TOM BURNETT PRAISE POEM

Holy Guacamole and Living Legendrigals,

Tis-a de mome for the pome to bring it home from the Mall

We who are but the penciled mustache on Tommy Turbo’s luscious puss,

the masterful gravy pour-ed up-on his meat-a loaf

and the zinging singing singe of his HuManifesto to wit so much wit so little prime ground beef on his sesame street buns

So much kablooma and no burrito big enough to hold his tuna between

His legs, all three of them (legs that is) running in the fourteen directions

of the sun (audience now counts to 14):

1. Grumpy

2. Plugmuffin

3. Rabindranath Tagore

4. Floor swifter

5. Swiftboater

6. Roaring animal machine

7. Pure drivel (nothing but the PUREST drivel!)

8. This must be a poem I can get away with anything

9. Sneezy

10. Doc

11. Happy

12. Antique puppet refinishing done here

13. Too much music makes the baby a genius

14. There is no 14,

Just as there is no way in José

To enumerate the attributes, calibrate the retributes, reconstitute the institute

Manifest the multitude gratitude, the infinitude attitude

Of our brother-in-arms, artist-in-residence

Our pal and posseman, our chum-a-lunga-ding-dong

Hear ye here we are ye

By all the rights and wrongs ever committed

(Including those not yet done but surely will be) I invoke

mirthmagic and screamin dreamin on the Dionysic Demon

All hail King Tom Burnett and His Royal Court

Gathered in every basement throughout the land, we who

Are the hairs of his mustache do proclaim every goddamn thing of Goodness

To crown his Head with -- The headbashin’ Maniac Maestro of our Universal Sphere -- Tommy, All Praise Showers upon you

In golden waves eternity, every fuckin day is hereby proclaimed your

50^th Moth Flogging Birthday

Not Just Tonight

Tonight is Just the Beginning, Baby! Hooray!