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...and as they both sank beneath the water, the scorpion said to the frog:
"I couldn't help it. It's in my nature."
The Bipolar Bowler
by D X Stone
The Bipolar Bowler had balls, you bet!
He had two big balls, as big as they get!
He'd roll 'em both together
Whenever he bowled
And the right one was all silver
And the left one was all gold...
But his right hand never knew
What his left hand was about...
So half the time those two big balls
Would cancel one another out!
His style was perfectly berserk
It wasn't right--it didn't work!
One lane was not enough for such as he...
He needed two at minimum, or maybe three!
And when he'd roll a double-gutter
He'd become so utterly depressed
You'd think his three best friends had died!--
He'd hold his balls up to his head and threaten suicide!
But then he'd laugh and say it was a jest
And just pretend...
And then he'd cry and cry
Til it was time for him to bowl again
He wanted to bowl in two lanes at a time--
In two leagues at a time!
"Where's the crime?" he'd protest,
"Just because I wanna bowl twice as much as the rest?"
But more popular people prevailed--
The Bipolar Bowler was jeered at and jailed!
And when he finally got out
And went to get his balls back
They told him that his golden bowling ball was stolen--
Sold perhaps, or painted black--
They told him that he couldn't get it back...
The Bipolar Bowler heard these words
Stood stock-still, seeming stunned...
Then went to get his gattling gun
All the High-Rollin' Bowlers froze in mid-frame
When the Bipolar Bowler stepped onto the lanes
In his street shoes!
"I'll teach you!" he shouted, deranged!
"I'm all better!" he cried to the crowd,
"I have changed!"
"I am no longer who I once was
And I know it shows! I know it does!
"I repent!" he cried, "I've changed my ways!
Prayer, crying, crime--
None of it pays!
I'm goin' straight this time!" he said--
Then he drew fast and shot himself right in the head...
And his blood was red and green and blue
And orange and yellow and purple, too...
And it fountained up out of the tiny hole
Like a rainbow wrapping around a soul
And bursting through a coal-black cloud--
A curse came up from the beer-swilling crowd...
Then burgeoning cheers and loud applause!
And then everybody got out their saws
And cut him up into tiny bits
Then affixed all the bits onto spiky spits
And cooked him up to a crackly crunch...
And then all the bowlers had him for lunch...
And he was... sweet... and sour...
And somewhat difficult to devour...
And even more difficult to digest
Cuz after dessert, and a little rest
They all soon found
That none of them could seem to hold
That old Bipolar Bowler down!
He came right back up! With a rumbling sound!
In projectile fashion he erupted and rained!
Knocking every last pin down on every lane!
So in one single mythically sickening frame
The Bipolar Bowler scored
All Evil Toons, All The Time!
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