I finally fell asleep after tossing and turning.  I drifted off into a sea of dreams, peaceful like the aftermath of a storm. I was in paradise in the arms of a beautiful woman who sang to me and cradled my head in her lap.  Then that & ^ # % poem roused me from my sleep playing sour notes on its stupid trumpet.  If it wants to get to Carnegie Hall it had better start practicing a whole lot.  Then it shouted in my ear as if I were ten miles away.  “Get up out of that bed you no good for nothing % * # ^ lazy bum and write me down.  How dare you sleep while I’m at my creative peak?  Don’t you know that I am a genius who needs your constant attention twenty four hours a day?  Get your butt up outa’ there and write me down before I lose my trend of thought.  Are you ready?  Here it goes.

The girl turned red
  And so did– uh– Ed

You got it down? Isn’t that hilarious?  Now take it to the publisher and tell him it’s gonna’ kill him when he reads it.  I’m so brilliant.  Aren’t you glad I woke you up?”  “Not really.”
So the next day, off to the publishers I went with that stupid poem.  Then that night I was rousted from my peaceful sleep again by that maniac.  “Did you take it to the publishers?  Did you, did you?”  “Don’t bother me.  Yea, I took that beautiful thing, ugh, of yours down to the publishers and told him I was going to kill him. Now let me go back to sleep.”
Then some time later, the cops came to my door, put the cuffs on me, and took me down to the police station.  The next morning the judge sentenced me to ten days in jail for scaring the hell out of the publisher by threatening to kill him, so he called the cops.  I told the judge some poet ghost made me write his stupid poem down and take it to the publisher. I should have said “It’s going to kill him instead of “I.”  His Honor then said, “I’ve heard some pretty far-fetched stories before, but none as far-fetched as that one. Some poet ghost wrote it and told you it’s or you’re going to kill the publisher. Yea, sure it did.”  “Clabunk!” sounded the gavel, “Next case.”
The moral of the story is:  When a stupid poem that calls itself brilliant wakes you up from your sleep, just tell it to shut the hell up, then go back to sleep.

As featured in "Funny in Five Hundred."

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