Wednesday, June 30, 2010

Colonel Mustard: "It's what we call overkill." Professor Plum: "It's what we call psychotic."

In keeping with an emerging theme here on Slumlog, yours truly has ..."re-interpreted"... this classic little ditty (omission of the original 8th verse as a tip of the hat to you Bob Weir fans out there) for the enjoyment of all our readers, imaginary and otherwise.  Cheers! 

They’re hanging postcards in the cellar
They’re painting the walls with blood
The futbol fans are in the kitchen
The waitresses are chewing cud
Here comes blind Joe Daddy
They’ve got him tightly pressed
One hand is cuffed to Immigration
The other is up a dress
And the Arlington Police they're restless
They can’t go very far
As Mike Green and I look out tonight
From Summers Red Room Bar

Mya, she doesn’t just seem easy
“I’m a one-star Sudoku,” she grins
And fishes down her stockings
To pull out full-grown twins
In walks the Professor, he’s boasting
“You’ve got a fine caboose.”
Then someone says, “You’re in the wrong neckwear, my friend.
“Try a hangman’s noose.”
And the only sound that’s left
After he catches his car
Is Mya heading down the stairs
Of Summers Red Room Bar

Now the smoke is getting thicker
The toilets are beginning to clog
Sonny’s sweeping up the carpet
Frankenbrian’s sawing logs
All except for Shawn and Carrie
And the karaoke guy
Everybody’s either stumbling home
Or trying to get high
Donnie Tucker, he’s dressing
He’s eating a granola bar
He’ll power through his hike tonight
To Summers Red Room Bar

Now the First Soprano, she’s in the front booth
For her I feel so proud
At her karaoke debut
She sang inspiringly loud
To her, life is quite dramatic
She wears a velvet bow
Her religion’s her persona
Her gift is her vibrato
And though her destiny insists
She’s bound to be a star
She spends her time indulging us
At Summers Red Room Bar

Dana, disguised as Ruby
With nostalgia in his heart
Dropped in after happy hour
To pass around his art
He copped a look of innocence
As Kelly bought his drink
Then he burned out all the drainpipes
And sped off to the brink
Now you wouldn’t recognize him
Without a cheap cigar
But long ago he held it down
For Summers old green bar

Dr. Stealth, he keeps his world
Underneath a baseball cap
But he blew off all his patients
And threw away his map
His tour guide, some local transplant
Is adrift in a consciousness stream
She’s carrying dead flowers
From a merciless regime
Now he’s stuck in a cave spitting bad seeds
Into a mason jar
Waiting for the last train back
To Summers Red Room Bar

Across the street they’ve pitched a beer tent
They’re giving pints away
The stew is boiling over
On a cold St. Patrick’s Day
They’re warming up Sanford Markley
To soothe him from his fright
Then they’ll make him sing “Cecilia”
Until he feels alright
John Kelly’s reading manuals
On tuning a guitar
Sanford Markley just learned his lesson
At Summers Red Room Bar

Praise be to Hero’s Wholesale
The New Door swings at dawn
While greasy foreign heads decide
What it will hinge upon
Two sides of ducks and cowboys
Are starting to get crude
While servers giggle nervously
And try to carry food
In the kitchen between two worlds
Where frozen burgers char
The waiting is the hardest part
In Summers Red Room Bar

I learned all my letters yesterday
And put them in a word
Then used it to make fun of you
For calling me a nerd
All the people you keep forgetting
I know them, they’re okay
Though you rearrange their faces
Or you look the other way
Right now you don’t seem so good
But you’re calling me bizarre
Tomorrow you’ll be stumbling in
To Summers Red Room Bar


  1. Thanks for the shout out, but just fyi I'm not green with envy because you stole my idea for stealing Dylan lyrics.

  2. I'm kind of imagining this in a very nasally Dylan-esque voice which is kind of annoying, but this is still brilliant. Where did you get the patience to type this all out? Where you there on Moslon Canadian Night? Did you have ten beer?

  3. The fact the the First Soprano is the first soprano makes me wonder what the Second Soprano is like.

  4. I know I'm slow, but did some say they pitched a tent? Beer tents are good, but pre-tents are bad. Get it. No? Good. I was trying to make a point.