The Pitfalls of Autonomy
Tuned in, turned off, turned on, turned up, turned puce…
Mother Goose, Aladdin, and Buttons
glaring at me like thunder.
`Prey, what ails thou Panto-types?` I seasonalled.
`A flagrant breach of protocol, that’s what!’ said Goose, irate, pacing.
`Cinders is a tard! Whittington’s a dachshund! The ugly sisters are ants! Need I continue?` Buttons stormed with absurd pomp.
‘My lamp is empty.` Aladdin wailed.
`I do not see what it has to do with me.` I said with modesty and aplomb.
`Just typical,’ Goose tutted, `will no one take responsibility ?`
Luck to get out of their alive,
I tell you, slipped out
when the Bovril lady came,
via the sink, town drain,
and Alaskan tundra to here.
`The Twiglet and Cheeseball.`