Someone there is whose last name is Cone-Miller, a product of parents who early adopted the hyphenated family surname. Well, I got to thinking, and when I was all done with that, I wrote her whole family a theme song for the profession they invented but have yet to pursue. You may sing this to the tune of any simpleminded sea shanty you may know.
The Cone-Miller Song
I’m a miller of cones, a singer of songs,
A tiller of teetering trees
I’m a killer of clones, a dinger of dongs,
A spiller of ballwaxy bees.
For ‘tis cones that I mill and
Blood that I spill and
Places I just will not leave.
My pulse it don't run when I pick up a gun
But for dozens of of ladies who grieve,
I am the killer of sheep and the spiller of sleep
And a good goddamn miller of cones.
Perhaps this will even inspire the non-cone-millers among you to lay down your arms and pick up your legs.
No comments:
Post a Comment