Book I

The major defeat of Russia in 1905 by
Japan was something sweet
for countries small
and developing.

It proved classic imperialist gall
could be mugged of the old
proverbial fluffy perky
expensive Vera
Wang dress.

A decently short Vera Wang dress,
considering the Russians
and the Japanese are
all much shorter
than me.

With a sincere critical analysis, one may easily deduce
that the Russo-Japanese War proved for all time
that the Japanese are slightly taller, and
therefore way better at baseball.

A Russian man drinks his Vodka alone
at the bar, as the T.V. runs silent.
Ichiro is up to bat, and he
looks like a giant.

That's when the three parrots walk in.

Book II

Duck!

Duck!

Quarks usually bundle themselves in threes and fives.

Duck!

I think I learned that on an episode of Cheers, the show with Kirstie Alley and
the dude that palyed Cliff Clavin with the name similar to the new Pope.
Nevertheless, threes and fives and whatnot
and whathaveyou and having

Parrots!

Quarks and bundles of quarks thrown at me
by parrots. Freaking parrots. Throwing
crap at me. Throwing cheese fondue!
Throwing Popes! The parrots
are throwing cheese and
Popes! New Popes!

Flying!

Fly around the room Popes! Fly into and
throughout cheese fondue!

Around cheese fondue!
over cheese fondue!
I just got covered
in cheese fondue
and Popes.

The Popes are cheesed, strewn about,
and the short Russian man
chimes in with a laugh,
as Ichiro hits
a line drive.

Book III

As I picked the newest, freshest Pope up off of the ground, Benedict XVI
looks me in the eyes with the oldest elected Pope eyes since
Pope Clement XII in 1730, there are countless
of him strewn about the room.

Countless 78 year-old conservative Popes,
and this, the only one full of tears.

The Pope cries. The Pope stands in tears, in cheese
picking the Pope hat off of his head and throwing
the Pope hat to the ground, covered in cheese
fondue. "I bet that stuff stains," I say.

With that, the single crying Pope runs out of the building,
saliva pouring from his disheveled mouth.

He leaves his tall hat behind.

Another Pope Benedict XVI stands up to watch the baseball game and orders a beer.
He has faith in Ichiro's control.

Book IV

Pat Sajack and the Wheel of Fortune spinning,
it's coming on after the game.

The parrots are about to go off on the bartender, when they all
come to a realization: none of them are wearing pants.
No pants means no wallet means no way to pay.
It means the bartender throws the three
into a bar cage to pay for their
cheese fondue and beer
and new Pope.

I pick up the cheese covered Pope hat, and push it down on my head,
"I'm Pope-ing," is all I can think to say. And it sounds cool at the time.

The baseball game looked good. I wonder, is hsw watching this game? Ich-i-ro! Ich-i-ro!

Book V

You know, late at night when I go to sleep, I hear those parrots below my window.

They're rapping their legs with the wild music of spoons, as the alto clarinet wail of the bartender spits laser beams into the sky.