Cost Analysis

Angela Duckworth, contrary to popular belief, is not worth one duck

but is rather worth one lamb

And Mary-Sue Peaworth is not worth one pea

but is rather worth one cup of potato leek soup

And Barbara Kay Vultureworth is not worth one vulture

but is rather worth one hundred vultures

all of them decked out in silver and gold

with parrot-feather headdresses

trained to sing, in chorus, the praises of Barbara Vultureworth

that’s what Barbara Vultureworth’s worth

so if you need a human sacrifice for your next Ceremony of Skulls

Mary-Sue Peaworth is the most economical.

Game Show

in this incomplete box of African wildlife

baby elephants and baby giraffes compete for milk

from the one tit of the Serengeti

i say ‘incomplete’ because there are no baby hyenas

but there are baby zebras

there are baby hippopotami

who would have thought to put them all in a box

with access to just one tit?

the woman who put her tit 

through the hole in the box

has to guess which animal latches on

and if she’s right, she wins $1,000,000 

on the game show: “One Tit of the Serengeti”

“baby…baby hippopotamus?” she guesses

but it was a long-necked, tawny giraffe

its hairy, milk-fed camel lips

smacking with delight.

How to Get Away with Being a Baby

Snuggle.
Coo.
Act out or suppress your most diabolical desires.

Babble.
Squirm.
Look flabbergasted when you see bubbles.

Wriggle.
Drool.
Avoid liquid mercury.

Nuzzle.
Suck.
Haunt the breasts.

Whimper.
Teethe.
Hoard doses of Infant Tylenol to sell on the black market.

Fondle.
Barf.
Use a Ouija board to summon SIDS babies into your crib for blood magic.

Snuggle.
Coo.
It’s all up to you.

How to Have Fun All the Time

Two crocodiles were floating down a river of breast milk.
“Hey,” said one crocodile, “do you know how to have fun all the time?”
“No,” said the second crocodile. “Why?”
“Well, catching prey and swimming through breast milk is mostly fun, but I want to have fun all the time.”
“Hmm,” said the second crocodile. “Well, what about…if you were famous?”
Women in shackles lined the riverbanks, bent on their knees, squeezing milk out their nipples to keep the river flowing while Overseers stood behind them with whips.
“Nah,” said the first crocodile. “That would get old. Plus, you’d have to deal with paparazzi.”
The crocodiles kept swimming. A woman on the right riverbank refused to squeeze milk anymore. Instead, she stayed crouched and received the whippings, shuddering slightly after each blow, blood streaming down her back in tributaries.
“Hmmm,” said the second crocodile. “What if you had a mate, who loved you forever and always?”
The whipped woman, unconscious from blood loss, collapsed into the river with a splash.
“No, I...hold on a minute, I’m gonna eat this one,” said the first crocodile. The woman was suspended in the breast milk for a brief moment, curled up like a fetus, until the crocodile snapped its jaws at her legs, eating the bottom half of her. He swallowed, then ate the top half, taking his time to chew the tough skull. Blood from his feasting stained the river pink.
“As I was saying, I don’t think having a mate would mean you’d have fun all the time either,” he continued. “You’d have jealousy, and infidelities, and no end of lovers’ tiffs.”
 “Well, I guess having fun all the time just isn’t an option,” said the first crocodile. “Oh well.” And on they swam through the warm breast milk, the air a mass of swampy silence, pierced every so often by the crack of a whip.