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Pulcinella he is not - A little less than a happy high
komos
komos
Pulcinella he is not
Last night, Park Street's own whistling clown sat next to me on the train. Prior to this, I'd always found reason and method to avoid him, if for no other reason than that I grok wrongness in someone who feels the need to wear pancake makeup so he can whistle at co-eds all day.

He smelled of cheap liquor and feet.


And that squeaky voice can only mean one thing, Mr Punch is on his way ...

He dances on stage and calls for a kissy kiss' from Judy. She reluctantly appears and gives him one!

"Not too sloppy though, Mr Punch you animal,"says Judy.

Suddenly, a terrible din from below.
WAAHH! WAAHH! it's the baby. AAH! AAH! it needs changing POOH! POOH!


"You change it, I'm off," says Judy.
"No way," says Punch, and throws the baby out of the window.
Judy out window too.

"Byebye. Hooray," says Mr Punch.

"Oh dear, I see a ghost. No way, go away."
"Who cares 'cos there's sausages for tea. Thanks Joey the clown."
Crocodile lurks and slurps and slips the sausages into his tum.
"Oh bum," says Punch.

"FREEZE," says the policeman, "your murdering days are done."
But he's the one who gets the window treatment fun, and Punch is free again, hooray!

But wait who's this?
Boo hiss, the devil's behind you!
But not even 'him from below' can outwit Mr Punch.

"It's the window for you and the spooky ghost too. I'm off for some fun!"

So watch out the rascal's still about.
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