The Poet and the Dead Parrot

The virtue of the dead parrot, in Monty Python's classic skit, was that it just sat there and said nothing, obviously because it was dead. However, at least it wasn't ever offensive. Well, the smell emanating from it may have been offensive but in time that would pass, hopefully.

Well, I'm not dead, yet. I have not yet lost my voice to speak out. The human race, though capable of doing some pretty noble acts, is generally a pretty laughable bunch which is really full of itself. And someone needs to poke a little fun at the absurdities that some of us try to pass off as progress or as the public good or other such nonsense. So I am appointing myself to do just that. And I will do that in the guise of the poet laureate of the insane asylum, who spins a poem and hoists the perpetrators on their own petard.

So, come along with me as I go about punching holes in the pompous presumptions of our times and bringing down a notch or two those who are populating and supposedly running the asylum. And maybe if we can open our eyes wide enough we will finally see with some degree of clarity exactly who we have foolishly appointed to tend the store. Not that knowing that will change much, because it won't. We seem to keep putting the same sort of know-nothings in charge of us time and time again. But with eyes wide open, at least we will know for sure which of the fools to throw our brickbats at.

Hope you come back to see me at The Dead Parrot Pet Shop.

With kindest regards,

The Resident Poet of the Dead Parrot Pet Shop.