The Big Splat Theory

Godcockroach said
Let there be light
Godcockroach didn’t
Plan that right

Fabled Unicycle Beavers

They’re fabulous! Well, that’s the claim
In their brochure, but I can name
At least a dozen times I’ve seen ’em:
Not one moral there between ’em.
Fables are supposed to teach
Us things! This constitutes a breach
Of contract. Tell me, should I leave, or
Pay the unicycle beaver?

That’s How It’s Made, I Assume

A motion-capture squirrel, tired
From an action scene, was fired
After ruining the bin
Of fresh, wet clay he’d fallen in,
And wasn’t subsequently hired
Back, as he was porcelain.

Firefly Squid

Deep undersea’s the poorly hidden
Trench I keep my Firefly Squid in.
Secrecy would be airtight
Without that blasted blinking light!

False Alarm

Thar she bl–
Nope. Spyglass fail.
Still no sign o’
Fricken WHALE.

Six-Legged Wombatquail

“We don’t have room for two of those,”
Quoth Noah. “Japheth, raise the sail!”
Shem’s departure selfie shows
The last Six-Legged Wombatquail.

Elderly Robot Pug

I rarely feed my robot pug.
Sometimes a roly-poly bug
Will catch its eye and get swept up
But typically a robot pup
Subsists on vacuum scraps and cuddles.
When they’re old they may leave puddles
Of transmission fluid when
Their gears and servos pack it in,
But mine’s held up. That piercing whine
Is my ennui. The pug is fine.

Heavenly Caterpillar

A caterpillar (Wooly Bear)
Performed a path-dash on a dare
It met a human foot or two
Now it’s in heaven, watching you

Steampunk Platypus

Came upon a coupon for community college
And thought, what the heck? I could use some new knowledge.
They’d quite the eclectic curriculum there:
Biology, Sculpture, Small Engine Repair,
Animal Husbandry, Quiltmaking, Jazz,
And Comparative Lit 101 (“Like or As”).
To cash in the coupon I had to commit
To an end-of-term project I’d need to submit
For each class that semester in which I’d enrolled
(Which was all of them) and, well, I aced it, I’m told,
With an all-in-one combo that ticked every box
In the course catalog at C.C. of Soft Knocks
Which was pleased to confer a degree (and A-plus)
For my hand-sewn, self-powered Steampunk Platypus.

Twenty-Seven Forty-Four

While that guy from St. Ives
Had a half dozen wives
More than might be allowed
In some cultures, that crowd
Wouldn’t bother me. Bigamy
Doesn’t much trigger me
If it’s consenting.
What I’d be resenting
And likely’d belabor
If he were my neighbor
Was how many pets
All his 49 gets
(Seven kids with each spouse)
Had hauled into his house.
Who wouldn’t be bitter
Inhaling the litter
From seven times seven
Times seven times seven
Plus three-forty-three
Total felines? Not me.
Do the math, people! That’s
Way. Too. Many. Cats.