6/17/2010
Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi
44, Via Cristoforo Colombo
00147 Rome
6/17/2010
Dear Prime Minister Berlusconi:
Buongiorno. I was sorry to read about your many difficulties over the past few months. You have had much on your plate. From your broken nose of a couple of months ago to your recent sex scandals, your life has been filled with troubles and travails. One suggestion I have is to confer with one of our former Presidents. He may be able to offer some advice.
Non parlo l'italiano. I do not speak Italian very well so please forgive me.
I have enclosed an open letter to Connecticut Transit located in Hartford, CT, USA that is self-explanatory.
Because of the issues raised in the letter and because we all know that you have continued to keep the trains running on time—a contribution from one of your predecessors—I suggest that it may help you to take time from your busy schedule to travel to Connecticut to help us in our hour of need? Your suggestions for making Connecticut Transit buses not only run on time, but also even to run at all would be most helpful.
I know that Commissioner Joseph Marie of the Connecticut Department of Transportation located at 2800 Berlin turnpike, Newington, CT 06111, USA. (Telephone 00-1-860-594-2000) would be most appreciative. He is at his wit's end trying to get the system functional.
You could also try Arthur L. Handman, Executive Director, Connecticut Transit 100 Leibert Road, Hartford, CT 06141-0006. (Telephone: 00-1-860-522-8101)
Both of these men are anxiously waiting to hear from you.
Another option in lieu of visiting would be to sponsor a series of “live-aid concerts.” These concerts would raise money to revamp and upgrade the CT transportation system. Imagine U-2—the band, not your metro line—performing.
Everyday, cars clog our highways spewing out noxious fumes. One is reminded of spice-laden camels raising clouds of dust and sand crossing the desert toward Cairo. One is reminded of produce-laden and donkey-drawn carts braying and brawling traveling past traffic-clogged cars.
One is also unfortunately reminded of the factory smokestacks of West Virginia and a coal-choked sky. Only instead of several large smokestacks, we in Connecticut face hundreds, if not thousands of tiny smokestacks from private vehicles. Fumes that if unchecked will surely drift to over the ocean to Rome.
Thank you for your attention and I look forward to hearing from you.
Sincerely,
Mel Hathorn
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Friday, June 18, 2010
An Open Letter to Ted Turner, Rupert Murdock and other media moguls:
An Open Letter to Ted Turner, Rupert Murdock and other media moguls:
As I write this, there is great controversy over the Supreme Court Decision of a few months ago, Citizens United v. Federal Election Commission, legalizing corporate free speech. Although many have serious concerns about the damage to our free elections, I believe that it really makes no difference. So let the corporations buy as much time as they want before an election. For you see, no one believes you or them anyway!
You show the Tea Party yelling and screaming as if what they say has any logic or reason. You show questionable poll results that we all know are biased because they are dependent on whoever funds the poll, how the questions are structured and on may other variables that you refuse to reveal.
We recognize spin when powerful people either refuse to answer pointed questions and you let them slide, or your questions are so trite and meaningless that the answers are like sea foam, full of froth and bubbles.
The great reporters of the past, Edward R. Morrow, Walter Winchel, and Walter Cronkite are of another age and era. Now we have Entertainment TV and Inside Edition. Your reporters no longer dig for truth and the hidden story but focus on trite issues such as celebrity divorces, etc. Therefore, no one believes you!
Nobody believes you because you’ve already lost whatever bit of credibility you have had. You have traded whatever sense of ethics and responsibility you‘ve once had to provide honest reporting and quality programming for a quick buck. The swill that you feed us, Jerry Springer, Reality TV, etc., would not be fed to the hogs that produce my morning bacon. This swill is not fit for the swine of Gerasenes. Swill that the Prodigal Son would reject.
I suppose that there are a few unenlightened souls still chained to the back of Plato’s cave who continue to believe in the reality of your reflected shadows and illusions. But these few misguided souls are rapidly dwindling and soon all your profits and quick bucks will dwindle along with them. Because no one respects you!
So let the FCC relax media rules; it will not make any difference. Because we neither respect nor believe you!
As I write this, there is great controversy over the Supreme Court Decision of a few months ago, Citizens United v. Federal Election Commission, legalizing corporate free speech. Although many have serious concerns about the damage to our free elections, I believe that it really makes no difference. So let the corporations buy as much time as they want before an election. For you see, no one believes you or them anyway!
You show the Tea Party yelling and screaming as if what they say has any logic or reason. You show questionable poll results that we all know are biased because they are dependent on whoever funds the poll, how the questions are structured and on may other variables that you refuse to reveal.
We recognize spin when powerful people either refuse to answer pointed questions and you let them slide, or your questions are so trite and meaningless that the answers are like sea foam, full of froth and bubbles.
The great reporters of the past, Edward R. Morrow, Walter Winchel, and Walter Cronkite are of another age and era. Now we have Entertainment TV and Inside Edition. Your reporters no longer dig for truth and the hidden story but focus on trite issues such as celebrity divorces, etc. Therefore, no one believes you!
Nobody believes you because you’ve already lost whatever bit of credibility you have had. You have traded whatever sense of ethics and responsibility you‘ve once had to provide honest reporting and quality programming for a quick buck. The swill that you feed us, Jerry Springer, Reality TV, etc., would not be fed to the hogs that produce my morning bacon. This swill is not fit for the swine of Gerasenes. Swill that the Prodigal Son would reject.
I suppose that there are a few unenlightened souls still chained to the back of Plato’s cave who continue to believe in the reality of your reflected shadows and illusions. But these few misguided souls are rapidly dwindling and soon all your profits and quick bucks will dwindle along with them. Because no one respects you!
So let the FCC relax media rules; it will not make any difference. Because we neither respect nor believe you!
Woman in White Part 2
Women in White Part 2
Slowly, oh so slowly, I trudged up the hill to my home. After a day on the road, I wanted nothing more than to relax over a glass of wine. I rounded the corner and saw to my dismay her!
It was the woman in white, Mollie from Progressive Auto Insurance. She had been showing up sporadically at my front door. Oh No! I thought. Another hassle with Mollie.
I approached the door. Mollie stood outside holding a broom that I had been using to sweep the stoop earlier that day. She tapped the broom on the steps spreading the already worn-out bristles.
She glared and snarled. “I see you’ve been out all day with that blue-streaked hussy. I spend hours waiting for you and you’re gone all day spending time with her! How could you be with her when she sells her self. She even paints ads all over her.”
“But I …”
She crossed her arms and tapped her foot. “Mel,” she said, “I think it is time you made a commitment.” A beat.
Oh God! The C word.
“I don’t think I’ve had enough time yet to commit.,” I answered. “How can I commit? It’s too soon to buy Progressive Auto Insurance. I haven’t even gotten my car yet.”
“Well, if you weren’t so cheap, you’d get a car and than you wouldn’t have to spend all that time with that painted street-crawler, that Connecticut Transit bus. Than you could spend more time with Progressive.”
Being with this woman was like being in a Broadway musical. The devil made me do it. I couldn’t help it. I broke out into a song:
When the whippoorwills call, and evening is nigh,
I hurry to my blue heaven.
A turn to the right, and an ugly sight,
Will greet you in my blue heaven.
You’ll see a tattered rug, a frightening mug,
And a dreary room.
And a dizzy dame that wipes my frame,
With a worn-out broom.
Just Mollie and me, and Progressive makes three.
We’ll battle in my blue heaven.
I had to get Mollie off my back. But how? Then I had an idea.
To be continued…
Slowly, oh so slowly, I trudged up the hill to my home. After a day on the road, I wanted nothing more than to relax over a glass of wine. I rounded the corner and saw to my dismay her!
It was the woman in white, Mollie from Progressive Auto Insurance. She had been showing up sporadically at my front door. Oh No! I thought. Another hassle with Mollie.
I approached the door. Mollie stood outside holding a broom that I had been using to sweep the stoop earlier that day. She tapped the broom on the steps spreading the already worn-out bristles.
She glared and snarled. “I see you’ve been out all day with that blue-streaked hussy. I spend hours waiting for you and you’re gone all day spending time with her! How could you be with her when she sells her self. She even paints ads all over her.”
“But I …”
She crossed her arms and tapped her foot. “Mel,” she said, “I think it is time you made a commitment.” A beat.
Oh God! The C word.
“I don’t think I’ve had enough time yet to commit.,” I answered. “How can I commit? It’s too soon to buy Progressive Auto Insurance. I haven’t even gotten my car yet.”
“Well, if you weren’t so cheap, you’d get a car and than you wouldn’t have to spend all that time with that painted street-crawler, that Connecticut Transit bus. Than you could spend more time with Progressive.”
Being with this woman was like being in a Broadway musical. The devil made me do it. I couldn’t help it. I broke out into a song:
When the whippoorwills call, and evening is nigh,
I hurry to my blue heaven.
A turn to the right, and an ugly sight,
Will greet you in my blue heaven.
You’ll see a tattered rug, a frightening mug,
And a dreary room.
And a dizzy dame that wipes my frame,
With a worn-out broom.
Just Mollie and me, and Progressive makes three.
We’ll battle in my blue heaven.
I had to get Mollie off my back. But how? Then I had an idea.
To be continued…
Thursday, June 17, 2010
A Letter to Vladimir Putin
6/17/2010
Prime Minister Vladimir Putin
Kremlin,
Sobornaya Ploshad,
Moscow, Russia
Dear Prime Minister Putin:
Dobroe utro. In reading a novel recently, Stalin’s Ghost, by Martin Smith, I was reminded of the Moscow Metro system. In that story, Stalin’s Ghost haunts the Moscow Metro.
First, I want to compliment you on your excellent transportation system. I have traveled in Moscow and have been enthralled by the beautiful Moscow Metro system. Your stations are lined with black marble from Georgia, white marble from the Urals, and pink marble from Siberia. The Kropokin Station had beautiful golden and crystal chandeliers, mosaics, and frescos line the walls of many of your stations.
Jan e govorju po-Russki. I do not speak Russian very well so please forgive me. I have enclosed an open letter to Connecticut Transit located in Hartford, CT, USA that is self-explanatory. Because of the issues raised in the letter, I am contacting you and asking for one of the following:
1. Is it possible for one of your staff to contact either or both of the following men and invite them to come to Moscow and tour your excellent system? Perhaps they can imagine the possibilities. These persons are:
Commissioner Joseph Marie, Connecticut Department of Transportation. The address is 2800 Berlin turnpike, Newington, CT 06111, USA. Telephone 8~10 860-594-2000
The other is Arthur L. Handman, Executive Director, 100 Leibert Road, Hartford, CT 06141-0006. Telephone: 8~10 1-860-522-8101
2. Another option in lieu of tours would be to sponsor a series of “live-aid concerts.” These concerts would raise money to revamp and upgrade the CT transportation system. Imagine U-2—the band, not your metro line—performing.
Everyday, cars clog our highways spewing out noxious fumes. One is reminded of spice-laden camels raising clouds of dust and sand crossing the desert toward Cairo. One is
reminded of produce-laden and donkey-drawn carts braying and brawling traveling past traffic clogged cars.
One is also unfortunately reminded of the factory smokestacks of West Virginia and a coal-choked sky. Only instead of several large smokestacks, we in Connecticut face hundreds, if not thousands of tiny smokestacks from private vehicles. Fumes that if unchecked will surely drift to over the ocean to Moscow.
Thank you for your attention and I look forward to hearing from you.
Sincerely,
Mel Hathorn
Prime Minister Vladimir Putin
Kremlin,
Sobornaya Ploshad,
Moscow, Russia
Dear Prime Minister Putin:
Dobroe utro. In reading a novel recently, Stalin’s Ghost, by Martin Smith, I was reminded of the Moscow Metro system. In that story, Stalin’s Ghost haunts the Moscow Metro.
First, I want to compliment you on your excellent transportation system. I have traveled in Moscow and have been enthralled by the beautiful Moscow Metro system. Your stations are lined with black marble from Georgia, white marble from the Urals, and pink marble from Siberia. The Kropokin Station had beautiful golden and crystal chandeliers, mosaics, and frescos line the walls of many of your stations.
Jan e govorju po-Russki. I do not speak Russian very well so please forgive me. I have enclosed an open letter to Connecticut Transit located in Hartford, CT, USA that is self-explanatory. Because of the issues raised in the letter, I am contacting you and asking for one of the following:
1. Is it possible for one of your staff to contact either or both of the following men and invite them to come to Moscow and tour your excellent system? Perhaps they can imagine the possibilities. These persons are:
Commissioner Joseph Marie, Connecticut Department of Transportation. The address is 2800 Berlin turnpike, Newington, CT 06111, USA. Telephone 8~10 860-594-2000
The other is Arthur L. Handman, Executive Director, 100 Leibert Road, Hartford, CT 06141-0006. Telephone: 8~10 1-860-522-8101
2. Another option in lieu of tours would be to sponsor a series of “live-aid concerts.” These concerts would raise money to revamp and upgrade the CT transportation system. Imagine U-2—the band, not your metro line—performing.
Everyday, cars clog our highways spewing out noxious fumes. One is reminded of spice-laden camels raising clouds of dust and sand crossing the desert toward Cairo. One is
reminded of produce-laden and donkey-drawn carts braying and brawling traveling past traffic clogged cars.
One is also unfortunately reminded of the factory smokestacks of West Virginia and a coal-choked sky. Only instead of several large smokestacks, we in Connecticut face hundreds, if not thousands of tiny smokestacks from private vehicles. Fumes that if unchecked will surely drift to over the ocean to Moscow.
Thank you for your attention and I look forward to hearing from you.
Sincerely,
Mel Hathorn
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Women In White
Women in White
(The counterpart to Men in Black)
I was planning my next bus trip when the doorbell rang. It was the woman in white. I had seen her many times on that Progressive auto insurance TV commercial. The one who talks to people about switching over to Progressive Insurance. The one with the collagen-stuffed lips. She stood at the door in her white uniform somewhat embarrassed while holding a bouquet of flowers.
“Are you Mel?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve have been so impressed with all the writing you are doing and I just had to meet you.”
Surprised and caught off guard, I didn’t know how to respond. She introduced herself as Mollie. “Here, I bought these flowers for you. I just had to meet you. I hope you got a new car.”
As I thanked her, she broke out into the following song:
“Let me call you sweetheart, I’m in love with your limousine.
Let me hear you whisper, that you’ll buy the gasoline.
Keep those headlights burning and your hands upon the wheel.
Let me call you sweetheart. I’m in love with your automobile.”
I told her I was sorry but I still didn’t have a new one yet. She pouted with those botoxed-enhanced lips that reminded me of a swimming goldfish. “Oh, that’s OK!” she chirped. “We can handle that. We’ll just get you a car loan.”
I don’t know where it came from, my muse or wherever, but suddenly remembering my old car, I broke out in song.
“Let me call you Lizzie, I’m in debt for you.
Let me hear you rattle as you used to do.
Keep your headlights burning and your taillights too.
Let me call you Lizzie, I’m in debt for you.”
Unfortunately, she misunderstood and got into a huff because she thought I was calling her Lizzie. When we got that straightened out, she asked how I was getting around.
“I’m trying to use Connecticut Transit. But they don’t make it easy,” I answered.
“Oh! We insure them. They get unusually low rates.”
“Why is that?”
“Apparently their utilization rate is low. They don’t seem to drive the busses very much.”
(The counterpart to Men in Black)
I was planning my next bus trip when the doorbell rang. It was the woman in white. I had seen her many times on that Progressive auto insurance TV commercial. The one who talks to people about switching over to Progressive Insurance. The one with the collagen-stuffed lips. She stood at the door in her white uniform somewhat embarrassed while holding a bouquet of flowers.
“Are you Mel?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve have been so impressed with all the writing you are doing and I just had to meet you.”
Surprised and caught off guard, I didn’t know how to respond. She introduced herself as Mollie. “Here, I bought these flowers for you. I just had to meet you. I hope you got a new car.”
As I thanked her, she broke out into the following song:
“Let me call you sweetheart, I’m in love with your limousine.
Let me hear you whisper, that you’ll buy the gasoline.
Keep those headlights burning and your hands upon the wheel.
Let me call you sweetheart. I’m in love with your automobile.”
I told her I was sorry but I still didn’t have a new one yet. She pouted with those botoxed-enhanced lips that reminded me of a swimming goldfish. “Oh, that’s OK!” she chirped. “We can handle that. We’ll just get you a car loan.”
I don’t know where it came from, my muse or wherever, but suddenly remembering my old car, I broke out in song.
“Let me call you Lizzie, I’m in debt for you.
Let me hear you rattle as you used to do.
Keep your headlights burning and your taillights too.
Let me call you Lizzie, I’m in debt for you.”
Unfortunately, she misunderstood and got into a huff because she thought I was calling her Lizzie. When we got that straightened out, she asked how I was getting around.
“I’m trying to use Connecticut Transit. But they don’t make it easy,” I answered.
“Oh! We insure them. They get unusually low rates.”
“Why is that?”
“Apparently their utilization rate is low. They don’t seem to drive the busses very much.”
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
A Letter to Nicolas Sarkozy
6/15/2010
President Nicholas Sarkozy
Palais de l'Elysée
Paris, France
Dear President Sarkozy:
Bonjour. Comment allez-vous? First, I want to compliment you on your excellent transportation system. I have traveled many times in France and am always impressed with how easy it is to get around, not only in Paris but in the rest of France as well. From the Metro and the RER trains to the RATP bus system, your transit system cannot be beaten.
Je ne parle pas Français tres bien. Please forgive my poor attempts at writing in French.
I have enclosed an open letter to Connecticut Transit located in Hartford, CT, USA that is self-explanatory. Because of the issues raised in the letter, I am contacting you and asking for one of the following:
1. On behalf of Connecticut Transit, I would like to express an invitation to come to Hartford, CT and tour the facilities of ConnecticutTransit. Please bring along staff from your excellent transportation system. I know that Connecticut Transit would welcome suggestions.
During your visit please feel free to stay with us in our large sunny guest room that overlooks beautiful blossoming cherry trees.
Would it be possible for you after touring these facilities to donate some of the Paris Metro staff’s time to travel to Connecticut to run a series of workshops for Connecticut Transit located in Hartford, CT in the USA. These training sessions would be to help Connecticut Transit “get it right.” In other words, could your staff consult with CT Transit to help them learn how to upgrade the Connecticut transportation system? As you will see, Connecticut Transit is toujours malade
2. Another option in lieu of training sessions would be to sponsor a series of “live-aid concerts.” These concerts would raise money to revamp and upgrade the CT transportation system. Imagine U-2—the band, not your metro line—performing.
Everyday, cars clog our highways spewing out noxious fumes. One is reminded of spice-laden camels raising clouds of dust and sand crossing the desert toward Cairo. One is reminded of produce-laden and donkey-drawn carts braying and brawling traveling past traffic clogged cars.
One is also unfortunately reminded of the factory smokestacks of West Virginia and a coal-choked sky. Only instead of several large smokestacks, we in Connecticut face hundreds, if not thousands of tiny smokestacks from private vehicles. Fumes that if unchecked will surely drift to over the ocean to Paris.
Thank you for your attention and I look forward to hearing from you.
Sincerely,
Mel Hathorn
President Nicholas Sarkozy
Palais de l'Elysée
Paris, France
Dear President Sarkozy:
Bonjour. Comment allez-vous? First, I want to compliment you on your excellent transportation system. I have traveled many times in France and am always impressed with how easy it is to get around, not only in Paris but in the rest of France as well. From the Metro and the RER trains to the RATP bus system, your transit system cannot be beaten.
Je ne parle pas Français tres bien. Please forgive my poor attempts at writing in French.
I have enclosed an open letter to Connecticut Transit located in Hartford, CT, USA that is self-explanatory. Because of the issues raised in the letter, I am contacting you and asking for one of the following:
1. On behalf of Connecticut Transit, I would like to express an invitation to come to Hartford, CT and tour the facilities of ConnecticutTransit. Please bring along staff from your excellent transportation system. I know that Connecticut Transit would welcome suggestions.
During your visit please feel free to stay with us in our large sunny guest room that overlooks beautiful blossoming cherry trees.
Would it be possible for you after touring these facilities to donate some of the Paris Metro staff’s time to travel to Connecticut to run a series of workshops for Connecticut Transit located in Hartford, CT in the USA. These training sessions would be to help Connecticut Transit “get it right.” In other words, could your staff consult with CT Transit to help them learn how to upgrade the Connecticut transportation system? As you will see, Connecticut Transit is toujours malade
2. Another option in lieu of training sessions would be to sponsor a series of “live-aid concerts.” These concerts would raise money to revamp and upgrade the CT transportation system. Imagine U-2—the band, not your metro line—performing.
Everyday, cars clog our highways spewing out noxious fumes. One is reminded of spice-laden camels raising clouds of dust and sand crossing the desert toward Cairo. One is reminded of produce-laden and donkey-drawn carts braying and brawling traveling past traffic clogged cars.
One is also unfortunately reminded of the factory smokestacks of West Virginia and a coal-choked sky. Only instead of several large smokestacks, we in Connecticut face hundreds, if not thousands of tiny smokestacks from private vehicles. Fumes that if unchecked will surely drift to over the ocean to Paris.
Thank you for your attention and I look forward to hearing from you.
Sincerely,
Mel Hathorn
Monday, June 14, 2010
Men in Black
By
Mel Hathorn
I had a strange dream (some would call this a nightmare) last night. I dreamt I was watching TV and the Six Flags commercial seen all over the Northeast came on. This is the ad where the little old man in a black suit jumps in the air, clicks his heels together and screeches, "More rides! More Fun!” Scenes of a roller coaster and various other rides follow his idiotic dancing.
Suddenly to my surprise, the little ole man jumped out of the TV screen and stood before me. He introduced himself as Sammy. We conversed for a while. He then told me of a traumatic experience he had when a child. It seems that his father sent him to the store for some bread. As a result of that horrible experience, he wrote a song about it—I guess you get your therapy where you can.
Anyway, he regressed in age to a little boy and still wearing his black suit sang to me the following song, titled The Connecticut Transit Song. This song so familiar to children causes them to wonder who Sammy was. Well here is the answer.
The Connecticut Transit (CT) Song
This is a story about Sammy, his father sent him out for some bread.
But he did not feel like walking, he thought he’d take the bus instead.
So he said,
“If I rode a bus, I could ride to the store, ride to the store, ride to the store, for my father.”
“So Sammy waited a long, long time,
But the bus never came along.
And the rains came down and the floods came up
And he made up a brand new song.
‘If I were a fish I could swim to the store…father.’”
(It wasn’t bad enough that his voice hadn’t regressed along with his age; it was still the same scratchy voice. What was really annoying was the wiggling hand motions that children use when singing this song.)
He continued.
“And the sun came out and the ground dried up,
But the bus never came along.
And the flies buzzed, swarmed and bit him hard,
And he made up a brand new song.
‘If I was a bug, I could crawl to the store…father.’”
Here Sammy made hunching, crawling motions as if he were an insect.
“And the breeze came out and it cooled him down,
But the bus never came along,
And the birds flew over, and they dropped their load,
And he made up a brand new song.
‘If I was a bird, I could fly to the store…father.’”
Here he made those annoying flapping motions with his arms.
“Then Sammy remembered about the loaf of bread
And knew he better move along.
And as he walked, he arrived home late
And he made up a brand new song.
‘I sad I’m me and I stood for the bus…father.’”
“I never no more ‘ill wait for the bus…father.”
Sammy continued the story. He was sent to bed without his supper, but he did get a slice of the bread he brought home and a glass of water. He concluded his story and said that he was working for Six Flags because he got to more places faster using their rides than he did with Connecticut Transit.
Mel Hathorn
I had a strange dream (some would call this a nightmare) last night. I dreamt I was watching TV and the Six Flags commercial seen all over the Northeast came on. This is the ad where the little old man in a black suit jumps in the air, clicks his heels together and screeches, "More rides! More Fun!” Scenes of a roller coaster and various other rides follow his idiotic dancing.
Suddenly to my surprise, the little ole man jumped out of the TV screen and stood before me. He introduced himself as Sammy. We conversed for a while. He then told me of a traumatic experience he had when a child. It seems that his father sent him to the store for some bread. As a result of that horrible experience, he wrote a song about it—I guess you get your therapy where you can.
Anyway, he regressed in age to a little boy and still wearing his black suit sang to me the following song, titled The Connecticut Transit Song. This song so familiar to children causes them to wonder who Sammy was. Well here is the answer.
The Connecticut Transit (CT) Song
This is a story about Sammy, his father sent him out for some bread.
But he did not feel like walking, he thought he’d take the bus instead.
So he said,
“If I rode a bus, I could ride to the store, ride to the store, ride to the store, for my father.”
“So Sammy waited a long, long time,
But the bus never came along.
And the rains came down and the floods came up
And he made up a brand new song.
‘If I were a fish I could swim to the store…father.’”
(It wasn’t bad enough that his voice hadn’t regressed along with his age; it was still the same scratchy voice. What was really annoying was the wiggling hand motions that children use when singing this song.)
He continued.
“And the sun came out and the ground dried up,
But the bus never came along.
And the flies buzzed, swarmed and bit him hard,
And he made up a brand new song.
‘If I was a bug, I could crawl to the store…father.’”
Here Sammy made hunching, crawling motions as if he were an insect.
“And the breeze came out and it cooled him down,
But the bus never came along,
And the birds flew over, and they dropped their load,
And he made up a brand new song.
‘If I was a bird, I could fly to the store…father.’”
Here he made those annoying flapping motions with his arms.
“Then Sammy remembered about the loaf of bread
And knew he better move along.
And as he walked, he arrived home late
And he made up a brand new song.
‘I sad I’m me and I stood for the bus…father.’”
“I never no more ‘ill wait for the bus…father.”
Sammy continued the story. He was sent to bed without his supper, but he did get a slice of the bread he brought home and a glass of water. He concluded his story and said that he was working for Six Flags because he got to more places faster using their rides than he did with Connecticut Transit.
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