The content is a single‑speaker, free‑form performance that strings together a series of absurd, humorous verses and mini‑stories. It opens with Danny O'Dare, a dancing bear, who demonstrates a litany of goofy dances before a chaotic “Furniture Bash” erupts, describing animated furniture fighting each other. The speaker then muses on mismatched clothing, a solitary drumstick, and the frustrations of a drummer. A dialogue between Long Leg Lou and Short Leg Sue explores relational dynamics and loneliness. A satirical robot segment shows a defiant machine refusing mundane tasks. The “deadly eye of Puggly Pie” is introduced as a lethal myth, followed by a philosophical note about listening to an inner voice. The narrative continues with Mary Lou’s tragic swing accident, a monkey’s green‑banana illness, a warning about imagined mice, and a playful ode to various breakfast cereals, ending with a call to like and subscribe. Throughout, the tone is playful, surreal, and rhythmic, using rhyme and repetition to entertain and lightly critique everyday absurdities.
Chapters
Danny O'Dare. Danny O'Dare, the dancing bear, ran away from the county fair, ran right up to my back stair and thought he'd do some dancing there. He started jumping and skipping and kicking. He did a dance called the funky chicken. He did a poker. He did the twist. He bent himself into a pretzel like this. He did the dog and the jitterbug. He did the jerk and the bunny hug. He did the waltz and the boogaloo. He did the hokey pokey too. He did the mop and the mashed potatoes. He did the splits and see you later. And now he's down upon one knee, bowing, oh, so charmingly, and winking and smiling. It's easy to see Danny O'Dare wants to dance with me. Called Furniture Bash. The hand of the clock pinched the foot of the bed, so the foot of the bed kicked the seat of the chair, so the seat of the chair sat on the head of the table, So the head of the table bit the leg of the desk, so the leg of the desk bumped the arm of the couch, so the arm of the couch slapped the face of the clock. And they pinched and they punched and they banged and they knocked and they ripped and they flipped and they rolled and they rocked. And the poor dresser drawer got a couple of socks. There was sawdust and springs when I turned on the light after that horrible Furniture fight. And that's the truth. No lie. No joke. That's how the furniture all got broke. Why is it? Why is it some mornings your clothes just don't fit? Your pants are too short to bend over or sit. Your sleeves are too long and your hat is too tight. Why is it some mornings your clothes don't feel right? Turkey? I only ate one drumstick at the picnic dance this summer. Just one little drumstick. They say I couldn't be dumber. One tough and skinny drumstick. Why was that such a bummer? But everyone's mad at me, especially the drummer. Long legged Lou and Short Leg Sue. Long Leg Lou and Short Leg Sue went for a walk down the avenue, laughing and joking like good friends do. Long Leg Lou and Short Leg Sue. Says Long Leg Lou to Short Leg Sue, can't you walk faster than you do? It drives me out of my mind that I'm always in front and you're always Behind, says Short Leg Sue to Long Leg Lou. I'll walk as fast as I meant to do. Then I'll go walking with someone new, says Long Leg Lou to Short Leg Sue. Now Long Leg Lou, he walks alone looking for someone with legs like his own, and sometimes he thinks of those warm afternoons Back when he walked with Short Leg Sue. And Short Leg Sue strolls down the street, hand in hand with Slow Foot Pete. And they take small steps and they do just fine. And no one's in front and no one's behind. My Robot. I told my robot to do my bidding. He yawned and said, you must be kidding. I told my robot to cook me a stew. He said, I've got better things to do. I told my robot to sweep my shack. He said, you want me to strain my back? I told my robot to answer the phone. He said, I must make some calls of my own. I told my robot to brew me some tea. He said, Why don't you make tea for me? I told my robot to boil me an egg. He said, let me hear you beg. I told my robot, there's a song you can play me. He said, how much you gonna pay me? So I sold that robot, 'cause I never knew exactly who Belonged to who? The deadly eye, the deadly eye of Puggly Pie. Look away, look away as you walk by, 'cause whoever looks right at the eye surely will die. It's a good thing you didn't. You did? Goodbye. The voice. There is a voice inside of you that whispers all day long. I feel that this is right for me. I know that this is wrong. No preacher, teacher, parent, friend, or wise man can decide what's right for you. Just listen to the voice that speaks inside. Mary Lou's Ride. The swing swung, the rope snapped, the seat sailed, and she flew. Her heart sang, her shirt Her coat tailed, her hair blew. The bells rang, the crowd clapped. Her mum wailed and wept too. Then crash, bang, into her lap, by airmail, came Mary Lou the monkey. One little monkey was going to the store, where he saw a banana tree he'd never climbed before. By 5 o'clock that evening, he was sick With a stomachache, 'cause 7 green bananas was what the monkey ate. By 9 o'clock that evening, the monkey was quite ill, so 10 we called the doctor, who was 11 on the hill. The doctor said, You're almost dead! Don't eat green bananas no more! The sick little monkey groaned, Groaned and said, that's what I went to the tree for! Imagining! You're only just imagining a mouse is in your hair. You've got to stop imagining that mice are everywhere. I think you're just imagining to give yourself a scare. But trust me, dear, I wouldn't lie. There's no mouse up there. Cereal. Rice Krispies stay crisp, though they now and then lisp as they whisper their knapple crackle pop in your bowl. And though you pour a tall can of milk on your All-Bran, it never will turn into gloop, so I'm told. I know Shredded Wheat will stay crumbly and neat, Though you soak it a year in the depths of the ocean, and from breakfast to lunch, your Post Toasties will crunch to show you their love and undying devotion. Oaties stay oaty, and Weet-Bix stay floaty, and nothing can take the puff out of puffed rice. But I wish they'd invent a cereal for someone who likes it all floppy and drippy and droopy and lumpy and sloppy And soggy and gloopy and gooey and mushy and nice. Enjoy, hit like and subscribe.
