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I miss the ‘Stute, I can't refute,
This outside life just don't compute.
The love ain't there, the people stare,
But I can't find the ‘Stute, anywhere...
I longed to sneak an outside peak,
Yes, life inside had seemed so bleak.
Worked at Wal-Mart, wudn't too smart,
They couldn't appreciate my art.
So I came back, hadn't lost track...
Of those who loved Van Gogh, the crack.
But, lo, the woe, I just wanna know -
Where the hell did the ‘Stute go?
Nuts here! Nuts there!, Nuts everywhere!
Nuts on the ground, Nuts in the air.
ONE FLEW OVER, two ducked under,
The rest tore the whole place asunder.
JUSTIN KASE you don't think it's true,
I warn you JUSTIN THYME, I do...
I see a mad woman with a hatchet,
Yes, indeed, it seems you pissed off CRATCHET.
Yes, you best go, and take PABLO,
You know he's getting kinda slow.
I'll search for ol' LEONARDO,
And that loser, MICHELANGELO.
Be cool, be trite, stay out of sight.
Let's all meet at Wal-Mart tonight.
Indeed me thinks something here stinks,
And it ain't left over sausage links.
Hey, that reminds me, where's the MOOSE?
Ah, he best have a good excuse...
No, Someone's behind what happened here,
Me thinks the Moose, and Balladeer!
Hey, Vince! What's the problem?
You don't see us here?
Or do you not hear us,
since you've got no ear?
Hey, Vince! Hey, wassappenin'?
It's Pablo here, but
you never got out!
No, Vince, you're a NUT!
You're stuck here with us,
you can like it or not!
If it were up to Cratchet,
you'd be here to ROT!
You never got out.
You're NOT out! You ain't!
So sit yourself down,
and hand me the PAINT!
You're STILL in the 'Stute,
it's true, don't cha know?
You loony ol' coot!
They won't let YOU go!
your friend,
Artist Extraordinaire
It just can't be. It just can't be,
Me thinks me smells conspiracy.
The 'Stute is gone, this much I know
You must be in on it too, Pablo,
Justin Kace you hadn't noticed,
the 'Stute is not on top--
It's gone from Open Poetry
and moved to the Workshop.
The Fictional kind, dear Vince, my friend.
So come on back and join right in.
'Cause Mona got stuck in Analysis (YES!)
the Critical kind, I guess.
So, we're off now to find the Wizard.
Wherever he might be!
Unless we get stuck in a blizzard
of the 'Stute insanity!
your friend,
Pablo Picasso
Artiste Extraordinaire
When will you all learn, bashing Nurse
Crachet can only fly you backwards.
Was there a place I did not know
Where loonies are suppose to go
A Place they called the 'Stute?
Cause with Vincent and Pablo
Leonardo and Angelo
The 'Stute sounds like a hoot!
And there's Kase and Thyme
Each doing their rhyme
There's a real couple of coots!
But there's a nurse I here
That you don't want too near
'Cause your arse will get the boot!
You all are pathetic, denying you all are here.
Roll call every morning lists all your names,
and every room is occupied. Now Andrew
Scott you've come to say that your confused
to where you are supposed to be. Have you
forgotten all your talks with the white coats.
I will discuss with Dr. Moose about your
regimen. I'm sure we can accommodate.
Welcome Sir Andrew, have you just come
to visit or will thoust be staying awhile. Be
warned...whatever the case is...don't eat
the meatloaf... (Rumors of ears and toes
and the like abound). Also, Balladeer has
been seen conversing with Cratchet...
me thinks somethin is up!!!
Andrew! You have snuck out again!
That room with bars can't hold you in!
You found the PC at the 'Stute!
(the Passions house of *PILL* repute.)
Yes, they give pills for EVERYTHING!
They clog your head, make your ears ring!
So, my advice to you would be,
(just let me know if you agree)...
Stay clear of Cratchet, she's a jinx,
no matter what Balladeer thinks.
But most of all, I'll tell you NOT
to tell the Doc your name is Scott!
They do not like impostors here,
so tell the truth, and DO be clear!
Your name is Wyeth, true enough,
so don't pretend! They'll call your bluff!
They'll shoot your head hard with a zap!
They'll tell you they'll not take the crap!
They'll realize you're lying then
They'll lock you in a little pen!
So tell the truth, and don't you lieth!
You are the painter, Andrew Wyeth!
-Leonardo DaVinci
Super Painter
Toe in the meatloaf I can understand...
that guy is always poking around...
But Sir Balladeer and Nurse C?
I don't think she bleets enough.
Besides Balladeer's my friend...
we fought in the dreaded Fruit
Wars together... he was right there
by my side squashing melons with
the best of them.... There was Mr.
Cucumber and Arti the Choker and
so many others... but they're all gone
now, gone I say... to that great
produce stand in the sky... God what
a slaw-ter it was. As for staying... I've
got an appointment at 2 to see a lady
about her dog Fluffy.
Andrew Wyeth? Was he a finger painter?
Or was he that famous painter of fingers?
Didn't he do the one "Read Between the
Lines?" And how about "Talk to the Hand"
and the "Fickle Finger of Fate." Oh ya...
and the Siscal and Ebert "Thumbs."
I heard he really hated doing that one,
cause of course he was a real finger man!
Me? No... that's not me! BAM! Hey!
Stop hitting me! That hurts! Yah... my
name’s Andrew...Andrew Scott! BAM!
BAM! HEY! Stop it! Sorry man but I
gotta go.... BAM!
Don't do it Scott,
or is it Andrew,
or is it Hazardous,
or are they right,
and you are Wyeth.
Don't meet her here,
don't meet her there,
don't meet her anywhere.
Avoid her if you can,
avoid her invisible crayon,
and if at all possible
avoid riding in her van.
Dude! FLEW!
I remember you!
You did fly over re-con
in battle over Melon
Don't worry for me Fly Boy
Cause I've got this here toy
I got it from Agent Q
And here's what it will do
It slices and dices
and makes Julian fries
But more important
It cuts through all of her lies
I'll know when she's ziggin
I'll know when she's zaggin
There ain't know way
She'll get me in the back of that wagon.
As for "C"s colorless crayon
I've got an assorted attack
of eight beautiful colors
From the Crayola Fat Pack
I'm armed to the teeth
And the Nursey's going down
So I'll be on way just as soon
As I find my damn hospital gown
Fly High, Buddy! Fly High...
I've been away, or so I think
Agoraphobic, on the brink
Though outside beckons, 'tis not for me
The 'Stute offers, security
Not to mention, artists grand
Many who, will lend a hand
Or ear, or toe, or body part
This should not end, 'tis just the start
So power up, the therapy juice
All that voltage, will make you loose
All the better, don't you see
For the Mambo, Waltz, or Wa-tu-si?
Hey, Moose! I thought they tossed you out!
Out on your ear, they said.
Oh no, excuse me I am wrong.
T'was Vincent they tossed, instead.
But out on his ear was hard to do,
considering that it was gone.
But they *did* pick him up
and throw him out
right in front of the guard on the lawn.
Well anyway, I've gone off again.
Off on a tangent, I guess.
But I'd sure like to see ol' Andrew's machine!
So we can make Cratchet a MESS!
A slicer? A dicer? Well, what's not to like?
It sounds lots of fun, don'tcha think?
(But keep it from Vince 'cause you never know,
he's hovering over the brink).
sincerely yours,
Pablo Picasso
Artiste Extraordinaire
Andrew Wyeth you crazy man
vegetables clog the fan
I can't believe
you take me to be naive
not to know your plans.
Your laughing with the best
so I must fail your test
no coffee at two
I've got a new flu
so it's time to take a rest.
That ain't no flu
My little Nurse "C"
That's the Andrew Scott's
Double Hex Curse see!
Snub me and see
How much worse it gets
Sneezing and fever
Are just the first of your fits
I'll soon have your face
In the porcelain pot
Giving that toilet
Everything that you got
And when you're all done
You'll be looking for your ears and nose
Cause you'll swear they're down the drink
Right along with you fingers and toes.
And by they way! Weyth paints with his fingers!…
Do I look like I paint with my fingers? NO!
I don't paint at all! Now… if you want to
talk about crayons I'm your man… in the lines…
over the lines… heck! even on the lines.
Wax is my gig! I don't know who this Weyth
guy is and I don't want to know him. He
paints "fingers" for God's sake! What kind
of artist is that? WAX! That's the way to
go… hot melting wax… hmmmmm…
yesssss… hot… melting… waxxxxxxxxx.
How foul of me
to think that you
would paint fingers.
Since wax is your art
the floors here
could use your expertise.
On your hands, and knees
would do just fine
be sure not to miss
the cracks, and crevices.
My ailing of the flu
have nothing remote
to do with you.
Was just an excuse
for fear of abuse
from a strange recluse
with the likings of you.
When your done with the floors
you can then stain the doors
with colors of your choice.
Nurse "C" has made a grave mistake
The custodian for me to take
'Cause on hands and knees to clean I'll not go
You see it's crayons I do carry
With oh so many colors pretty
That paraffin sure can make things glow
Melt it on down to its liquid form
Add some chemicals from kitchen norm
You got instant sticky fire that can flow
I'll color all the walls and floor
And don't you worry about that door
'Cause I got special sticks to make it blow
So gather all your paint my boy
This crayon eight pack ain't no toy
It's almost time that we begin this show
That Nurse Crachet we'll cook her goose
We'll also fry that Doctor Moose
As for everything else, just bill my HMO
I'm with ya! Go for it, dude!
Do not attempt, to change your set
Andrew Scott, you are all wet
To think that you, could cook my goose
Me-thinks you've got, a few screws loose
I'm here to say, I got here first
So if you want, just do the nurse
But should you lust, for bigger game
Do not trifle, with my name
This will not do, 'tis not allowed
I'm one of you, and of this proud
So 'fore we both, waive thoughts to chance
Is there one of you, who cares to dance?
My mistake Doctor Moose
For I thought you part of the staff
With a name such as yours
Surly you understand my gaffe
But now that I know
You are a member in trust
Perhaps you can help me
As I get ready to bust
Out of the 'Stute
Mal-mart is where I must go
I hear they got new crayons
And prices marked way down low
I'll buy all of their stock
Every last beautiful stick
Then I'll melt them all down
To a gel that's nice and thick
Then back to the 'Stute
Where I'll smear it all about
Strike that fiery match
And listen for the Nurse-C's shout
So come on all you guys
Lets go paint the town
I've got crayons to buy
And Nurse-C's goin' down
Oh, and Dr. Moose
If your cards not taken
To the smell of bacon
What? Did I scare ya! Here NurseC, NurseC,
NurseC... Anybody home? Or do I get
this place all to myself?
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