said my lawyer.
I was sitting on top of the Chrysler Building,
where I had found sanctuary
from the Anti-Foofery mob
that was hounding me
into an early grave.
My lawyer, Jim Dick Henderson
('JD' to his friends),
was hovering nearby
seated in an autogyro.
"Can I come down yet?"
I asked him.
It had been several days
since I'd changed socks.
Without saying a word
he grabbed a hold of me
and we descended into the
busy streets of Chicago.
"That was a fast trip"
I told him.
"Anything for a client"
he replied.
Then he was gone
in a cloud of perfume.
Left to my own devices
I decided to visit a fake
museum.
Not a museum that displayed
fakes, but a building
pretending to be a museum.
It's all the rage in the Midwest.
I walked into a post office,
which looked pretty fake to me.
"What kind of fake museum is this?"
I asked the lady clerk,
who looked so bored
her cheeks were concave.
"Cash or card?" she asked.
I left after buying a t-shirt,
a cap, and a snow globe.
But by then the Anti-Foofery
goons had located me again.
So I ran down a dark alley,
looking for a dead end.
When they caught up to me
I began spitting sunflower seed
husks
at them, like a machine gun.
That disoriented them enough
for me to cloud their minds
and walk right through them
to safety.
I can do that when I take
my vitamins.
From Chicago
it was a hop, skip, and a
jump
to San Francisco --
where I varnish swimming pools.
And all the Anti-Foofery boys
around here have been burned up
in the wildfires.
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