So I guess that makes it me and Dracula,
that guy with the warthog breath and the joke
about being just his type. And everybody else
with a one-way ticket to the local Forest Lawn.
I'll bet De Mille's behind this, who reissued
the Commandments, did thirty-seven takes
of Cleopatra in the milk bath. Peeping Cecil
crouched behind his propane-burning bush.

So now? My agent says I ought to write
a diet book and hit the talk shows, but they'd
probably find out I don't eat. There's enough
to sweat without a lawsuit: what's retirement age
for the death impaired? Do I lose my 401,
my pension? Mother had it right: beware
of gift brides, especially when they're tied to stakes,
and buy no stock from Republicans in pith helmets.