Prevent Paula’s Poking, Please
Why poke a pretty Paula while she plants her pickle pots? Paula is just a poetess — usually pontificating about putters in her poetry — who pains no other person, so why poke her during potting? It’s not polite at all. I predict that the police will pick you up, take your prints, and take your piddling pride as well, since those things are what the police are paid to perform. If you have a pacemaker, better procure the proof before they start with their processing.
If you thought paying off a parrot with spare pence was far from paradise, you’ll probably be puzzled at the police station. The police officers returning from patrol have been polluted with perfume and are preparing to pasteurize themselves with a pine-scented dash of pheromones. You’d think they’d been patrolling a pineapple producing plant based on how powerful the pineapple perfume smell is on their persons. But if you perused their patrolling papers, you’d see the proof that they were being productive by patrolling the parkway parking spots, which just happen to be peppered with pineapple juice.
So put away your anti-pineapple perfume petitions. Stop making that your own pet project. Possibly get a real pet, like a python or a plump penguin. Or pick a political party and run for President.
But just stay away from Paula. You wouldn’t like the pillows they give to prisoners, they pinch your head and feel like someone put pebbles in the pillows, or maybe pieces of a pottery project. And pizza parties in prison? Please. That pizza is a pale imitation of real pizza. And your possibilities of parole are poor at best, since the prison priests and public defenders are all Paula’s pals.
So just stay in your trailer park, eating pasta and practicing playing poker until the postman shows up with your postcard from your friend Peter in Poland. At that point you can give Paula the postcard and pretend that you’ve placated her. But don’t poke her, please.
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