|That's gotta hurt.|
94 long months on Da-da Mountain
makes one giddy and lightheaded, not to mention
knee-deep in the Ten Thousand (Thrashed) Things:
like Da-da, most of them have fallen and cannot get up.
The similarities don't stop there.
Darth Vader's neck shouldn't bend like that
but the headless/legless Stormtroopers think he deserves it;
Sir Topham Hat's head could look for fulfillment
if it could be located;
Undersea Batman's jet-engine crutch is serviceable
but his leg is still on the roof;
And UltraMan and Spiderman will indeed walk again
but they'll have to take turns.
Alas, the Small Beings uncarved the carved block
and learned how to read,
burying action-figure hope
beneath Geronimo Stilton
and the Potter that is Harry.
ET has since been carried off by Pyewackett (the cat)
and Spock gone where no Vulcan has gone before (flushed).
The rest, like Da-da, shudder in Big Tupperware
waiting for the glue to dry
on their inevitable eBay second-career transfiguration,
resigned to a future of concrete tests and geek shelves.
Meanwhile, Senor Misterioso glows on
('cause he belongs to Da-da).
[Excerpted from Da-da's latest, as-yet-unpublished book, The Tao of Da-da (or, Strong Winds CAN Blow All Day, Depending on How Much Sugar Has Been Ingested). Void where prohibited. Would someone please start making Senor Misterioso again?]
|Senor Misterioso es que misterioso.|