Bacon Fat

I ate a bowl of pork-y grease,
A fact that I ain't fakin'.
And now when I go exercise
My sweat smells just like bacon.

Mr. Craigs Fables: The Hungry Little Slug

Yesterday at 2:00 PM, give or take a week.......

A chubby, little slug crawled under a fence and into a great big garden.
He was feeling a bit hungry as he slowly inched among the rows of vegetables looking for a meal.
"Golly," thought the chubby, little slug. "I sure am hungry. What would taste super-good right now would be some squash."
As the chubby, little slug slowly inched down the row of vegetables and turned to inch up the next row, his little slug eyes almost popped off their stalks with amazement.
There in front of him was a whole row of squash.
"Oh happy day!" cried the chubby, little slug. "Look at all these squash! I will never be hungry again! And they're mine!...ALL MINE!!"
And the chubby, little slug started eating the squash.
munch, munch munch!
munch, munch munch!
munch, munch munch!
Gulp!
It didn't take very long until the chubby little slug had eaten enough squash and he was very, very full.
"I am very, very full," he said through a mouthful of chewed squash. "But I can't crawl away because someone may come by and take all my beautiful squash away from me!"
So he started eating again.
And he ate.
And he ate.
And he ate.
The chubby, little slug ate so much squash the he puffed up to four times his normal size.
"Ooooh my gracious," groaned the chubby, little slug. "I can't eat any more squash! But I can't just crawl away! Someone may come by and take all my beautiful squash away from me!"
So he started eating yet again.
And he ate.
And he ate.
And he ate.
Then suddenly, the chubby, little slug stopped eating.
His little, slug eyes bulged on the ends of their stalks.
His little slug mouth opened and trembled as tiny bits of squash dropped from his little slug lips.
And with a loud and wet-sounding "POP!", the chubby, little slug exploded and showered the vegetable garden with partially digested squash and lots and lots of slug innards.

Why People Go To Parades

It’s not to hear the marching bands
Or hear the bag pipes drone.
It’s not to see the honored Mayor
Or the float shaped like a phone.

It’s not to see the Little League
Or any Boy Scout Troop.
But who’s a-marching behind the horse
And who steps in the poop.

What If Stevie Wonder Were Superman?

Fighting crime would still be his mission.
Just without the X-Ray vision.

Little Nell

Little Nell had hiccups
Of that there was no doubt.
She hiccup-ed once with so much force
Her head turned inside out.

Little Nell

Little Nell spun ‘round and ‘round
And then she spun some more.
She spun around a few more times
And spun right through the floor.

Timmy And Fong

Timmy had a sister and his sister’s name was Fong.
Timmy, who was older, thought his sister’s hair was long.
So Timmy grabbed some pruning shears a-lying next to him
And went into his sisters room to give her hair a trim.

He started cutting on the top and then moved to the back.
The pruning shears went “snick-itty snick” and “clip-itty clip” and “hack”.
But Timmy grew a bit perturbed and thought about just leavin’
Because the haircut he gave Fong was sloppy and uneven.

The top was clean. The back, precise. The bangs, without a flaw.
It was the sides of Fong’s new “do” that stuck in Timmy’s craw.
So Timmy thought and Timmy smiled and Timmy grabbed the shears
And cured his sister’s cock-eyed hair by snipping off her ears.

Refuting The Existence Of Certain Mythical Personas Your Parents Insist Are Real

It’s not the Sandman sprinklin’ dust
It’s tears and dirt that make eye crust.

The Boogey Man will top this list
Because he simply don’t exist.

Another lie is the Easter Bunny.
(I don’t know why they think he’s funny.)

And frozen water condensation
Is the Jack Frost explanation.

But the one that lives and is truly scary
Is the vicious, rabid, fanged Tooth Fairy.

Mr. Craigs Fables: The Other Muffin Man

Thirteen years ago last Tuesday,…………….



Mrs. Glickman opened up her oven door and peeked inside.
“Oh good-y,” she smiled. “They’re done.”
She put on her big, purple oven mitts, reached into the stove and pulled out a pan filled with freshly baked, blueberry muffins.
Smelling the sweet, fruity muffins, Mrs. Glickman placed the hot pan on top of the stove and left the kitchen to give them time to cool.
When she returned 10 minutes later, she noticed that one of the muffins was missing.
“That’s odd,” she said out loud. “I wonder what happened to the muffin.”
“Hah, haa! Wouldn’t you like to know, you big dummy,” said a mocking voice that came from the stove top.
Mrs. Glickman looked down and stood shocked and still when out from behind the tea kettle walked the missing blueberry muffin.
There was a long period of quiet as Mrs. Glickman stared at the little muffin on the stove.
“What are you looking at, Stupid Head,” sneered the muffin.
Mrs. Glickman couldn’t believe she was staring at a walking, talking muffin. Or at how impolite the muffin was.
“What?” shouted the muffin. “You’ve never seen a blueberry muffin before?” The muffin then stuck its tongue out at her.
Mrs. Glickman frowned at the rude, little muffin. She then reached out her hand to pick it up and place it back in the muffin pan with the other muffins who didn’t walk or talk nasty.
“Hey!” screamed the muffin. “Don’t touch me!”
When Mrs. Glickman pulled back her hand, the bad muffin laughed, turned around and wiggled his rear end in her direction.
Then it made “poopie” noises at her.
Mrs. Glickman had had enough of the bad mannered muffin. She reached down and quickly grabbed the muffin as it tried to run back behind the tea kettle.
She then peeled the paper wrapper from around the wriggling, little muffin.
“What are you doing?!?” screamed the muffin. “Why are you taking off my clothes?!?”
With the paper covering removed, Mrs. Glickman then raised the shrieking, little muffin up to her mouth and took a big bite out of it.
As she chewed the mouthful of muffin, the yelling stopped and she got to enjoy the fruity tasting muffin in peace and quiet.
And it was the best tasting muffin she ever ate.

Babies pt. I

Very tiny, little folks
With wretched walking talents.
Their mouths stay open when they walk.
They use the drool for balance.

Babies pt.II

Change is for the better
Or else the diaper just gets wetter.

Mr. Craig's Fables: The Story of Fatty Ham Cat

Not long ago in a town just over there,………

there lived a cat that looked just how a cat should look. He had two pointy ears, a long tail, a little pink tongue and he was furry. But there were two things that made this cat just a little bit different.
One thing was this cat was very, VERY fat.
And the second thing was this cat smelled like ham.
So people called him………..Fatty Ham Cat.
Fatty Ham Cat liked to eat.
Fatty Ham Cat liked to sleep.
And Fatty Ham Cat liked to dream.
One day, Fatty Ham Cat woke up from a great dream, ate breakfast and went for a walk. And everywhere that Fatty Ham Cat went, people were not very nice to him.
They said things like, “Ew!”
And “Gross!”
And “Yuck! You smell like ham!”
This made Fatty Ham Cat mad.
“What’s the big deal!” he yelled. “I smell like ham! So what?!? It could be worse! I could smell like cheese underpants!”
So Fatty Ham Cat went out each day to do his cat chores knowing that people didn’t like the way he smelled.
That Thursday while he stood in line at the sock store, Fatty Ham Cat noticed something unusual.
The lady behind him wasn’t complaining that he smelled like ham.
In fact, she was standing very close to him and smelling him and smiling.
When she noticed what she was doing she apologized.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I just love the smell of ham.”
“You do?” said Fatty Ham Cat.
“Yes. How would you like to come live with me?” she asked.
“What would I have to do?” asked Fatty Ham Cat.
“Oh, nothing. Just sleep and dream and eat the food I make you. All you would have to do is smell like ham.”
“I can sure do that!” exclaimed Fatty Ham Cat.
So Fatty Ham Cat went home with the woman and she made him a big batch of mouse cakes for dinner.
And as Fatty Ham Cat slept and dreamed, the lady sniffed him and smiled.

Monsters in Your House: The Pant-a-Loon

The Pant-a-Loon lives in your pants and in your leiderhosen.
It’s thin and soft and lives wrapped up inside the pants you’ve chosen.

It slithers in a pants leg, either left one or the right ones.
Its favorites are the baggy kind and always shuns the tight ones.

The Pant-a-Loon sleeps patiently until you put on slacks
And then the flat and sneaky beast awakens and attacks.

The way you beat the Pant-a-Loon and not end up its food?
You simply must take off your pants and walk around half-nude.

Epitaphs III

Here I lie,
Weiling Chan,
Sliced to death by a ceiling fan.
I rest now in heaven
And hear angels chatter
All the while looking
Like a cold deli platter.

Little Nell

Little Nell ate honey
Directly from the hive.
If Nell had just removed the bees
She still might be alive.

Connie, The Piercing Fanatic

She pierced her earlobes one by one.
Then pierced them twelve more times for fun.

And soon her lobes were filled with rings
So Connie punctured other things.

Her eyebrows were the next things skewered,
One hundred rings, so mark my word.

Off her nose ten rings were hung
And then nine barbells through her tongue.

With no room left upon her face
She went and pierced near everyplace.

Connie pierced her body speedily
‘Til all her skin was pierced and needle-y.

She went outside to show the world.
But just then dark storm clouds unfurled.

It rained on Connie, now she’s gone.
She rusted to death right there on the lawn.

Little Nell

Little Nell once bit her tongue
And found she liked the taste.
So she kept right on chewing
'Til she gnawed off half her face.

Little Nell

Little Nell baked poison tarts
Spiced with toxic waste.
That's fine 'cept Nellie gave the batter
Just a little taste.

Crooked Pete

In a crooked little house
On a crooked little street
Lived a crooked little man
And his name was Crooked Pete.

Crooked Pete was called as such
‘Cause of his crooked back.
Both mentally and physically,
Pete was out of whack.

Crooked Pete lived in his house
With Bruce who was his dog
Who lay still ‘cause he had no legs
And looked just like a log.

And every morning, every day
Bruce’s tail would wag.
‘Cause Crooked Pete would leash Bruce up
And take him for a drag.

Epitaphs II

Here lies the body of Jessica Booth,
A spinster who tried to recapture her youth.
She passed when attempting to play some Cat’s Cradle
But the move she called “Neck-sies” is what proved to be fatal.