Year Of The Excuse Has Bad Mojo Juice!

Another interview of Pat over at this mat!

The cat was thinking the other day. Yeah, I do that occasionally at my bay. That all of those umm crazy people out there who think 13 is bad luck at their lair, must really be in a bind. They could be wishing the Mayan thing really did blow away their behind. For now they are stuck in a year where 13 is always near.

What will I do?
What can I say?
It can't be true.
Who can I pay?

My foot aches,
The TV broke,
There are earthquakes,
I'm going to choke.

Where can I go?
Where will I hide?
I will spend dough,
To get to the other side.

My car rusted,
The roof leaks,
The microwave busted,
Oil poisoned the creeks.

Why little old me?
Why has this come?
Watch out for that tree.
I think I need some rum.

My fingers itch.
American Idol is through.
My neighbors a witch.
The dog ate my shoe.

Who can stop this?
Who can bring peace?
Something is amiss,
I'm wearing tye dye fleece.

The light bulb blew,
My shirt caught fire.
I felt an achoo,
I got pricked on a briar.

How will I last?
How will I live?
Get over fast,
There's nothing I won't give.

Hide in my house,
Hide in my room.
Look there's a mouse.
That surely spells doom.

I guess there is a perk to believing such things that would make most smirk. At least you can blame every woe from tye dye shirt to stubbing your toe, on the year. Although that would get to be quite the mundane cheer. Hopefully none are this absurd and just flip the thirteen the bird. For too soon another year will pass and all will be older, including my little rhyming ass.

Enjoy your winter, smash a printer.