This is a prequel to post #46.
Terry
He lead a solitary life, on the bottom of the ocean.
Truth be told, Terry the Tortoise was terribly lonely.
He also had a terrible itch,
out of reach, under his shell.
So, one day, he departed from the dark depths of the sea floor,
traversing unknown waters in hope of finding a lifelong friend.
* * * * * * * * *
The first prospective-friend was a large orange crab, named Oyster.
“His pincers would be perfect to itch under my shell,” thought Terry.
But, he wasn’t experienced with social situations.
You see, Terry was a terribly anxious tortoise.
And, the only thing he could think to say was,
“You’re a crab, called Oyster.”
To which, the crustacean replied,
“Really? I never noticed that.”
Terry wasn’t experienced with sarcasm either.
So, Oyster the crab appeared utterly idiotic.
Suddenly, our lonely little tortoise wasn’t sure if it was worth it.
A lifetime of dull conversation is no better than a lifetime alone.
Those magnificent pincers he’d longed to have under his shell,
They’d only provide a bit of temporary relief, anyway.
“I’m going to keep moving,” said Terry.
“Really nice to meet you, Mr. Crab.”
“It’s Kilpatrick, actually,”
replied the crustacean.
Terry let out a shrill cackle,
“Your name is Oyster Kilpatrick?”
“Oh yeah, so it is.
I never realized.”
“Never realized what, your name?
How is that even possible?”
“I guess I just never heard them put together like that.
People say Oyster or Kilpatrick, not both at the same time.”
Terry was fascinated and frightened by the crazy crab.
Oyster Kilpatrick was a mysterious crustacean.
“My friends,” he said.
“They just call me OK.”
With a goodbye wave, Terry turned his back.
Saying, “It was nice to meet you Mr. Kilpatrick.”
* * * * * * * *
Disheartened by his first failed attempt to connect with the world,
Terry the tortoise swam aimlessly for miles, before finally resting.
“Hey,” came a muffled voice.
“You’re sitting on my face.”
It was coming from the earth, directly underneath his shell.
Terry was sitting on top of a giant Sting Ray, named Ray.
“Sensible name,” said the tortoise to prospective friend number two.
“You’re a Sting-Ray, named Ray. Not Dolphin, or Sperm Whale.”
“Um, I’m glad you approve.
So, what’s your name?”
“Me? I’m Terry.
Terry the Tortoise.”
“Well Terry, can you look where you park that big green ass of yours, next time?
I think you might have done some serious damage. I take it you’re insured, right?”
“I’m sorry,” said Terry, ogling Ray’s long pointy tail.
“But I don’t think I have a valid insurance policy.”
“Well,” said Ray. “That’s just fucking typical, isn’t it?
My ex-wife is bleeding me dry for child support,
I have an undiagnosed rash, spreading rapidly across my body
and instead of a Christmas bonus, I got an involuntary redundancy.
Then, to top it all off, a tortoise comes along and shatters my spine,
rendering me unemployable and unable to support myself.”
Terry suspected that friendship was out of the question.
Ray wasn’t going to scratch his back, nor vice-versa.
“I’m sorry,” said the tortoise.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Kill me,”
replied Ray.
“I’m not going to do that.”
said Terry the terribly anxious tortoise.
“Just fuck off.”
Said Ray, the suicidal stingray.
And that’s what he did,
Terry the tortoise split.
* * * *
Terry was so terribly anxious,
He’d almost given up.
When, he came across a curious clam.
Never had he seen one so big or pink.
“Hello,” said Terry,
sheepishly.
“Hello,” said the Clam,
who upon closer inspection was a transexual.
“Goodbye,”
said Terry.
* * * *
Poor Terry
Terry was alone
Terry was terribly itchy
And terribly anxious
So terribly itchy
And anxious
That he ripped a hole through the fabric of the universe
* * * *
Terry was attached to the crotch of a naked man
A cognitive half-tortoise half-penis with a pubic toupee
And I’m standing at the door, and he's looking at me
And he knows
somehow that
I know.
I’m holding a portrait.
as girls feed him lettuce he watches me
me, holding a portrait of Terry the tortoise.
I let go of the door, and let it swing closed behind me,
As one of the schoolgirls reaches out to touch Terry.
“Don’t worry,” you say. “He doesn’t bite.”
* * * *
There’s no more Terry the terribly itchy tortoise.
Or, Terry the terribly anxious tortoise.
Now it’s just you & Terry.
