Tickling of the Non-Ticklishable
Tickling the non-ticklishable is like
tickling the humor haters, or a
hater who loves haters of lovers,
or tickling those non-laughers
at a barrel of laughing monkeys show,
or those tsetse fly mourners
crying at his pet tsetse fly funeral,
or those who murder all humor bugs
that land in their soup,
or the anti-humor idiots who
go to sleep at a clown assembly,
or those who serenade a corpse
with a song about a lunatic
in love with a spoon,
or a young maiden with three arms,
or a foot model with seven toes,
or a beauty queen that farted,
then shit on the stage,
or a crying hippopotamus at a hippo funeral,
or a gnat who landed in a pile of skunk funk
who thought it was something to drink,
or a funk diver that had to take a shower,
or a fire fly who doesn’t know
how to light a fire,
or a hyena that only laughs at funerals,
or a mouse in love with a killer cat,
or a laugher who laughs
with the above anti-laughers,
or those analyzers that
analyze the air of humor.
If one can get even a chuckle out of one
of the above mentioned humor haters,
he is really funny.
He deserves a blue ribbon
and a kewpie doll for his
tickling of the non-ticklishable.
Hoorah, hoorah for him! Amen.
