Wooly Booly, an Outsider Poem By Millard Rausch

Back home at Zombie Logic after a couple of weeks of tending to other blogs. I find it interesting what you've been looking at while I was away. Ghouls, pennies, Elvira's boobs. Today is the last day of the kids' vacation in Texas, and while their mama is off to the airport to pick them up I have just these last couple of hours of to direct whatever rational thoughts I might have into words. Not much to say. Maybe a picture is called for. let me see what's on the old hard drive.

I've decided to go ahead and play fantasy football again this season. I really had ethical concerns about participating last year because of all the domestic abuse scandals and hypocrisy, but when the Women's World Cup team refused to address the domestic abuse case of their goaltender and just let her continue playing I knew Wanda Sykes was right and we've achieved real equality and I can just go ahead and take whatever guilty pleasure I can in watching people beat the hell out of each other on the field and off. That has nothing to do with Jack Soo or Barney Miller, but none of the other pictures on my hard drive make any more sense than this one.

I'm trying to talk Jenny into paneling for our basement. I'm also trying to avoid buying any beer collectibles. When I was a kid I remember the commercials for Hamm's. There was a bear. We had this big beach towel that must have been given away as a promotion. I think the best Hamm's sign is the one where the water seems to move. I think they had that one at the Cave Inn in Byron. Sometimes where we were young my dad would drag us in there late at night. I probably even bartended there when I was a kid. I don't think anybody thought anything of it. Stuff like that is probably why I never went into a bar again until I was thirty.

Now I'm mostly just thinking about Dawn of the Dead and waiting for the Cubs/White Sox game to start. Seems like the weather will never allow them to finish. I have been writing a lot about Dr. Millard Rausch lately and  hypothesizing about what might have happened to him after he appeared on the emergency broadcast at WGON studio. I see him getting into a very large automobile, calmly driving to a small airstrip, pulling the tarp off a small private plane he had readied for just this occasion, and flying off to Maine or some other remote location where he a fully-stocked ranch where he waited out the Zombie Apocalypse of 1978. I figured he had invited several of his brainiac friends there, all of whom were specialists in some field of study, and none of them really shed a tear or batted an eyelid as humanity slowly disappeared from the Earth.  Also, he wrote what could literally be considered Outsider Poetry and whittled a lot. I imagine this is one of the poems he wrote...

Wooly Bully

But what better way to enter this

Chamber of antiquity but ass-backwards,

Inviting the citizenry of Ohio to come in,

Take a look around, buy a souvenir

Made of cheap plastic?

Soon, disassembled and reassembled

Bone by bone, Conway the Mastadon

Will make the 10,000 year turn to the East

And greet visitors to the Ohio Historical Society

Face to face.

Forcing the sentimental among us to long

For the olden days when history was still

Showing us its wooly ass.

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