Narrative Poem: A Trip to Turkey.

 My Dear Children;

Did I ever tell you about my stay in Turkey?

They have many strange customs and laws there.

On Fridays everyone has to walk backwards between the hours of noon and six in the evening. Their great founding leader, Kemel Attaboy, thought this would increase productivity and lessen the stranglehold of the muftis. 

Then there's the custom of 'namby-pamby,' a turkoman tradition dating back to ancient times. Before the Pharaohs built the freeways, the Turks were hunting down the fleet-footed namby and breeding them with the woolly pamby -- for a breed of dogs that can herd sheep as well as provide a kind of hair fiber perfect for making throw rugs. And everyone knows how deadly the Turks are with throwing their rugs. That's how they conquered half the world. No army can stand up to a barrage of such terrible tapestry.

It's kinda funny, the way I got to go to Turkey. My older brother Billy's friend Crazy Henry won a free trip to Turkey at a benefit raffle to raise funds for a new cement mixer at the orphanage. Well, Crazy Henry couldn't go to Turkey -- he had a previous commitment to lecture at the George Pal Museum in Waterloo Iowa -- so he gave me his ticket. And a bag of licorice to sell in Turkey; the Turks dearly love to smoke it in their hubble-bubbles and will pay through the nose for Grade A licorice. I made a lot of snotty lira.

When I got back from Turkey I could speak the language like a Frenchman. So I set up a language school in an abandoned railroad car. But I found it to be a rather brutal existence. Struggling with vowel harmony and agglutination. So I took off for Switzerland with one of my pupils -- a young girl named Weena. Ah . . . Switzerland! Where the air smells like cough drops.

Oh, it was quite a scandal. I can tell you that. My father cut me off without one red cent. Or two green nickels. Or even a ha'penny. The newspapers had a field day. Sack races; ring toss; ping pong shake; and cup stacking. They even stooped to face painting! 

Weena and I were personas non grata at every European embassy from Vaduz to Valletta. But we didn't care. We were young and carboniferous -- and I had saved up enough Green Stamps to keep us going indefinitely.

But eventually our relationship soured. She was a Pisces and I was, and still am, a dyed in the wool Mugwump. So we parted ways. She went off to Conakry to join their Olympic Marimba team. And I, well ~ you know what happened to me --

I joined Ringling Brothers, Barnum & Bailey Combined Shows as a First-of-May. And that's where I met your mother, who was running a floss joint.    

And the rest, as they say, is hysterical.

Love,

Heinie Manush.