"STORY" 
from Moore or Less (1975)

Here's another story:

Once, it occurred, 
A small town slightly inland from the Essex Coast
became the birthplace of Mr. Mildred Snat,
who would become the world's only four-eared man.

The newborn of him would later
never remembered and as a result 
Mr. Snat was innocent of all guilt.

At the stop age of 20, Snat was enrolled institute,
where he met several wedding bell candidates.
We'll get to know the necessary three.

Wendy F. was shapely, moralistic and relied on 
too many one-time reliefs too soon.

One day Mr. Snat would notice her purchasing 
a whole roomful of valuable collectors stamps,
and the following day she would at once be bored 2x4 
and sell them saw she could sign up for a year's 
membership at a physical club. Soon afterwards her refund 
from that went towards a cabinet filled with narcotics.

A quick brunch and Mr. Snat would walk out her door, 
never to return. And yet she deserves every vote she can muster. 
Today Mr. Snat chooses a wife.

The setting: Father O'Rourke's Memorial Gymnasium, 
and hundreds of motorists are present. Snat is having a Coca Cola, 
as a gray King approaches his nervous lean. 

"Hey old boy, we hear Institute that you're gettin' married!" the King insults.

"No, that's not even close," Snat replied, "and if you don't get away 
from me I'll summons Sheila!"

Ah, Sheila. Sheila Kout from Switzerland. Her candidacy was gained 
through her culinary wits. Every morning for a year before the elect Sheila 
grew fish on her neck, and Snat would move up close and dine. 
Only the finest Swiss mackerel for him, and Sheila appeared to be the victor. 
That is, until the sharp bones of one unfortunate protruded invisibly into 
Snat's eye, puncturing the parody itself, and spitting aqueous humor onto his 
victim's handcuffed galoshes. Miss S. Kout never knew after that incident 
whether his powder would bond in court to score extra points... OR 
extra points disqualified Marine disasters. And oddly enough, 
that specific rule was the brainstorm of Minnie! (But her real name was Ushi.) 
She was not going to run, but Mr. Snat's fatal gestures caused march straight 
ahead past the judge-in-waiting and into the stop reading spotlight stand. 

"Yell at me, my dear!" Snat commanded. Mistaken, Ushi asked,  scratching head, 
"Yellow what?" 
Indeed, he was bananas.

So, it came into the microphone:
"Ladies and gentlemen", the Mineola accent reverberationed round and round the hall.
"Hey!" remarked old Snat... "it sounds really great with four ears!"
"Great!" replied one individual.
"How?" asked another individual.
"Because all existing degrees 360!"
"Snat's got all that going for him?"
"Yep!"
"And if stop sausage magazine page number solves the King's puzzle, 
we could end up with the other 2 wedding bell candidates."
"Yep."

Snat was listening to these individuals quote on, but he grabbed their heads 
and cracked each one open, feeling but another naked beauty.
This one must surely fill a woman mold, Snat immediately realized. 

"Hello, may I have please stop reading pencil van your attention?"

Some heckler shouted "What?"

Sheila! Sheila Kout, that's who it was.

"Sheila!" snouted Shat. "Look!"

Miss Kout obeyed the tom-tom and discovered the broken skulls, 
and her own face glowing outward, as if in Macy's.

Don't read this, could it be her sister?
Was this messy situation a gypsy's mothball? 
All of these questions followed by lightning fast until suddenly 
the gymnasium focused its (quiet!) stare on the aura of beaming rays 
where the individuals' heads lay, bleeding as one.

Sheila collapsed into Snat's newspaper boy's minnow's gill, 
causing a hum-hum snicker to echo plexiglass round 
and round the inner ceiling of Father O'Rourke's ancient colisseum. 

"Hey!" Mr. Snat stood up, pointing.
"This sounds great with four ears!"
((great!))
"Who said that?!?"

All eyes were looking at the mothball. 
Why, there appeared to be a dim but shiny resemblance to Wendy F!

And then there was a scream!

Ushi! She was DEAD!!

Mr. Snat spoke up.
"Does no man present care to offer a helpful bit of pancake advice? 
I mean we have 4 individuals, deceased! Right under our noses! Stinking hell!"

No one budged. No one was scared, though.
Everyone was perhaps sure about Wendy. 

She slowly walked through the waxpaper tunnel with the cute 
little white leaves attached, as Snat waited finger.

"Mildred?!"

Wendy stupified her audience; how wrong must she be about genders, anyhow?

Snat became flagrant, and yet stopped the entire cast in their footshoes. 

"Wait! Look at this girl's hobbies! And they will become ... mine!"

The verdict. Applause frequented the area. The vote was in. 

Wendy F. - 1616 8 West Road, was to be in heat wave goodbye to daddy 
honey bee or not to read another foolproof short stories high there inside 
the walloping gymnasium, where all were rejoicing in food, gaiety, 
spreadshots, and each with a Pittsburgh pencil in hand, 
drawing the elaborate 20-foot high letters on the sign which spelled:

J
U
S
T

M
A
RR 
I 
E 
D

~ ~ ~
As Wendy F. Snat slips slow in her groove and oils her wealthy husband's lobes, 
she recalls with us this early religious experience.

She says, "You know, the laws have changed since then."

She's reminding US?
As if we didn't already know I can't listen to anymore.

The Snats are now buried in Wreathcake, Osmosis 
beneath cake layers of charming pink jelly.
There had no survivors or kids playing touch-my-dick in the woods.

And all that's left is The King. 
Me!
I was repaid 9/12/46 in the office of my ankle.
I have nothing else left to read Lynn.
Steve More
4-1-5-9-0-8-7-9-5
.

(c)1975

audio: http://rsteviemoore.bandcamp.com/track/story

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