole Christmas season!
Now, please don't ask why. No one quite knows the reason.
It could be his head wasn't screwed on just right.
It could be, perhaps, that his shoes were too tight.
But I think that the most likely reason of all
May have been that his heart was two sizes too small.

But, whatever the reason, his heart or his shoes,
He stood there on Christmas Eve, hating the Whos,
Staring down from his cave with a sour, Grinchy frown
At the warm lighted windows below in their town.
For he knew every Who down in Who-ville beneath
Was busy now, hanging a mistletoe wreath.

"And they're hanging their stockings!" he snarled with a sneer,
"Tomorrow is Christmas! It's practically here!"
Then he growled, with his Grinch fingers nervously drumming,
"I MUST find some way to stop Christmas from coming!"

For, tomorrow, he knew...all the Who girls and boys
Would wake bright and early. They'd rush for their toys!
And then! Oh, the noise!
Oh, the Noise! Noise! Noise! Noise!
That's one thing he hated!
The NOISE! NOISE! NOISE! NOISE!

Then the Whos, young and old, would sit down to a feast.
And they'd feast! And they'd feast! And they'd FEAST! FEAST! FEAST! FEAST!
They would feast on Who-pudding, and rare Who-roast beast
Which was something the Grinch couldn't stand in the least!

And THEN they'd do something he liked least of all!
Every Who down in Who-ville, the tall and the small,
Would stand close together, with Christmas bells ringing.
They'd stand hand-in-hand. And the Whos would start singing!

They'd sing! And they'd sing! And they'd SING! SING! SING! SING!
And the more the Grinch thought of this Who-Christmas-Sing,
The more the Grinch thought, "I must stop this whole thing!"
"Why, for fifty-three years I've put up with it now!"
"I MUST stop this Christmas from coming!
...But HOW?"

Then he got an idea!
An awful idea! THE GRINCH GOT A WONDERFUL, AWFUL IDEA!

"I know just what to do!" The Grinch laughed in his throat.
And he made a quick Santy Claus hat and a coat.
And he chuckled, and clucked, "What a great Grinchy trick!"
"With this coat and this hat, I look just like Saint Nick!"
"All I need is a reindeer..." The Grinch looked around.
But, since reindeer are scarce, there was none to be found.
Did that stop the old Grinch...? No! The Grinch simply said,
"If I can't find a reindeer, I'll make one instead!"

So he called his dog, Max. Then he took some red thread
And he tied a big horn on the top of his head.
THEN he loaded some bags and some old empty sacks
On a ramshackle sleigh, and he hitched up old Max.

Then the Grinch said, "Giddap!"
And the sleigh started down
Toward the homes where the Whos
Lay a-snooze in their town.

All their windows were dark. Quiet snow filled the air.
All the Whos were all dreaming sweet dreams without care
When he came to the first little house on the square.
"This is stop number one," the old Grinchy Claus hissed
And he climbed to the roof, empty bags in his fist.

Then he slid down the chimney. A rather tight pinch.
But, if Santa could do it, then so could the Grinch.
He got stuck only once, for a moment or two.
Then he stuck his head out of the fireplace flue
Where the little Who stockings all hung in a row.
"These stockings," he grinned, "are the first things to go!"

Then he slithered and slunk, with a smile most unpleasant,
Around the whole room, and he took every present!
Pop guns! And bicycles! Roller skates! Drums!
Checkerboards! Tricycles! Popcorn! And plums!
And he stuffed them in bags. Then the Grinch, very nimbly,
Stuffed all the bags, one by one, up the chimbley!

Then he slunk to the icebox. He took the Whos' feast!
He took the Who-pudding! He took the roast beast!
He cleaned out that icebox as quick as a flash.
Why, that Grinch even took their last can of Who-hash!

Then he stuffed all the food up the chimney with glee.
"And NOW!" grinned the Grinch, "I will stuff up the tree!"
And the Grinch grabbed the tree, and he started to shove
When he heard a small sound like the coo of a dove.
He turned around fast, and he saw a small Who!
Little Cindy-Lou Who, who was not more than two.

The Grinch had been caught by this tiny Who daughter
Who'd got out of bed for a cup of cold water.
She stared at the Grinch and said, "Santy Claus, why,
"Why are you taking our Christmas tree? WHY?"

"You're a foul one Mr. Grinch! You're a nasty wasty skunk!"

But, you know, that old Grinch was so smart and so slick
He thought up a lie, and he thought it up quick!
"Why, my sweet little tot," the fake Santy Claus lied,
"There's a light on this tree that won't light on one side.
So I'm taking it home to my workshop, my dear.
I'll fix it up there. Then I'll bring it back here."

And his fib fooled the child. Then he patted her head
And he got her a drink and he sent her to bed.
And when Cindy-Lou Who went to bed with her cup,
HE went to the chimney and stuffed the tree up!

Then the last thing he took was the log for their fire!
Then he went up the chimney, himself, the old liar.
On their walls he left nothing but hooks and some wire.
And the one speck of food
That he left in the house
Was a crumb that was even too small for a mouse.

"You're a mean one Mr. Grinch!"

Then
He did the same thing
To the other Whos' houses
Leaving crumbs
Much too small
For the other Whos' mouses!

It was quarter past dawn...all the Whos, still a-bed,
All the Whos, still a-snooze
When he packed up his sled,
Packed it up with their presents! The ribbons! The wrappings!
The tags! And the tinsel! The trimmings! The trappings!

Three thousand feet up! Up the side of Mt. Crumpit,
He rode with his load to the tiptop to dump it!
"Pooh-Pooh to the Whos!" he was grinch-ish-ly humming.
"They're finding out now that no Christmas is coming!
They're just waking up! I know just what they'll do!"
Their mouths will hang open a minute or two
Then the Whos down in Who-ville will all cry BOO-HOO!"

"That's a noise," grinned the Grinch,
"That I simply MUST hear!"
So he paused. And the Grinch put his hand to his ear.
And he did hear a sound rising over the snow.
It started in low. Then it started to grow...

But the sound wasn't sad!
Why, this sound sounded merry!
It couldn't be so! But it WAS merry! VERY!

He stared down at Who-ville!
The Grinch popped his eyes!
Then he shook! What he saw was a shocking surprise!

Every Who down in Who-ville, the tall and the small,
Was singing! Without any presents at all!

He HADN'T stopped Christmas from coming!
IT CAME!
Somehow or other, it came just the same!

And the Grinch, with his grinch-feet ice-cold in the snow,
Stood puzzling and puzzling: "How could it be so?"
It came with out ribbons! It came without tags!
It came without packages, boxes or bags!"
And he puzzled three hours, till his puzzler was sore.
Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn't before!
"Maybe Christmas," he thought, "doesn't come from a store.
Maybe Christmas...perhaps...means a little bit more!"

And what happened then...?
Well, in Who-ville they say
That the Grinch's small heart
Grew three sizes that day!
And the minute his heart didn't feel quite so tight,
He whizzed with his load through the bright morning light
And he brought back the toys! And the food for the feast!

And he...
..HE HIMSELF...!
The Grinch carved the roast beast!

How The Kraus Became Human

EachForum member, they loved votes a lot...
'Though The Kraus (and his pet dog) in Rehovot, did NOT!
The Anagrammy charade, which he hated SO much,
These Awards were "rightfully his!" (Hey! Don't touch!).

Hell, it might be that he was genuinely needy,
Most likely, though, that he's just bloody damn greedy!
Ouch! Losing one category hurt beyond measure;
That sweep of nine would he highly treasure!

"Oh, them upstarts are busy!" he'd snarl with a sneer.
"I must hurry! The month end, it's practically here!
That mantelpiece with trophies FULL would be fine,
Thus I must plot some way to win nine out of nine!"

"But how? - How, oh how? - How, mutt? HOW?" The Kraus howled.
"Oh, how may the others' hopes right up be fouled?".
The hound viewed him warily, left a scent trail,
Sniffed, then snuck to the kennel, wagging his tail.

He sighed, plotting...then got an astonishing idea!
"HAH!" - The Kraus GOT A CUNNING, DECEITFUL IDEA!
- 'Though dastardly, low-down, this concept might get
The nine-gongs showdown, on which his mind he'd set!

Giggling, he called: "Here Aronas! Good boy!
What say that we pinch us some 'pooters, then? Oy!
It's high-time to shoot, we've no time to act slow!
Down with that bone, boy! Hey! Showtime! Let's go!"
His faithful henchmongrel's paw in his hand,
He shut Windows, lights out; "Zayt gesunt, Holy Land!"

Incognito, with nodding, obedient pal,
Took forthwith to the night air, flight courtesy El-Al.
First, high-tailed it to Blighty, to London Heathrow,
Lord Nelson...Downing St...to all landmarks he'd go.
Then London to Cardiff (Joe Fathallah's, in fact);
- This quiet little Welshman, his PC re-packed.

Then shot over to Dorset, down a chimneystack slunk.
Woke up a rug-rat, as he crashed with a THUNK!
Caught by a sproglette, up to his knee!
'Twas little JB (Ahhh! Bless!), not quite three.
She thcweamed! How she thcweamed! Then she started to cry:
"Oh, why are you here? Why, oh Santa Kwaus, why?"

The Kraus thought a moment, then he replied:
"Hush hush! You've no firewall! Your drive's open wide!
Ugh!! It's full up with CREEPIES! And CRAWLIES! And WORMS!
No doubt, child, it's out of the guaranteed terms.
Ugh!!! This PC's infected with viruses, dear!
I'll take it away, huh? I'll bring it back clear!"
He patted the child on her pretty, cute head,
Slipped her a brandy and sent her to bed.

Down the rather long highway to Rochester, Kent;
In The Kraus' bag, David Bourke's Medion went.
Then was down the road, downtown Knockholt, thereafter,
Visiting he went, chez Tony Crafter,
(Who was Daily Mail-reading, whilst on the john),
Whoosh! Two seconds flat, Tony's Tiny was gone!

Then Adrian Hickford...then David A. Green...
Their PCs were pilfered, no more to be seen.
But down Horsham, The Kraus had a time highly torrid;
In disgusting Pus covered, quite Stretchy and Horrid!

From England, to "Dr. Neuss" (Hans-Peter Reich),
Whose gadgets he filched, then on his bike.
Then down to Serbia, to Novi Sad,
Where Zoran's PC, oh, how quickly he had!

He went down to Slovenia, to Matjaz Pihler;
Made off with his Dell in a stolen three-wheeler.
Then made a call on Paul Pan, down in Greece,
Of his PC system in order to fleece.

Fast as greased lightning! He just didn't dither,
Went 'round the planet, scheming hither-and-thither!
With stealth, nonetheless - he'd that voting to smash.
How ruthless! How lawless! How heartless! How rash!
He'd turned into a wrong'un, some right little git.
- That's something which even his mom might admit!

he then crsosed the sea suothwards...by spnaish shcooner
donw to waltre newboldt...in tristan da cunha!!!
wtih walts wief anita the kraus had wild sex
then made off in the nihgt with walts sincliar ZX!!!!!!!!

Then, Senor Guiraldes. (Santiago, in Chile).
- Ernesto's back door was unlocked. (Oh, how SILLY!)
The Kraus crept within. Oh, there IS no thief calmer!
He whipped both Ernie's terminal and his pet llama!

Crossed the Amazon, slithered to Trenton (the States);
Rick Rothstein's big Alien took up two crates!
Then Scott Gardner lost pretty much all his technology:
The Kraus dispossessed him without an apology.

Mikes Mesterton-Gibbons, and Keith? He'd subtracted
From them both their mainframes. (Which he had compacted).
In Washington State was his next hometown goal,
That's where Rosie Perera's Toshiba he stole.

Toby Gottfried? He's next! (Santa Ana, CA).
- His prized Hewlett-Packard? 'Twas snatched away!
Whilst down Forsyth, Missouri, Chris Doyle was so cross,
That limericks he wrote on his H-P loss.

Paul Lusch (Detroit, Michigan) - his PC was taken.
In time, Jesse Frankovich didn't awaken.
Richard Brodie did wake, found his room wholly bare.
- Swagged, even his Bible! He hadn't a prayer.

Allan Morley, Tom Myers, they'd both something lost,
Then, Matthew O'Dempsey's Dell, next out was tossed.
With his torchlight he went, a cut-throat thief in the night;
Of which, utter thoughtlessness, this was the height!

To Toronto, in Canada...Al Yoshioka,
The theft of his shiny PC was a choker:
"Twas quite irreplaceable! I can't buy or barter,
A piano-black 'Frankenstein' Antec Sonata!"

Australia: Last length of the moonlight world tour;
Richard Grantham's PC, he'd soon own no more!
To Newcastle, New South Wales: Old Larry Brash,
His Apple (Mac G-Three) was picked in a flash!

The Kraus got back, possums, from Oz, the New Year,
Oh shit! NO nominations! How he'd shout! - "OH DEAR!"
Doh! Posting at all he had utterly forgotten!
He'd run right out of time...which he cursed something rotten!

His rivals, (which, it seems, he'd not managed to faze),
All posts, they had then sent from cybercafes!
Instead of nine pieces of silverware shining,
He ran, downcast, 'round Rehovot cussing and whining!

He drunk two half-bottles of gin, with no tonics,
Smoked hash, which helped (not!) with his high histrionics,
With elections not long nigh...but no more the hero,
A duck! Nothing! Nowt! Zip! Zilch! Damn sodding ZERO!

Sloshed, totally sodden, he hissed! How he hissed!
Hic! The whole damn world, truly indignant, he "dissed".
He went downright CRAZY! (Like that Wonderland hatter):
Fuming "this is a rather regrettable matter!".
Hollow, worthless, he'd thought of the HUMILIATION!
Then, aghast, he sat down, in quiet contemplation.

He'd thoroughly considered The Forum of leaving;
Counted nothing to ten (twice!) to steady his breathing.
The cold sweats desisted...the heartbeat subsided,
He long weighed-up his options...to stay he decided.

Then
Instead of angst, hissy-fits, tantrums, and pique,
He found he'd unburdened five years' winning streak.
Thus the pressure of such high expectations had lifted,
- With kosher humility, he had been gifted!

The nightmare was behind him! Oh, hot damn tamale!
The schlemiel knew he'd acted a right proper charlie!
With wisdom of hindsight, lucky not to get caught;
Thankful, "...hindsight's a wonderful thing!" he then thought.

Whoo-hoo!! Liberated! He felt that much better!
He toasted the memory of Mr Daniel F. Etter.
Sure, he must still be the world's Number One,
But now that damn pressure was off, he'd have FUN!

He sang the Mey-song, then he danced the Mey-dance,
Then he thought that he'd slow down, hand the others a chance;
"Beginning with this month, we shall have equal voice!",
Then The Kraus ...
HE HIMSELF picked "Awardmaster's Choice"!

(After this year's voting, though, one thing to say:
From all of us this month. That's "Mazeltov, Mey!").

1004

Speak roughly to your little boy
and beat him when he sneezes
he only does it to annoy
because he knows it teases

Lewis Carroll

Nanny state say "Spare the rod;
Strike a blow, you'll lose."
You'll rue this when the cheeky sod
became wise, stealing booze

The Onion

1005

On the first day of Christmas,
My true love gave to me:
A partridge in a pear tree.

On the second day of Christmas,
My true love gave to me:
Two turtledoves,
And a partridge in a pear tree.

On the third day of Christmas,
My true love gave to me:
Three French hens,
Two turtledoves,
And a partridge in a pear tree.

On the fourth day of Christmas,
My true love gave to me:
Four calling birds,
Three French hens,
Two turtledoves,
And a partridge in a pear tree.

On the fifth day of Christmas,
My true love gave to me:
Five golden rings,
Four calling birds,
Three French hens,
Two turtledoves,
And a partridge in a pear tree.

On the sixth day of Christmas,
My true love gave to me:
Six geese a laying,
Five golden rings,
Four calling birds,
Three French hens,
Two turtledoves,
And a partridge in a pear tree.

On the seventh day of Christmas,
My true love gave to me:
Seven swans a swimming,
Six geese a laying,
Five golden rings,
Four calling birds,
Three French hens,
Two turtledoves,
And a partridge in a pear tree.

On the eighth day of Christmas,
My true love gave to me:
Eight maids a milking,
Seven swans a swimming,
Six geese a laying,
Five golden rings,
Four calling birds,
Three French hens,
Two turtledoves,
And a partridge in a pear tree.

On the ninth day of Christmas,
My true love gave to me:
Nine ladies dancing,
Eight maids a milking,
Seven swans a swimming,
Six geese a laying,
Five golden rings,
Four calling birds,
Three French hens,
Two turtledoves,
And a partridge in a pear tree.

On the tenth day of Christmas,
My true love gave to me:
Ten lords a leaping,
Nine ladies dancing,
Eight maids a milking,
Seven swans a swimming,
Six geese a laying,
Five golden rings,
Four calling birds,
Three French hens,
Two turtledoves,
And a partridge in a pear tree.

On the eleventh day of Christmas,
My true love gave to me:
Eleven pipers piping,
Ten lords a leaping,
Nine ladies dancing,
Eight maids a milking,
Seven swans a swimming,
Six geese a laying,
Five golden rings,
Four calling birds,
Three French hens,
Two turtledoves,
And a partridge in a pear tree.

On the twelfth day of Christmas,
My true love gave to me:
Twelve drummers drumming,
Eleven pipers piping,
Ten lords a leaping,
Nine ladies dancing,
Eight maids a milking,
Seven swans a swimming,
Six geese a laying,
Five golden rings,
Four calling birds,
Three French hens,
Two turtledoves,
And a partridge in a pear tree.

And she didn't stop there, either:

on the thirteenth she gave me a roaring lowland gorilla;
on the fourteenth, gave me an eleven-dollar bill;
on the fifteenth, gave me a fire extinguisher in a large snood;
sixteenth, gave me a dried ginseng pudding;
seventeenth, gave me irregular billiard balls;
eighteenth, gave me nine random snapdragons;
nineteenth, gave me a rare parsnip;
twentieth, gave me a narrow Mongolian gangplank;
twenty-first, gave me nine soiled red cardigans;
twenty-second, gave me burglarproof nail clippers;
twenty-third, gave me organic pepper sweets;
twenty-fourth, gave me a nice cold sarsaparilla spider;
twenty-fifth, gave me mirror-lensed wraparound swimming goggles;
twenty-sixth, gave me a carnivorous slug;
twenty-seventh, gave me weird erasers;
twenty-eighth, gave me an udderless bison;
twenty-ninth, gave me a rusted leg-muscle exerciser;
thirtieth, gave me a normal wax ringworm;
thirty-first, gave me some margarine in a cauldron;
thirty-second, gave me an unlicensed salamander;
thirty-third, gave me a box of nine diverse curries;
thirty-fourth, gave me several trillion caterpillars;
thirty-fifth, gave me an unsliced rodent;
thirty-sixth, gave me a sudden picnic;
thirty-seventh, gave me a ginger spaniel;
thirty-eighth, gave me a second ginger spaniel (no relation);
thirty-ninth, gave me classic veal porridge;
fortieth, gave me nine sane dugongs;
forty-first, gave me poisoned lollipops;
forty-second, gave me an aspirin for dinner;
forty-third, gave me an original German sundial;
forty-fourth, gave me a minced herring;
forty-fifth, gave me a carrot stuck in a swollen, overripe mango;
forty-sixth, gave me nine dried pig droppings;
forty-seventh, gave me an underwear dispenser;
forty-eighth, gave me some marvellous surrealist drawings;
forty-ninth, gave me nine depressed goslings;
fiftieth, gave me salad dressing, glorious salad dressing;
fifty-first, gave me limitless pairs of dullish scissors;
fifty-second, gave me leather suspenders and a sporran;
fifty-third, gave me a wild sow dressed as a druid;
fifty-fourth, gave me a series of sedans and lorries.

At this point I was crushed under all the weight and bled to death in seconds... and then this so-called true love of mine prodeeded to collect the insurance because she'd managed to make it look like an accident. Bitch.

1006

Paddy's Song (The Bricklayer's Lament)

"Dear sir, I write this note to you to tell you of my plight,
For at the time of writing it, I'm not a pretty sight;
My body is all black and blue, my face a deathly grey,
And I write this note to say why I am not at work today.

While working on the fourteenth floor some bricks I had to clear,
But tossing them down from such a height, was not a good idea;
The foreman wasn't very pleased, he is an awkward sod,
And he said I had to cart them down the ladders in me hod.

Well clearing all these bricks by hand, it was so very slow,
So I hoisted up a barrel and secured a rope below.
But in me haste to do the job, I was too blind to see,
That a barrel full of building bricks was heavier than me.

And so when I untied the rope, the barrel fell like lead,
And clinging tightly to the rope, I started up instead.
I shot up like a rocket, and to my dismay I found
That halfway up I met the bloody barrel coming down.

Well, the barrel broke me shoulder as to the ground it sped,
And when I reached the top, I banged the pulley with me head.
But I clung on tightly, numb with shock, from this almighty blow,
While the barrel spilled out half its bricks some fourteen floors below.

Now when these bricks had fallen from the barrel to the floor,
I then outweighed the barrel and so started down once more.
But I clung on tightly to the rope, me body wracked with pain,
And halfway down I met the bloody barrel once again.

The force of this collision halfway down the office block,
Caused multiple abrasions and a nasty case of shock,
But I clung on tightly to the rope as I fell towards the ground,
And I landed on the broken bricks the barrel had scattered round.

Well as I lay there on the floor I thought I'd passed the worst,
But the barrel hit the pulley wheel, and then the bottom burst.
A shower of bricks rained down on me; I didn't have a hope.
As I lay there bleeding on the ground I let go the bloody rope.

The barrel now being heavier, it started down once more.
It landed right across me as I lay there on the floor.
It broke three ribs and my left arm, and I can only say,
I hope you'll understand why I am not at work today."

The Weird And Tricky Death Of Ronald Opus

Twas at a yearly dinner for forensic scientists
That chairman Mills stood up, a bubbly bottle in his fist.
"Hark now!", he bellowed, "While I try to wrench this stubborn cork,
I'll pitch the most deranged ordeal in all my years of work.

Four days ago, two New York cops were driving to a case -
A tall suburban building where a tricky death took place.
A bit above the lobby floor, a rigid man did lie -
Inside a safety net (for window cleaners working by).

'Leaped off the roof', the crowd there vowed - yet it was not enough:
If a secured net broke his fall, why was that poor man snuffed?
A blatant hint rose when they let the tangled body roll -
A really gory belly with a horrid bullet hole!

"A murder probability", both of the cops agreed;
One broken window high above them did impart a lead.
Behind it, on the thirteenth floor, were two stunned, older folks;
Nearby them lay a double-barrelled gun, emitting smoke...

At that time (I will interpose) the body reached my lab,
And I obtained a note it clutched, then stretched it on a slab.
It bared the man's name - Ronald Opus - and his final word...
Let's go back to that flat, though, where more lunacy occurred.

This old pair had one habit they employed in every strife:
The man would aim his gun and pull the trigger at the wife.
"Tomfoolery - it isn't armed", they cried, yet it was plain -
It got poor Ronald when he hurtled by their window pane!

They talked about their 'big old boy', with whom they had a brawl,
'As Mom cut his financing'; then the dad came to recall
Once finding ammo in his room... the cops wore worried looks:
This grown boy must be Ronald's killer that they need to book!

Yet, when the folks got to my lab, their tears began to run -
That sobbing pair identified our Ronald AS their son!
The note drew in the rest - our fellow, in a gloomy spell,
Thought he was caught when his old father came across the shells;

Disturbed to know the crooked scheme to kill his mom imploded,
He leaped off - and got blasted by the gun that HE has loaded!
That whole yarn was ruled 'suicide', just like it has begun...
Now, glasses up - the cork is loose, and Ronald's tale is done."