Nefarious Dr. Wilhelm Skreem?
Unblinking Eye of Laser Beam?
Antoinette, Head in a Jar?
The Delete Button & Space Bar?
Scooter Howards, the Tween Wolf?
The Monster of Pacific Gulf?
Evil D.P. Sven Night-Fist?
Moe, the Headless Unicyclist?
Princess Brigitte Half-Nelson
Bowie Knife & Thomas Gun?
Hotsy Tots, Feet Made of Fire?
Pam Beehive ‘do of Barbed Wire?
Quincy Quash, Professor Doom?
Felix Flash, Who Dares Assume?
If your name was not called off,
Sorry, you’re not evil enough.
If you’ve ever fancied to be part snail,
Siberian tiger or humpback whale,
Or just to have a lemur tail,
My transmogrifier’s for sale.
Take a gander and be goosed
Your flying squirrel can now be moosed,
From little Joey to Kangaroosed,
But be advised it’s slightly used.
Still it can make most combinations
From pre-Jurassic to late cetacean,
Green reptile and red crustacean,
Add antennae to malformations.
Or just become inanimate,
A gold trombone, a tin cornet,
Sock of argyle or shirt of sweat,
A pet rock no one dare to pet!
So if you feel up to the task,
To turn into a seal and bask
Or just a fly, call up and ask
For Jeff, in the gorilla “mask.”
Watch out for that silver sphere
Floating in the mausoleum.
It is not as it appears
Shooting strangers if it sees them.
A severed finger in a box
You’ll think such things so unbehooving
But you’ll be knocked out of your socks
When the severed digit begins moving!
And when the Tall Man hollers, “Boy!”
You will want to duck for cover
Sweet slumber forever destroyed
When over your bed he hovers!
But you always have your brother
Though he might leave with the season
His best friend is yet another
As they sing a folk song for some reason.
Will they comprehend your tale
Of aliens and undertakers?
Or will all of your attempts fail
As they call you “mad” and “faker.”
With this friend, a seller of ice cream
You take on evil that won’t quit.
But wait! Relief! It’s all a dream.
Dot dot dot dot or was it?
When riding down pillows down the stairs,
When spinning madly in spinny chairs,
When sneaking sneaky tastes of cake,
Watch out for snakes!
If you’re popping wheelies in the dark,
Heckling chipmunks in the park,
Exploding bubbles in placid lakes,
Watch out for snakes!
Like Old Saint Nick, they’re watching you.
And the tattleworthy things you do.
They’ll fire those guns and ring the bells!
And they’ll be sure to hiss and tell.
So don’t ship baby sis to Prague,
Make smelly smells and blame the dog,
Swap broccoli with Dad’s car brakes,
Watch out for snakes!
And do be sure to walk the right path,
Cross all your T’s, math all your math,
But if you make one small mistake,
Watch out for snakes!
Now you can tell right off that I’m no good,
By the bad-guy ensemble I wear.
And though these clothes strike fear (as they should,)
The dangerousest aspect is my hair.
Now you might think it seems quite tame,
These follicles attopin’ my dome.
But you’re not in on my secret fame,
As the proud owner of a switchblade comb.
Switchblade comb, switchblade comb,
You look like you’re a blade.
But switchblade comb, yeah switchblade comb,
It’s the most awesomefying charade.
I used to get teased mercilessly,
Then things went from bad to worsey.
But with my switchblade comb on me,
My teasers show me a bit more mercy.
Because it strikes fear into the hearts of men,
And it causes all the bullies to back way off.
If you cross me, you’ll see what happens then,
I’m gonna make you turn your head and coiff.
Switchblade comb, switchblade comb,
You won’t stab me in the heart.
But switchblade comb, yeah, switchblade comb,
You’ll give my hair a part.
If you’re really radicool then you’ll join in the fun,
You’ll feel such a thrill running it through your hair.
Bring a friend for fun with more than one,
If you can’t find a partner use a wooden chair.
Oh, switchblade comb, switchblade comb,
The world is watching you.
But switchblade comb, yeah, switchblade comb,
What are you gonna do?
And I say switchblade comb, switchblade comb,
You’re like a second hand,
But switchblade comb, yeah, switchblade comb,
Not as much as my real second hand.
No, not as much as my real second hand.
Well, I went to a party, the food and tunes were fine.
For some unexplained reason it was held down in a mine.
We were Fruggin’, we were Freddyin’, we were doing the Can-Can.
But all the noise we made awoke the one they call Rodan.
Rodan! Rodan! Let’s all do the Rodan!
Rodan! Rodan! You can do it if you can!
We were all a little terrified when Rodan showed his face.
We were freaking and were screaming and un-Feng Shuiing the place.
That’s when my buddy Curt said hey why don’t we give Rodan a chance?
And Rodan began to fly around and show us all his dance.
Rodan! Rodan! Let’s all do the Rodan!
Rodan! Rodan! Be you a man or a woman!
See, all you gotta do is flap your arms around and shriek.
Then you grab a friend and devour them within your beak.
Fly around the room and dive bomb and throw things round in your talons.
It’s a blast and it ain’t even hard, if you’re up to the challenge.
Rodan! Rodan! Let’s all do the Rodan!
Rodan! Rodan! For a limited time span!
Now everybody’s flying round and everybody’s screaming.
Your parents’ faces disapprove but your gal’s face is beaming.
All your friends are dancing like the prehistoric flying lizard.
Everyone’s arms are a-flapping and their legs are all a-scissored.
Rodan! Rodan! Let’s all do the Rodan!
Rodan! Rodan! Ironically not big in Japan!
Rodan! Rodan! Let’s all do the Rodan!
Rodan! Rodan! It’s part of your Master Plan!
Rodan! Rodan! Let’s all do the Rodan!
Rodan! Rodan! Rodan Rodan Rodan!
Hello, all! Here is another set of lyrics from Nozebone the Band. Please enjoy, and remember: you can contact myself or Nick Clark for more info on the band and our albums It Is So Nice and Ouch! What Do You Do?
She drifts through streets and empty windows.
She’s looking for a red boy’s bicycle.
It’s my younger brother’s old bicycle.
Now into a store with a big window.
No bike here, she leaves into the alley.
A yellow bike there, she takes it for now.
An old grey guy rides an old red bike by.
Not the one she wants but she follows him.
They go through a door to the countryside.
Down a steep hill at the end of the hill.
The trees, some have bikes, they’re all the wrong ones.
She goes up a haystack and into the sky.
Past sirius, Orion and Tri-Star.
A really cool horse is still not a bike.
The planet Saturn has bikes on the side,
Floating, none of them is the one that she wants.
The grey old man just laughs and laughs and laughs.
They both agree to go on to heaven.
In heaven she sees light and empty space.
A ton of people ride bikes by smiling.
She goes out a window and into a field.
She finds a valentine for my brother.
“Hey I think that’s for me,” he says to her.
All the best from that guy who has your bike.
PS, Happy Valentine’s. Feel better.
He won’t smile, not ’cause he doesn’t like her.
So the old man and the bike are long gone.
She exhales, “Oh well.” and then she goes home.
He waves away her yellow bicycle.
Bicycle Song by Nozebone the Band is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
I have a special treat for you today. These are lyrics to a song I wrote for the band I was in back in my crazy college days, Nozebone the Band. It consisted of myself and frequent Cotton Candy Beard commenter Nick Clark. If you would like a copy of either It Is So Nice, where this song appears, or Ouch! What Do You Do, which will be covered later, contact myself of Nick. But be aware that some of the songs are not as kid-friendly as the ones that will be highlighted this month. Enjoy!
There once was a man who was older than you.
He hid all his decades behind eyes of blue and
One night he climbed out the window of his room,
to escape the world by the silvery light of the moon.
His face made of leather, his hair spun from silk,
he swam in a sea of homogenized milk and
he followed the tide that the moon would dictate
from her silver podium up above in outer space.
The moon is a woman, lonely to no end.
She shines down upon us in search of a friend and
the man is a widower, swimming to shore,
to sleep on the banks made of eiderdown blankets once more.
The moon sees the man and is smitten on sight.
She sings to him lovingly late into the night, but
her voice is a light beam in our atmosphere:
The words won’t reach out to the widower for several years.
Past seventy-five years, the man now awoke,
to hear the loving words that the moon had once spoken.
The moon’s voice familiar, he looked into the sky,
to see that she had been replaced by a Dutch apple pie.
“O moon,” said the man, “I’m in love with you too.
I’m lost out at sea, I don’t know what I’m doing.”
The moon reappeared and she bathed him in light,
And they danced together alone in the silvery night.
Widower Moon by Nozebone the Band is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Attend the tale of Dreaded Bee,
That scoundrel insect of the sea.
He set sail Sixteen Ninety-Two,
In a boat made of a woman’s shoe.
With hooked wing and three eyes patched
Whence he no treasure went unsnatched.
Stole crowns from unsuspecting queens,
Left unpaid tabs at all canteens.
Wooed the rich and then absconded
Before they learned he was not beau monded.
Nabbed artifacts from small museums
Oh, he was such an uncouth bee-um.
Til bad luck his path finally crossed
And out to sea he became lost.
For thirty days he drifted aimless
Concerned he would end up acclaimless.
However, on day thirty-one,
By the jeering light of a mock sun
He spotted an uncharted isle,
Whose coast curved the shape of a smile.
This seemed a fortuitous sighting
And the isle appeared inviting.
So he alighted on the beach
And orated a rousing speech.
“Men,” he said, though he was alone
“This day is soon to be well known.
As soon as I have made my berth
I’ll take this isle for all it’s worth!”
But aside from one lone palm tree
There was no booty for Dreaded Bee.
And so he bade the beach so long.
When something went horribly wrong.
Try as he may, and though perplex it,
He could not find the isle’s exit.
And Dreaded Bee ran out of luck
As on this isle he remained stuck.
So ends the tale of Dreaded Bee,
In a way that no one could foresee
The master of wicked and wangle
Had found the Bermuda Triangle.
Behold! A volcano!
Erupts like champagne-o!
Peace is not maintain-o!
Lava! Overflowing!
Terrain all aglowing!
No help to try blowing!
Ash! Obscures sunbeam!
Even the bon-tonbeam
Have become undonebeam!
If we reach the water,
It could be less hotter,
But it’s a long shotter.
Wait! Where goes the magma?
Sopped up by a ragma?
Sucked in vacuum bagma?
Oh! It was a nightmare!
Mental pillow fightmare,
But now all’s alrightmare.
Mark J. Hansen